“Twenty years ago the government came up with a brilliant plan to help rehabilitate prisoners back into society while also eliminating the existence of a lower class. Today that plan successfully operates under the title ‘Behavior Rehabilitation and Lower Class Reassignment Program’ or BRLCRP for short. Prisoners who have been incarcerated for ten years or longer have an opportunity to practice living in society again amongst everyday citizens. The citizens in question are people like yourselves. You may be in need of housing or feel the desire to escape from your mundane job and help work towards the greater good of a more perfect society. You may also be one of our lucky foster children who will finally be placed in a loving home, with a citizen of course! Whether you are a prisoner or a citizen, the BRLCRP is so grateful to have all of you joining us today.”
The tape stops rolling and the lights come on in the conference room turned theater. I look down at the form attached to the clipboard in my lap. I am currently in the process of joining the program as a citizen. I have no family or friends to call and I am in a shit ton of debt from a useless degree so that is how at the promising age of twenty-four I get to risk my life everyday until I can buy my way out. The video makes it seem like not everyone who joins is doing it because they are going to be homeless but that’s a lie. They only suggest that you are doing it for the greater good to briefly distract you from what you are about to do. You see, no one who has even a little bit of something going for them is joining the program. You’d have to be off your rocker crazy to do so. What the government has failed to tell everyone that is not involved is that the prisoners they are rehabilitating are serial rapists, arsons and murderers and the people they let live among them have literally no one who cares about them so when a prisoner fails the program and someone dies, nobody will care enough to investigate and ask questions. How do I know all of this? It’s on the form that is burning a hole through my lap.
The form, at first glance, seems simple enough. You tell them your age, your reason for applying etc. But then you get to the bottom and things get scary.
NAME: Addison Jane Miller
AGE: twenty-four
REASON FOR APPLYING: Student loan debt is unpayable.
FAMILY UNIT OR SINGLE HOUSING:
- FAMILY UNIT
- SINGLE HOUSING
ANY FAMILY OR FRIENDS TO CONTACT:
JOBS INTERESTED IN:
- HOSPITALITY
- SANITATION
- RETAIL
- TUTOR
PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING STATEMENTS CAREFULLY, ONCE YOU HAVE READ THE STATEMENTS PLEASE CHECK THAT YOU AGREE AND SIGN YOUR FORM. UPON COMPLETION PLEASE EXPECT TO HEAR FROM A REPRESENTATIVE ABOUT YOUR ASSIGNMENT WITHIN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.
- I understand that upon entering this contract for housing that I will be subject to living with felons who have committed any of the following crimes: Murder, Felonious Assault, Arson, Sexual Assault, etc.
- I fully admit that I have no other family or friends available to aid me.
- I understand that I can not leave until I am able to pay my debts.
SIGNATURE: Addison Jane Miller
PRINT: Addison Jane Miller
I debated whether or not to sign up to be a part of a family unit but while I was filling out the form I remembered a science lesson from elementary school. We talked about how silver fish would swim in schools and then use their numbers to swirl around and confuse predators. I figured maybe the same technique could work here. It’s a lot easier for a single fish to get attacked than it is for a school. After turning in the form, you’re not allowed to leave the office, instead they take you up to a dorm room where you will stay until they transfer you to the BRLCRP compound that is closest to your home. It’s sickenly ironic that my first time staying in a dorm at age eighteen is what would end up putting me in one again at twenty-four, only this time instead of being hopeful about my future, I’m waiting for my death. After a few minutes a man wearing what looks like an orderly’s uniform from the fifties comes into the room and offers me tea and crackers. I’m afraid that if I even eat a single cracker I’ll be sick so I just take the tea. It is hot and kind of just tastes like dirty water but at least it’s something.
