I finish my solo yoga stretches alone inside my matchbox-sized apartment like I do every morning. It feels like it’s the only thing that keeps me sane. I wish I could keep going because I need the release of stress instead of going to work. But not having a choice, I push off the mat and go get ready for my day.

Even after all these years, making time for morning rituals helps start my weekend shifts with a keen sense of awareness. I keep my eyes open as I walk through my sad world, watching for others like me, for others who might remember those precious hours of peace and community. The time before it was all broken apart.

I pull my thick hair back in a ponytail and I drag on my scrubs. I grab a quick bite before heading out and making my way towards the gate.

As I walk to work, I try to focus on the things I can control. So much feels beyond my reach that I can’t think about it or it will consume my every thought. With each step I think about the tasks ahead at the hospital. Anything to keep my mind moving, to stop it from being filled with muddled thoughts of what our world has become.

It’s Friday morning and people are milling around, making their morning commute the same as me. I’m a registered nurse with a small, lucky group of professionals from the poor district. We’re able to have more benefits than the people in the poor district, but we are still considered outsiders for the most part. We could lend a helping hand to the elites, but we were always different. I nod to the group of women I work with as we wait at the entrance to enter together. Once we’re all here, I approach the Regime's automated checkpoint and have my chip scanned for access the other side. A world so different from this side of the wall.

This morning is like every other day, and I keep quiet as I turn to the robotic scanner and stare out ahead of me, keeping to myself. It’s a struggle to keep my nose down, but I know no other way. That ten-year-old little girl who lost her mother is still inside me, feeling adrift and unsure of what is right and what is wrong.

I glance over at the old brewery across the street, and for a second something catches my eye. Something moves, and a pale light flickers in one of the dirty windows. Is it a candle? I take a step towards it. I can’t make out what it is from this far away, but something about its shape is odd, yet a familiar feeling settles over me. A memory in the back of my mind fades away as I try to focus on it.

I watch a small group of young street children, none of them older than eight years old, the youngest could possibly have been three, approach the door of the building and knock. I take another step towards the brewery. Something is pulling me to it. The scanner around me beeps, drawing my attention and breaking the hold that was over me for a moment. I step through to wait for the others.

“What do you suppose is going on in there?” I ask Dora, one of my work friends beside me. I don’t take my eyes off the building, but I can feel her shrug beside me.

“The hermit lives there,” she responds.

“The what?” How have I not known someone is in there? I’ve been walking past here for what feels like forever. I know almost everyone around here.

“That place is creepy. He’s just a guy who started squatting in there one day and nobody cares enough to do anything about it. That place is a hell hole. Why would they bother to kick someone out of it?”

I stare at it. For a moment I think I see the shadow of a large man pass in front of the flickering light. Then suddenly the door opens, and from the shadows the children are handed wrinkled paper bags. The children cheer and then run away, laughing and smiling to each other. Some of them share the contents of what they’ve gotten, and from what I can tell it looks like food and candles, but I can’t be a hundred percent sure. My interest rises even more.

Where did those come from? I watch as one child holds up a jar of peanut butter. I’ve never seen one of those on this side of the wall before. How the hell did that guy get one, let alone enough to give all the kids a jar each?

“Interesting,” I murmur to myself. I look around, but Dora is already tapping her foot as she waits impatiently for the others, clearly annoyed. I think she hates being on this side of the wall. She prefers it with the Elites. I just wish there wasn’t a wall at all and that everyone could live together.

“Did you see that?” I ask, looking back at her and then to the empty space where the kids were just a second ago.

“See what?” She glances around like I’m crazy then looks back to the brewery. “It’s just some creepy old eccentric. Let it go.” She shakes her head at me, making her dark hair bounce with the motion. She’s annoyed this morning.

I probably should keep my nose down and do my job, but for some reason I feel like there’s something else going on. There’s an energy in the air and it’s drawing me to that building. I can’t explain it, and it’s shaking me up, waking something up inside me that I’ve always known is there but never knew what to do with it.

