by Talia Leher
The Exploration of Light should have been called A Forcible Onslaught of Banned Wavelengths. Or perhaps: The Cabinet’s Monopoly on Light for Purposes of Supposedly Dissecting the Fabric of Your Life. The misbranding frustrated Aviva.
“Citizens of Monochra,” the Weaver’s voice boomed through the speakers and echoed off the curved walls of the arena. “Welcome to the one-hundredth Exploration of Light!” He paused for dramatic effect. “We gather here tonight to test your newest contestants. To explore their hearts for purity.” Applause burst out from the majority of the crowd.
“Yes, yes. This is an exciting event for you and for those who will be welcomed as adults into our society.” Some people stood and cheered.
The Weaver’s speech could not sound any cheesier to Aviva. Every year, the Weaver repeated the same spiel. Aviva believed she could go on stage and recite the whole speech without a script.
She may have been able to run the ceremony, but the upcoming events were in the control of no one.
Sects of Monochra considered the Weaver to be the one in control. They worshipped at his feet, kissed his shoes. They prayed that they would make it out of the Exploration alive. They prayed their brothers, sisters, children, and friends would emerge unscathed.
They could pray today, but the light had the ultimate wisdom.
One thousand contestants waited in the shadows of the stage’s wings and the shadows of their predecessors. They sat together in a section on the floor that had a direct path to the stage. Every wannabe graduate was required to attend the ceremony no matter how far their commute may be. The Cabinet sent drivers to pick up the wealthy students or the ones with influential parents. They hired school buses to drive from coast to coast, north to south, and east to west to acquire the rest of Monochra’s seniors.
As students in the city’s public school system, they had third priority for seating in the stadium—behind the parents of the seniors who were hoping to graduate. They sat by grade, the oldest students in the lowest rows. It was supposed to be a display of respect for the elders, but Aviva thought it was just another way for the Cabinet to remind the juniors that there was no escaping their fate the next year. Aviva’s class would be the 101st to participate in the sacred ritual. This was her first time attending the spectacle in person, not from behind the safety of a TV screen. She felt an unfamiliar mix of emotions swirl in her mind. She could pick out the dread and excitement, the curiosity and fear.
Citizens of all races and classes, young and old, flocked to the stadium to see the spectacle. An unfathomable number of people, most likely the rest of the population, watched the ongoing events on TVs in their houses, pubs, bus terminals, or wherever they could find a screen. The Cabinet’s news channel usurped every other program aired on this day. Some channels had opted to mirror the Cabinet’s feed to obtain views.
“Would the first contestant please step forward and face the light?” the Weaver’s deep voice requested. But there was only one correct answer to the question if you desired hope for any chance at building a happy future. Or even a mediocre future. At least one where you had a semblance of control over your life.
The arena was shaped like a fishbowl. The outside of the stadium was all metal, silver plates and a thin layer of carbon fiber on the lower half to make it look tough. A roof could cover the space in the event of rain, but tonight the roof was open. Moonlight beamed upon the crowd, but only a slim amount from the waning crescent. This date had been specifically chosen to minimize interference by moonlight.
Up in the half-inside half-outside boxes, officials and wealthy people—along with their families—snacked on cheese and meat and wore posh but dreary outfits. Those with the means and money.
Whispers filled the air, and onlookers speculated on results for certain students. Others whispered about what they were going to cook for dinner, or about the gorgeous three-tiered chiffon cake their sister had made for her boyfriend’s birthday. Like Aviva, the latter group had been dragged here today in an attempt to fit in. Any way to possibly be less ostracized by their peers if they were seen in attendance.
But Aviva didn’t understand how their mind could focus on anything but the event. No distraction could pierce her consciousness now.
“Silence!” the Weaver demanded. His imposing voice made her cower. The whole crowd immediately fell silent, as if the Weaver had chopped off all their tongues. And he probably could order that horrendous act from his elevated perch in the Cabinet. The Weaver was regarded by many as infallible, the ultimate beacon of light for the country. The one who was responsible for Monochra’s prosperity. He responded only to the President, but speculation said perhaps the President’s actions were shaped by the suggestions of the Weaver.