“Addison,” a woman with short red hair and glasses is standing in my doorway, she is wearing a gray sportcoat with a skirt that isn’t doing much for her figure, “They are ready for you at the compound if you’d like to grab your bag and follow me.” I pick up my singular bag and follow this mystery woman through several hallways and down a set of stairs to an exit in the back that I didn’t even know existed. “You’ll be going to a newer compound, it’s about six hours away so I hope you don’t get car sick. Here is my card,” she hands me a small business card with her picture on it, Heidi Flint, “Don’t contact me, I am only giving this to you because I have to. If you do call me and I don’t pick up, please don’t be shocked, there is really nothing I can do for you once you get on that bus.” I stand there for a minute, I feel as though I can’t move. I’m sure Heidi thinks I am staring her down but really I am staring through her. Suddenly I’m beginning to question if losing everything and becoming homeless maybe isn’t the worst option for me. “Well, come on now, on the bus ya go.” She turns me by the shoulders and guides me to the open school bus doors, before I get on, she slaps a sticker on my bag that reads, Southern Ohio Compound. I’m going ‘home-home’, not to the compound closest to my current home but to my actual home. I hadn’t been home since my grandparents passed away. Somehow I feel my legs move me up the stairs and to a seat. I put my head against the window and doze off.
I wake up and am alone on a bus that’s speeding past corn fields. I manage to walk to the front of the bus and ask the driver, “Have I been your only passenger this whole time?” He responds, “Oh good, you’re awake! We are only an hour away from your stop, funnily enough you were the first and last stop for this bus.” “You mean other people were on the bus and we stopped at different compounds and I slept through the whole thing?” “What else could I have meant?” I stumble back to my seat and begin to wonder how I had slept through so much stop and go? Then I remembered that they gave me tea while I was waiting for my assignment, something must have been in the tea to make me fall asleep. My mind is now racing with thoughts about what lies ahead. Are the compounds that scary looking that they want you to sleep on the ride so that you don’t see what they look like before you get to yours? If they poisoned me in the office, who knows what else they are capable of.
The next hour seems to drag by, eventually the corn fields are replaced with foothills and the sun begins to set behind them. I see the exit sign for the compound. Compounds are right off of the highway, I suppose it’s another way of keeping people from running. Because even if you do make it past the security, there’s no way you’re making it across six lanes of fast traffic. We pass through the entry gate and drive down a gravel road surrounded by tall trees until we reach a clearing. I try to take in as many details as possible about my surroundings through the tiny bus window. If I do decide to run, I think the foothills are my best option. I remember learning that in this part of the country, the biggest obstacle I would face in the “mountains” are bob cats and property owners, or at least that’s what the school wanted you to think. “Welp, rise and shine sleepy, we’re here!” My train of thought is interrupted as the bus lurches to a stop and the doors open. I grab my singular bag that is responsible for carrying my only belongings. A photo of my grandparents, may God keep them, a few sets of underwear, a pair of jeans, a hoodie, some basic toiletries, a copy of Pride and Prejudice and a journal to keep me sane. My understanding was that once you are in they provide you with clothes to wear in public so that you can easily be identified for whatever role you are playing in this sick experiment.
The sun is starting to set behind the hills around me, I think nighttime will be the hardest. I’m not personally scared of the prisoners but my grandparents grew up in these hills and if they taught me anything it’s that you don’t go outside at night. I will be challenged by the seen and unseen while I’m here.
As soon as I step off the bus I am hit with the evening air, the kind that is warm enough to still feel like summer but the breeze has enough of a chill to remind you that fall is on her way. A packet is violently shoved in my arms by a man who is at least sixty. “Welcome to your new home,” he is definitely a smoker, his raspy voice is like gym shoes scraping the cold concrete, “You’re the first one in your family unit here so you will be alone for a little bit, my recommendation is to use every single lock available on your house at all times.” We continue to walk down the streets of what used to be a bustling town, he points out the grocery, the school, the hospital and other things that I might find useful. “In this packet is the calendar of community events, you are required to attend at least two community events a month. If you attend more than two there are rewards in it for ya, like extra food, different colored clothes, etcetera. Now do you have any questions?” I have so many questions for him but I feel like he is only asking because he is required to so I limit myself to two.
“I thought compounds were new facilities, we are walking through at least a two hundred year old town right now, explain that please?”
“Well when the program was first thought of, we realized that areas like this were essentially abandoned due to the lack of jobs and closure of the mines so we thought, why not revitalize small town America while also giving folks a second chance at life.”
“But not all compounds are in abandoned mining towns.”
“Not all towns had mines, sweetheart.”
The way he called me “sweetheart” rubbed me wrong and I decided that I was fine with only one question.