“Minnie, come on. We’re going to be late,” Dora barks, tapping her foot louder now.

I cross through the gates with the rest of the team and past the protected wall that separates the area where I live from the Elites. Curiosity gnaws at me with every step I take away from the brewery, but still I continue on the path, feeling like eyes are on me the whole time. Normally a feeling of being watched would make me uneasy, but this is different. It is almost calming, like when I do my yoga. I try to shake it off, knowing I have things I need to do.

It’s time for work.

I’m lucky that I have a good job in the emergency room at the city’s only hospital. There aren’t many of us allowed in here, let alone allowed to have a job with such good working conditions. Most of the jobs given to people like me are ones that none of the Elites want to do.

I love my job. Helping the injured and sick calls to me. It’s a part of who I am. It’s what drives me each day. The hospital is a for-profit institution, so it’s ridiculously well-equipped and always over-staffed. The hospital administration picks and chooses patients, so there are a lot of research subjects and not that many terrible emergencies. But why would there be many terrible emergencies among the healthy, fed and educated Elites? The bitter part of me that will always see the difference between their kind and mine rumbles.

It’s why I try to help people as much as I can when I’m on my side of the wall. I might not have the fancy machines like they do here, but sometimes a little goes a long way. I wish I could do more for others on my side of the wall.

I’m at work for maybe five minutes when I get a page to see my supervisor. I know exactly what this is about. Dread sits deep into my stomach. I try to keep calm and relax my face as I make my way to her office. I don’t want to give any of my emotions away. It’s harder to keep your nose down when you’re being called center stage.

I knock softly on her door. She looks up at me, waving me in with a smile on her face. It doesn't meet her eyes. It never does. I stand in front of her, waiting as she leans back in her seat and takes off her glasses, setting them on her spotless desk.

“Your twenty-fifth birthday is coming up,” she says calmly. Her dark eyes glance over me. I know she is measuring me up because to her I’m only a piece of property, something that’s put in its place and does as it’s told.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why aren’t you married yet?” It’s a question, but it sounds more like an accusation.

The directness takes me aback. I thought it might be handled with more ease. Why I thought that, I have no idea. I should know better by now. Even though under Regime law, it’s completely legal to discuss an employee’s age and marital status as conditions to employment or continued employment, it’s no less jarring.

I straighten my spine and remind myself to not give attitude. “You know, I hadn’t given it much thought,” I lie. The untruth comes easier than I like.

She shakes her head and lets out a laugh, which tells me she doesn’t think this is funny at all. “That’s surprising, considering your age and status.” Yes, because I must be dying to get married to an Elite. To be picked at random. The thought is not only terrifying but coated with a lonely sadness.

“If you say so, ma’am,” I answer respectfully and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from telling her to mind her damn business and not to worry about me. While I don’t want a wall to separate the people, it doesn’t mean I have a desire to live on this side of the wall. I know my place if I have to pick side. I just don’t want to pick. Heck, I don’t know what I want.

“You were plucked out of extreme poverty and given a scholarship to rescue you from non-elite society. This is a rare gift for an orphan and an illegitimate girl, but you were a rare female mind. I hope you will not squander everything the Regime has invested in you. Consider your options, and I hope there will be plans—soon—for marriage.”

Her words are meant to be dismissive, but the light I seen outside flickers through my mind. The memory that was trying to push forward flutters a little more in my mind. My mother.

“I’m not an orphan.” I say the words more firmly than I should. “My mother was taken by the government when I was ten. I was offered an education and a job as compensation so that I’d keep quiet about it.” The words come flooding out before I even realize it.

Heat flashes on my face, but I’m not sorry for what I said. It’s the truth, and she knows it. She just sits there glaring at me before she finally speaks.