A scrawny girl who looked young for her age had made her way up to the stage. She walked with a steady gait, but she trembled in a way that told Aviva she was forcing her unwilling legs to progress forward. She was dressed in a black cap and gown, just like every single one of the contestants. The Cabinet’s seal was sewn onto the right breast, where a pocket on a button-up shirt would be. A camera focused on the girl, and large screens on the sides of the stage displayed a live stream of her movements.
“Step into the circle of protection,” the Weaver commanded. In the center of the stage was a light gray circular platform around half a foot tall and six feet in diameter. The matte look of the material made Aviva think it was plastic, but the capabilities of the circle indicated otherwise. The Cabinet had concocted some new formula for the material. Not a single scratch could be seen on the circle. Along with nearly every other aspect of the Exploration, the madness (or genius) behind the mayhem (or controlled chaos) was unknown to the public.
Everyone’s attention was rapt on the girl as she assumed her position on the circle, feet spread apart and shoulders squared. Aviva wondered if the girl could feel the millions of eyes on her. The thought made Aviva shudder. The girl raised her head high and looked out at the crowd, ready to embrace whatever the living prophet brought to light in her.
“Let the light in!” the Weaver exclaimed as he opened his arms wide and threw them up in the air.
If the crowd had been silent before, the noise level was reminiscent of deep space now.
The circle beneath the girl sprung to life. A hum filled the open air. Light shot up from the circle and protruded into the sky. The beam was not just around the perimeter of the circle but along the whole upper surface. It was formed by thousands of individual waves of light that emitted from millions of pores. Every small beacon of light contributed to the projection that looked like it could reach the heavens.
It spiked through the girl’s body, its path unable to be stopped by flesh.
The declarations pronounced by the Weaver could not be made without him Spinning the light. The living prophet oversaw the inundation and regulated the complicated process. When standing on the circle, the student was exposed to everything they’d been missing. The light somehow poked into the soul and explored their destiny.
The camera focused on the girl the whole time, magnifying her body on the jumbotrons. The beacon of light enveloped the girl, and she appeared to sparkle. Her brown hair held a sheen not previously present.
The miraculous part about the ritual was that the beam wasn’t just a white light, but an amalgamation of many shades. Each wave was of a slightly different wavelength. By holding the Exploration, the Cabinet was breaking its own rules about the use of color. But to accomplish their tasks today, color was the key tool.
Colors in more shades than Aviva could count swirled around the girl in a random sequence. They traced an ever-changing pattern into the night sky. The individual beams continued to swirl, but slowly she thought she saw less spikes of color in the mix. The whole process from the lights turning on to them blending together must have taken no longer than thirty seconds, but it felt as if time slowed as she watched.
“She did it,” the girl sitting next to Aviva whispered to another girl. “She did it!” she repeated again to Aviva with an excitedly loud voice that grated Aviva’s ears.
The ritual wasn’t done yet, but her neighbor’s early guess proved to be correct. The beam of light shone like a beacon of pure white. Then in the blink of an eye, the light disappeared, and darkness resumed.
“She did it,” Aviva whispered back.
The change was so startling to the eye that the space around the girl transitioned to what looked like pure black. It was like the shadows had swallowed the girl whole. What had been endless possibilities had been whittled down almost to the absence of all.
“Pure!” the Weaver announced into his powerful microphone. The audience burst into applause and whoops. The girl slowly emerged from the shadows, and her beaming smile was projected onto the screens. She walked off the stage with a newfound swagger to the awaiting arms of her parents, and their embrace was caught on camera.
Everything the girl had learned and done in her life up until this point had been dissected and examined by the ritual. It had been decided that she could now rejoin society and live out her desires. Within the law, of course.
The Weaver didn’t afford the crowd more than a few seconds to celebrate the first girl’s victory before commanding with unquestionable authority, “Next.”
The boy who was in line behind the first girl stood up and assumed the position that had just been vacated. The Weaver repeated his standard lines and turned on the beacon to start Spinning the light.