“Alright well this is your home, only part of it has been renovated but there should be enough rooms for you and your family once they move in. Your clothes are in that sac on the porch and I would suggest that you read the manual before you go to bed for the day. Also your job assignment is in there, page twenty-three.” And with that he was gone, no name given, no description of who he was, just a musty, smoke smelling man with a raspy voice and shitty attitude. I look up at the brick home, it has a mansard roof and reminds me of a funeral home. The shutters are barely hanging on and the wood on the front porch creaks with each step I take, clearly the porch wasn’t a priority of the renovation. As I open the front door it becomes apparent to me that the interior of the home wasn’t exactly a priority either. The entry way sports a large grandfather clock that blocks a door, directly across from the clock is a set of French doors that lead to the parlor. Someone has attempted to paint the glass paneling on the doors but it just appears as unintentionally abstract. The floral wall paper in the parlor was peeling and the legs had been broken off the Victorian era furniture set. The fireplace was covered by a grate but looks like it could be easily used and operated which is good because winter could definitely be unforgiving in a place like this. I head upstairs and find multiple bedrooms and a singular bathroom. There are three bedrooms on the second floor, they all look like they have been “renovated,” there is a bed in each one with a chest at the foot of it. They each have a singular mirror on the wall and a small dresser. The bathroom is painted in a putrid yellow color but the lights work and the shower has a curtain so I guess I shouldn’t complain too much. There are another three bedrooms on the third floor, none of them have been renovated. The wallpaper is mildewed, the wood in the ceiling fan is curled down, and there are covers over every piece of furniture. It’s safe to say that I don’t plan on spending any time at all up here. I guess the benefit of being the first one in the house is that I get to pick my bedroom first.
I chose the bedroom along the back wall of the house. I can see the backyard and the homes on the opposite side of the block through my window. The backyard is small and ironically has the white picket fence I’d always dreamed I’d end up having for myself one day. If the sun wasn’t actively setting I would go out and explore but I don’t know if it’s safe. Instead, I head back downstairs to the kitchen, it looks like everything is in working order. The stove is older and the fridge looks like it hasn’t been replaced in several years but they did supply me with a few days worth of food. I guess I can’t get anything for myself until I start working. I had completely forgotten to check and see what my job was until this point.
RETAIL: BUYERSVILLE SUPERMARKET: CASHIER
“Congratulations! You have been selected to be a CASHIER at BUYERSVILLE SUPERMARKET. Your first shift will begin at 7:00 A.M. tomorrow, 9/1.”
‘Buyersville Supermarket’ in what used to be Byersville, Ohio, at least someone somewhere at the top has a small sense of humor. I have a college degree and the best they can do for me is make me a cashier. At twenty-four years old my new full-time jobs are “cashier” and “prison bait.” Seven A.M. comes early so I try to get some sleep but I spend most of the night tossing and turning. The grandfather clock in the entry way chimes at every hour and before I know it, it is six in the morning. Great. I dig through the sac of clothes to find a bag containing a gray polo that says “Buyersville Supermarket” in the left corner and a pair of navy blue pants. The shirt is an extra large and I have a striking feeling that I am not the first person to wear it. I could begin to ponder about who had it before me but something tells me I wouldn’t like the sick and twisted picture my brain would paint. The pants fit but with all of the extra shirt material tucked in I look kind of strange. I remind myself that I am not here to look cute and head downstairs to find the kitchen. I neglected searching for it last night because I was exhausted and the parlor had already been disappointing enough. Once I get to the bottom of the stairs I can either go to my right and go through the parlor or I can head down the back hall. There is no point in trying to go left since the grandfather clock is blocking that door.
I choose the familiar route of the parlor. There is another set of double doors at the back of the parlor. I spent many years reading Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters and if those books taught me anything it is that through those double doors I should find a dining room followed by a kitchen but there is only one way to find out. The parlor looks a lot worse in the morning light, making it an even bigger disappointment than I originally thought. I have no clue what’s awaiting me on the other side of these double doors but it can’t be worse than the third floor. On the other side of the doors I find a wooden table with four chairs, the wall to my left has a window with no blinds attached, I’ll definitely have to find a resolution for that, the wall to my right has a door to the main hall and at the back of the room there is another door. Bingo! To my surprise the kitchen is fully stocked with canned goods, fruits and simple items like bread and peanut butter. I make myself some toast and head off to work.
