Evie didn’t know where she was.

Her hand brushed against the discoloured bruises blemishing her delicate skin. A surge of fear rushed through her body; she remembered the men from the morning who had dug their calloused fingers into her arms when dragging her away, and the desperate pleas of her mother which were drowned out by Evie’s own relentless wailing.

The day had begun blissfully. Evie and her mother sat around the oak table and admired the simple cake before them. It wasn’t much, but they didn’t mind. They were just happy to be alive. The dusty photo frames hanging from the walls enclosed pictures of a family long gone; the laughter now replaced by memories of crippled bodies suffocating to death, or tearful visits to the graveyard, lilac peonies in hand. Her sister’s favourite. Evie was counting the thirteen candles atop her cake when the men arrived at the house. 

Now, she was alone in a strange room surrounded by unfamiliar medical equipment. Evie breathed heavily as she stared at the plain walls that entrapped her. The taupe curtains draped across the windows shielded the world from witnessing the horrors unfolding within. Evie’s hands slowly glided across the cold metal railing that caged her in the bed; she was a prisoner. 

Tears dripped down Evie’s rosy cheeks and fell to her lap like pellets of rain during a ferocious storm. She desperately longed for her mother to come and miraculously spare her from her inevitable fate. She didn’t know what to do without her. As Evie patted the small lump concealed in the pocket of her floral cardigan, she was reminded of her mother’s warnings. At least it was still there. It was only when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps that Evie hastily wiped her face. An older woman entered the room pushing a trolley. Maybe she can help me, thought Evie wishfully. But, as she began to speak, the coldness of the nurse’s face silenced her. Evie shuddered and pressed her quivering lips together tightly as she watched the nurse prepare a series of injections. 

“The insemination procedure will begin shortly,” informed the nurse absent-mindedly as she left the room. 

Whilst surrendered to her despondency, Evie glimpsed a petite woman with flowing auburn hair alike her mother’s walk briskly past her door. Hopeful, Evie jumped out of her bed and ran to follow the woman down the hallway. 

“Mummy…Mummy it’s me!” screamed Evie. 

Startled, the woman spun around. Her face was puffy, and her eyes were swollen and red from endless crying. She offered a weak smile and gently whispered, “I’m sorry,” before leaving to enter another room. 

It wasn’t her mother. 

Sobbing quietly, Evie’s shaky legs gave way, and she fell to the ground helplessly. She clutched her cheeks with her small fingers and cried hysterically into her lap. Ever since the announcement, she and her mother had silently prayed every night that something would change before it was her turn. But nothing ever did. One by one, the girls with whom Evie had spent her formative years braiding hair and playing make-believe began to disappear. If the virus didn’t claim them, then the government did. They were told that it was their duty; that this was the only way to return the world to how it once was. None of them wanted to do it but that didn’t matter. 

Evie stayed crying on the ground for some time. A chilling scream cut through the still air. Moments later, another followed. Evie leapt up in terror and ran towards the source, peering through the window of the room the woman had entered before. Inside, she saw a girl just like her. Yet, this girl seemed different. Her eyes were empty, and her face was pasty and drenched in sweat. 

She was giving birth. 

The girl’s legs were propped up on the bed with a pillow slipped between her bent knees. Her hands were clenched in small fists that desperately clutched her surroundings for support. The woman from earlier sat stiffly on a chair to the side. Scrunched up tissues littered the floor at her feet as she winced at the sound of her daughter’s anguished screams. Eventually, a newborn baby’s cry interrupted the commotion of childbirth. 

“No sign of infection!” exclaimed a nurse. 

Suddenly, everyone’s attention turned to tending to the baby. No one was looking at the young girl anymore, except for Evie. 

The girl was trembling on the bed as she hugged a pillow tightly to soothe the pain stabbing her stomach. Her legs, still spread apart, shook uncontrollably. Her mother quietly placed a hand-embroidered blanket next to her, the threading of the blooming flowers tearing at the seams. Droplets of blood began staining the girl’s hospital gown as she pleaded for the nurses to help. 

She was ignored. The blood began gushing out of the girl, soaking the once white linen bedding. The remaining strength of her legs dissipated, and she collapsed on the bed. Her screams of pain became more sporadic, more urgent. She continued to bleed out. Slowly, Evie watched the life leave the body of a girl just like her. 

Evie yelled. She screamed as loudly as she could until her voice was raspy and strained. Soon, the girl was lying in a pool of her own blood as she succumbed to her pain. 

Evie couldn’t stop watching. The dead girl sprawled on the hospital bed like a delicate flower torn apart. The mother crumpled on the floor in tears. The nurses and military officers marvelling selfishly at yet another ‘clean’ newborn. This was her future. This was everything her own mother warned her about. 

In that suspended moment, Evie knew what she had to do. Her hand rummaged through her pocket and produced a pale-yellow pill. She looked at it expectantly in her small hand, the smell of bitter almond in the air. 

It was her mother’s birthday present for her.