You’re pressed up against the wall, breathing in short, quick gasps, your heart pounding in your chest.
It was a close call; the border patrol nearly saw you, but you’ve made it past the guards, and now all that separates you from the outside world is a short stretch of tunnel.
You stare at the sky with mounting dread. It’s dark outside, as dark as an abandoned cave, and everything seems so open, so lonely.
Ahead of you is the theatre, a hulking mess of concrete that took a month to build. Your home lies somewhere underneath it, and the thought makes you wish you were back safe underground.
But Mark, besides you, is getting impatient. “Go on then,” he says, his voice heavy with gloating.
He doesn’t think you’ll do it. He thinks you’re a coward, but then again all the kids in Upper Hall do.
You look at Mark, at his big, beefy neck, and wish you were slightly less scrawny. It isn’t fair that things have been reduced to this.
He crosses his arms. “Well? Are you going to explore the theatre, or not?”
What do you do?