Echoes of Freedom

By Emily Hutnyak

June 7. The day I get my third memory.

I can’t keep a skip out of my step as I hurry down the forest path, humming.

An oddly cold breeze whips around me, blowing my dark curls into my face.

I sigh and roll my eyes at the sky. Though mostly obscured by branches, I can tell it’s gloomy and full of clouds.

“Don’t rain on my parade,” I scold. The silly phrase renews my grin, and I even manage a giggle as I continue. One of the girls got it from her memory-day last month, and we’ve all been laughing at it ever since.

Well. The girl who remembered it hasn’t.

My steps falter, but I shake the vague, uncomfortable feeling away. So what if she doesn’t laugh with us? Madam said she was dangerous, anyway.

“Lizzie! Wait for me!”

I spin at Aly’s voice, grinning. “Slowpoke! You almost missed it.”

“Did not.” She catches up and bumps me with her shoulder. The action leaves me puzzled, considering the tension stretching across her face. “You’re just early.”

I frown. Some of her unease springs in my chest. “Madam won’t mind, will she?” We’re on schedule. We’ve followed the rules. We’ve behaved. That’s enough, isn’t it?

Aly shakes her head, pinning on a smile. “No. We’re fine.” She sets her free arm around my shoulder, despite how I try to squirm away from the unwanted touch. “Come on.”

I hold in a sigh. Aly’s never quite been the same since last year, when she got a memory no one she dared whisper it to could explain: love. A strange word—and a dangerous one.

Memories that change us are dangerous.

We ascend the steps together, and Aly raps on the smooth, dark wood of the door.

Madam opens it, looking stern and forbidding as always—but not upset. Good.

Aly and I curtsy together before entering.

“A third girl is sharing your memory-day,” Madam drones as she leads us toward the sitting room. “She’s nearly done. Should be out any time. Janice is giving her the tonic since it’s her first time.”

My stomach flips at the mention of the tonic. Aly and I will each get two today—the slightly unsettling memory-day sleeping tonic first, and the peaceful one upon waking. I used to think they were magical, but Madam explained them once in a rare mood of generosity.

“It’s science, Lizzie,” she’d said. “Nothing magical about it. I’m no magician, just intelligent.”

I had nodded and enthusiastically agreed, of course, even though I still didn’t understand. But it’s okay. We don’t have to understand Madam as long as we obey her.

We’ve barely settled onto Madam’s stiff, fancy chairs when the door to the memory-room opens and Madam’s maid emerges, leading a dazed girl by the hand.

Next to me, Aly stiffens, and I gently touch her arm as a warning.

Ever since that love memory, she says she feels sick to see the rest of us after the tonic.

I don’t know why—the dull relaxation is peaceful. And surely she can’t hate peace. She wouldn’t dare—not when Madam values it so.

“Lizzie, you’re next.” Madam motions me toward the room. “Your tonic is ready on the nightstand.”

I stand, curtsy again, and hurry into the room, eagerness pulsing through me.

Madam closes the door and I stumble to the bed, blind in the darkness.

Shortly, I find the cup of tonic and swallow the sweet liquid.

I curl up on the bed and let the memory come as the blackness swallows me whole.

***

My hands cup a little bird, holding it captive.

“All right, Lizzie,” my brother whispers in my ear. “Time to let it go free.”

Grinning, I lift my hands high and loosen my grip on the tiny, warm body.

I can feel its heartbeat pattering for a moment longer before it spreads its wings and launches off my fingers.

We watch it fly over the ocean before it vanishes into the glare of the setting sun.

My brother slings an arm around my shoulders. “Freedom feels good, doesn’t it? Even to watch.”

***

The beautiful scene fades into darkness, evading my attempts to bring it back like mist escaping my grasp.

I sit up, gasping. Freedom. The word pulses through me, igniting dangerous thoughts, terrifying thoughts, thoughts that don’t make sense.

I fumble for the second cup and gulp down the tonic—nearly spitting it out in the process.

It’s bitter. When did the tonic ever taste bitter? Oh well. Doesn’t matter.

I sit on the bed, breathing hard, waiting for the numbness to take over, waiting for the fog to cloud my head and banish the terror.

And it does, slowly. My heart rate calms and I steady my breathing.

But this time it’s different. There’s a feeling in my chest almost like hunger, a hunger for… freedom. And I can’t make it go away.

I almost don’t want it to.

The door opens, Aly silhouetted against sudden brightness. “Lizzie?”

“Your turn,” I say, shocked at the gravity in my trembling voice.

Aly squeals and hurries to the bed, but I don’t move. Not yet. I’m too busy staring at Madam, who’s gazing at me from the sitting room.

Another word wrestles through my foggy mind. Captor.

I don’t know—can’t remember—what it means. But I’ll find out.

Dangerous thoughts again. This time, though, I don’t really care.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Hutnyak is a young writer with dreams that touch the sky and an overactive imagination. She spins stories about teens like herself finding their place in the world and tales of the light and hope that can be found even in the darkest of places. When she’s not writing, you can generally find her hanging out with friends and family, reading, or, on rare occasions, venturing outside to get some fresh air and sunshine.