The sun is just starting to rise, leaving me to wonder what could be lurking in the alleyways I walk past. I mean, even criminals wouldn’t dare to be out and about this early if they didn’t have to. The morning air is brisker than I expected it to be. It’s a good thing the shop is so close. I see the neon sign shining above the store just a block ahead. The pink sky from the sunrise meshed with the historic main street and hills rolling in the distance was picturesque. It takes me back to a time when I would’ve happily gotten up this early just to capture such a beautiful moment like this. I forget where I am for a moment and am transported back in time to when I was fourteen and didn’t have a care in the world. I breathe in the scent of freshly fallen leaves and morning dew, a dove is cooing somewhere in the distance. Maybe I can survive this, being in the city for the past six years has made me lose touch with how peaceful life can truly be in the small, passing moments.
The moment is fleeting, I hear footsteps coming up behind me fast. No, not walking, but running. I turn and see a man coming towards me at full speed, his clothes are drenched in blood and his hair is disheveled. I’m almost certain it’s the blood of another person, no one who has lost that much blood would be able to be upright and running. I have never been in fight or flight mode before, my head is telling me to be in flight but my feet are planted like they are ready for a fight, my arms and torso are no longer communicating to the rest of my body. I feel him push my stomach with enough force that my feet have to move, I stumble back into a tree and fall to the ground. I turn my head to see the man still running. I wonder if I’ll ever know if he was a victim escaping or a criminal fleeting. If he was a criminal, why not just get rid of me too? I am surely the only other person on the street this early and the only one who would be able to identify him in a line up. There was too much blood on him for any victim to be left behind. On the other hand, what if he was a civilian who just narrowly escaped with his life? Why not ask for help?
I sit under the tree for another minute, I watch the man disappear down an alleyway while I try and catch my breath. Ideally what happened this morning would be the worst thing I experienced while in here but I know that is wishful thinking. I pull paper with directions on what to do out of my pocket. “When you arrive at the store, go to the side entrance and knock three times, then wait five seconds and knock a fourth time. The staff will know you are safe to come in if you use this code.” It’s only another two blocks to the store, I hope I make it unscathed.
I halfway jog to the store, a full sprint would have made my already jumpy heart probably quit and I didn’t feel safe enough to walk at a leisurely stroll. I knock on the door three times, count to five and then knock again, a woman with shoulder length, curly salt and pepper hair opens the door. I’d guess that she is in her fifties. “You must be Addison.” Her voice is warm and welcoming, she is the first person I haven’t flinched at since entering myself into this whole mess. “Yes ma’am, Addison Miller.” I don’t know where the “ma’am” or the slight southern twang in my voice came from, I haven’t spoken like that since I left this area at eighteen. I guess there was no use in hiding that part of me anymore, it’s not like I’m trying to fit in at university. The thought of university takes me back.
“Hey I’m Amber, your roommate!” “Oh wow, I’m Addie, Amber and Addie, our names sound like we’re gonna be best friends.” I remember the way Amber’s face turned when I opened my mouth and began speaking. “What kind of accent is that?” “I grew up in the foothills in southern Ohio so I guess it’d be Appalachian.” Amber told me then and there that nobody would take me seriously if I continued to speak like that at university. She told me to flatten my “a” sounds and stop saying words like “gonna.” For some reason I believed her and look where it got me.
“Dear is that blood you’ve got on your uniform?”
“I’m so sorry,” I look down and notice that I too am now wearing the blood of a stranger, “this is not how I would like my first impression to go but you wouldn’t believe it, a man covered in blood pushed me down on my way in this morning. I guess I was so in shock that I didn’t even stop to think about what I should do. Is there someone I need to report this to? Do you have another-” She cuts me off mid sentence. “Of course I believe you, it’s happened to me too, in fact I was the one who caused the bloodshed.” I want to ask questions but she continues to speak, “My name is Sandy, crazy things like that happen here everyday and yes, I have another uniform you can put on.” She motions for me to follow her as she walks, she stops mid step, turns to me and says, “Oh and welcome to your new life.”
-- Hannah Webb resides in Chicago with her husband Frank and cat Vizzy. A graduate from the University of Dayton, Hannah teaches music and enjoys cheering on her favorite sports teams. Other hobbies include writing stories, trying different breweries and of course playing with her cat Vizzy. Her favorite authors are Suzanne Collins and F. Scott Fitzgerald however if you asked her what her favorite book was she would tell you it’s John Green’s Looking for Alaska. Her favorite genre to write for is dystopian literature but she also enjoys a good rom-com.