Parents for generations have told their children bedtime stories about other children who misbehave and of the awful fate they discovered in consequence. But the truth was what becomes of those marked as Unpure is unknown.
Without warning, the whole stadium snapped into black then rapidly illuminated with a warm haunting glow. Four burly Sentinels stormed the stage and grabbed the now trembling boy. Aviva could see his look of horror and astonishment on the jumbotrons.
“Let me go!” His screams echoed through the fishbowl. He tried to shake off the guards, but their firm grip dragged him toward the stairs. “I haven’t done anything, please, I’m innocent!” He looked like he was fighting off a barrage of tears.
Aviva shivered; it felt like the stadium had dropped 10 degrees in a matter of seconds. A cameraman panned to the boy’s parents who had been waiting in the wings for him. They were clutching onto each other, the father trying to keep the mother upright. Her face was pale, and she looked like she was going to pass out. But they had to stay composed, their son had been publicly shunned and any support they showed could lead them to the same fate. Aviva’s gut was wrenched, and her mouth felt parched. She wished she could take a sip of water to wash out the gross taste but feared she wouldn’t be able to hold down anything she ingested.
The Sentinels escorted the boy off the stage and into the darkness’s awaiting arms. His parents stumbled up the stairs in the stands. Probably to retreat home. A boy in her grade also shot out of his seat and climbed the stairs two at a time.
Aviva didn’t have time to determine his identity as a commotion broke out in the upper levels, far away but directly facing the stage. The hubbub was immediately reflected on the jumbotrons. The Cabinet-hired cameraman must have been being paid for how entertaining he could make the night. Aviva couldn’t hear what the man pictured was shouting, but his lips were moving with a harsh intensity. He held up a white sign with black letters in all capitals applied by a smudgy marker. It read: “Free the stolen.”
The people around him were trying to back away, they didn’t want to be associated with the man. In doing so they formed a clump; a wall through which escape would be difficult. The empty seats around the man formed a circle. A perfect target.
The jumbotrons snapped to black. If the relative temperature in the arena had dropped before, this time it fell below zero. The crowd roared into a frenzy.
Then a beam of white light sliced through the arena.
When the stadium was illuminated once again, a hush fell over the crowd.
The result of the beam was a body. This the Cabinet did choose to air. A body with a clean slice through the torso. A clean slice that had split the body into two distinct pieces, an upper and a lower half. The Cabinet displayed them on the jumbotrons like they were showing off a trophy from a sports tournament.
Aviva gagged and clutched below her neck. Her neighbor dry-heaved off the edge of the bleachers. This caused Aviva to gag even more, and her lunch threatened to spit up.
But the Exploration stopped for nothing and no one, and there were still around one thousand hopeful graduates left to examine. A cleanup crew swept in and disposed of the mess in a practiced fashion.
“Citizens of Monochra. Do not forget about our purpose today. I was chosen as a servant to serve you, to form a great and prosperous society,” the Weaver’s voice echoed hauntingly. But Aviva failed to concentrate for the rest of the ceremony. She only registered the results.
And he practiced what he preached. The Weaver slowly and methodically worked through the rest of the students until all had been judged. Only 73 more students were exposed by the light, each just as dramatic as the last. But this was a record high, the number steadily climbed every year.
If the Cabinet wanted to prove a point today, they certainly accomplished the task. The live footage of the one-man protest and elimination would presumably be edited out during the few second delay that happened before it aired on television. But everyone who was there in person that day would live to tell the tale, to spread the warning of what happens if you betrayed the government. Or spread the message that the rebellion was alive once again in Monochra.
AUTHOR BIO
Talia Lehrer is an undergraduate student at Johns Hopkins University studying neuroscience and creative writing. Once completed she will pursue a medical education. Growing up outside of Philadelphia, she developed a love for sports and is now a sports editor for the JHU News-Letter. When not writing, she loves to read, rock climb, and hang out with her dog. You can find a short story she has previously published in the Schuylkill Valley Journal or find her on Instagram @talialehrer.
