The Keeper


We sit in the freezing dark. I can feel the trembles of fear. Our short breaths let out small puffs of white smoke. We are contained. We are in this miserable place, trapped. The sharp pangs of cold stab against my skin. I am unable to find warmth, even huddled close to my companions like penguins. Even my soul begins to seek heat. I’ve lost count of the days spent in this wretched place.


The part I hate the most is not knowing what will come next. We never know what tomorrow holds; we don’t know when the light will appear again. It always happens suddenly, and for short bursts of time. We love the warm swell of air that follows it. But sometimes, the light brings horror along with it. A claw comes down and chooses some of us, maybe ten or fifteen. They never return. I’ve heard many crazy stories about what happens if you are picked by the keeper.


I’ve heard that the keeper eats them viciously, or dances around on their corpses. I’ve also heard that the keeper releases massive beasts to torture those who have been chosen. One rumor that is popular about our keeper is that he enjoys peeling the skin off their bodies before killing and eating them. With all of that in mind, I’d much rather stay here, in the dark and freezing.


Before I came here I had dreams. Dreams of a happy future. Dreams that could possibly come true. I dreamt of growing old along with the blazing sunset every day, with wrinkles creasing my brow. The day the keeper came and took me away, all of my dreams were destroyed. Now, they taunt me. I feel like I’m a caged tiger and they’re the juicy steak that sits on the other side of the cold steel bars. My dreams have turned into nightmares about what the keeper may do to me. I now live in fear of tomorrow and what it may bring.


Gabe, the oldest of us, is more paranoid than wise. He preaches every day how each one of us will be picked off, slowly but surely, until the new batch of captives arrive. He tells us to follow his survival rules, like don’t stay near the left front side of our space, and move a lot when you see the light. He claims that he can hear the screams of the chosen, though our walls seem thicker than whale’s fat. He often sits alone, in the right back corner, and weeps. I pray I do not end up like him. I fight every day to keep my sanity.


All we do every day is try to stay warm and talk to keep our minds off our daunting situation. It feels like an overcrowded school bus in the winter time. But sometimes, our huge mass falls quiet. I think it’s when it hits everyone just how vulnerable we are. Our lives are at the mercy of our keeper. And from what I’ve heard, he’s not very merciful. Hope is a strange word in a place like this, where most of us have little to none.


The most we can do is wonder. We’re having a quiet spell right now, actually. The weeps and cries of the weak are muffled by the mass. Suddenly, the light appears, growing larger and larger by the second. We all squint away from it, and the warmth swoops in. Then, I see it. The claw starts to descend upon us. Everyone begins screaming for mercy. The claw does not flinch. It falls from the sky and grabs many of my comrades to my right. And lifts them high into the sky.


As quickly as it came, the light is gone, along with the claw. I gasp for breath, for my shouts have stolen it from me. I am safe for now. I hear sobs and moans from all around me. Gabe is no longer in his corner and I can’t find him. I soon realize he had been taken; I will miss that crazy old man. The warmth quickly recedes and is gone within seconds. I shed a tear for all those we lost and pray for them not to suffer. Life as a blueberry is too hard for my soul to take. I will go for the claw next time it plummets from the heavens.