“That’s a wild conspiracy theory you’ve developed.” She pauses for a moment as if I’m going to agree with her. When I don’t respond she lets out a breath. “You’re my best nurse, so I will warn you, that kind of talk is not going to serve you in the future. Now go, before you say something else you’ll regret.”

I nod and leave, but she knows she’s lying. She’s been in this hospital long enough to know all the dirty details of what goes on in these walls. But being who I am, and considering my position in society, what are my options? My anger turns to hopelessness as I make my way back to the emergency room. I want to get lost in one of the things that always makes me feel better—helping others and making them whole. I haven't felt whole in over a decade. Maybe I can’t have it, but I can try to give it to others. At least on the outside.

My shift is twelve hours long and afterward I feel worn to the bone. I’m thankful for the busy day because I didn’t have to think about the marriage issue. I know that’s going to be pressed on me until I cave or run. Running doesn’t seem like an option—I have nowhere to go.

I retreat to the weekend dormitory I always stay in when I’ve got long weekends at the hospital. The wing of the hospital is brand new, and I take advantage of the warm shower, clean towels, and comfortable bed.

The administrators strongly encourage weekend nurses from outside of the elite district to stay in these secure suites rather than walk home at night. I have the option to sleep here Sunday night and return home Monday morning, but I always go home Sunday nights after the last 12-hour shift. My apartment isn’t as nice as these suites, but it’s home and it’s all mine. I don’t feel like an outsider there. And deep down I don’t like the guilt that comes with staying any more than I have to. Nobody outside the gates has hot showers, so what makes me so special? It’s enough that I get to indulge in this life for a short period of time.

Once I’m clean and in my pajamas, I dry my hair and look out the window. Beyond the razor wire and guard tower, I can see the shape of the old brewery on the other side as the sun sets behind it. The light is flickering again, but maybe it’s been flickering since this morning.

I can’t put my finger on why I’m drawn to it, but somehow I know from the strange outline that the light is an old oil lamp. The kind a teacher would use. They give off signs, and sometimes the signs are as small as a flickering light in a grimy window.

In troubled times, look for a light that won’t be overtaken by the darkness.

My mother said that to me many times before she was taken.

I watched her live by that idea. She lit candles in the window, and over time people gravitated to the light and to my mother. She was the light.

Childhood memories swirl through my thoughts as I tuck myself in for the night. My mother, in her small way, attempted to lead by enlightenment. People came to our shabby little apartment to talk, to comfort each other, or to leave their sad lives behind, if only for a few hours. She played music, and some of the people who came tried teaching me to play instruments. I loved the music as a little girl. We might not have had a lot, but I remember being happy and not feeling so alone.

While some people revolted with their fists, their anger overpowering everything, that wasn’t my mother’s way. She wanted peaceful gatherings to share ideas and talk about change. At the time I didn’t understand it, but my mother explained it was her way to work through the hard times.

I’m exhausted by the time I lie down on the bed, and I fall asleep almost immediately, the light in the window at the forefront of my thoughts.

I’m playing with a boy who’s kind to me. I don’t know his name, but I’m so young there’s no way I can remember it. We’re running through the streets and he’s holding my hand so tightly, like he’ll never let it go. He’s looking after me while we chase sparrows. I laugh and smile at my protector. We run together for blocks, away from buildings and going past the area my mother told me not to go beyond. I want to chase the birds so bad, and I know he’ll keep me safe. We pretend to be monsters as we chase them, raising our arms high and scaring them. Laughing and playing. When the sparrows fly away from us, they disappear over the wall. The wall that’s meant to keep us out. I watch them disappear and feel the boy squeeze my hand again.

“Don’t cry. We’ll fly out of here, too.” His dark eyes are locked on me.

I wake up with a start, feeling wetness on my cheeks. The echoes of the dream still linger in my mind as I wipe the tears away. I close my eyes to see how it ends.

“But where will we go?” I ask him.

“Anywhere we want. I’d take you anywhere you asked,” he answers and smiles at me.