Sincerely, Anonymous

February 1

Dear Annabeth,

Emma invited me to come with her to one of her parties yesterday. She’s never invited any of us to come. I think she is scared we will judge her. And she is right to, as accepting as we think we are, we rarely are as accepting as we must be. It is how we were raised. We were taught to fear and follow and conform and we do such, no matter how hard we try to do otherwise. 

She used to have some of the older kids bring her to her parties, since none of us would. I think she is getting a little lonely with it now that all her older friends have graduated. They don’t like music and parties anymore, they just want to stick with their Careers. I know she only invited me since she had nobody else to go with but I don’t really care. As much as I do not like parties, and as much of a moral stickler as I am, I do want to be there for her. I want to make sure that someone can keep track of her, make sure she isn’t doing anything too stupid. I can’t risk her spilling anything, and even worse I don’t want her getting hurt.

I think she invited me over the others because of the day with the music. She knows I want to soak in as much as she does. So I told her yes. I wanted to understand her more. I wanted to see why she spent more time in these crazy places then working towards her Career like most people our age do. And I kind of wanted to make sure someone was there to watch her.

I’m writing this now after just getting back and I want to get it down while everything is still fresh. First off, the place was huge. It was a gutted out old concert hall, which is apparently a place where music was once played, ironically enough. Someone had set up a nearly infinite amounts of colored lights. They were strung up in rows, or hanging from the ceiling, or placed on any available surface. Some of them flashed or pulsed to the music or twisted around, but others just stayed stationary. The people had lights on them too. Lights were stung around their necks or braided in their hair or taped to their clothes. There were these little things called glow sticks, which someone had told me was a pre-war invention, and most of the people there had tried to recreate them to give off a faint, bright colored glow. The place in and of itself had no real lighting or electricity, which I guess is why there were so many little lights around. I found out that most of them were battery operated, or just flashlights that had been covered with semitransparent dyed paper, or those homemade glow sticks.

Everyone also wore bright colors, though most people were barely dressed. All those bright neons reflected the lights, making everyone seem as though they were glowing. There were a few people that seemed to have more vintage clothing that must have been passed down, but the majority of the bright clothing was chopped up and painted versions of the regulation outfits we all wore. It was much like what I did with my usually grey clothing, accept snipped to be more revealing and not covered with painting but instead just messily splattered with neon. Emma dressed me in some of her own party clothing. I was modestly dressed for this place, in a hot pink crop top with a very bright pair of shorts. I felt ridiculous and exposed. 

I tried to ask a lot of questions about the place, I wanted to learn more, but people seemed to think that I was just joking around and laughed it off. Many of them seemed far too out of it for me to want answers from them either. The only answers I could really manage to get was that it used to be a concert hall, that the lights were all there because there was no electricity, and that the entire event was based off some kind of drugged up pre-war party scene.

The entire thing seemed a little stupid to me to be completely honesty, but I will say that the music was the part I remembered most. It pulsed through every inch of the place. Sometimes it was soft and sweet and sometimes it was violent and bass heavy. The music had no genre, it was really whatever these people could get ahold of. It was beautiful.

Someone handed me a drink. I sniffed it and it smelled incredibly strong, like rubbing alcohol. I was absolutely parched, and this seemed to be the only drink in sight. I took a sip, in which burned like fire. I choked on the stuff, promising myself from then on to only take small sips. I finished off the one drink and refused another, staring to feel incredibly sick.

The room was smoky and the people hung off of each other, their bodies way too close and way too sweaty. The air smelled sickly sweet and my head pounded painfully, feeling like any minute it might explode. Emma spent the night moving from guy to guy, dancing and swaying and laughing. I felt as foggy as the room. Most of the night I spent sick in the bathroom, my head against the grimy tile, letting the beat of the music lash over my body in waves.

I could see why Emma liked it here, if you wanted to soak in all the music of the world this was the place to go.

We walked home after, not wanting to take the subway so late at night. That’s when the Laborers start coming home, and their blank broken stares from years in fields or factories have always scared me. I was also vomiting pretty steadily at that point and needed the fresh air. Emma held me up, promising that I would feel better soon and holding my hair back any time I started to dry heave. 

On our way back to Emma’s house, we talked of the party. She had loved it, and apologized countless times for leaving me sick in the bathroom. I didn’t care, the music and cold tile had felt good. I would never go back to one of these events, I much preferred the safety of my own home to listen to my music, but I told her that I now understood why she loved these kinds of things. 

We went back to her house after, where I laid down in her shower with her party clothes still on, vomiting down her drain. Emma sat on the toilet, explaining to me that people will drug your drinks at these kinds of things and thats likely why I was so sick. She said she should have warned me, that she felt bad. They don’t really tell you about drugs and alcohol in school, past saying that they are both illegal, and I had been completely unaware of the intensely high alcohol content of the single drink I had consumed. Thankfully my body was ridding itself of the toxins.

She changed my clothes and cleaned me off and put me in bed. She gave me some medicine and brushed her hands through my hair and played music quietly. I remember in those moments before I fell asleep thinking how I would hate to forget this moment, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to hold on to it once I had my memory taken from me.

I want to remember Emma from that moment, taking care of me after that party. I want to remember how she so desperately wanted to soak in all the music of the world. Now I understand why she invited me. She wanted me to understand why she doesn’t say everything she does anymore. How do you explain that all your time is spent in sweaty rooms with groping hands and lights everywhere just because you want to soak up some music? I think Emma knew that I would understand, and I was glad that she shared that moment with me.

When I woke up the next morning Emma was gone. Her tablet was missing, along with some clothes and the photo album that she always keeps on her dresser. Next to my pillow was the ring the Black Tens had given me for her and a note reading:

I wish there was a way to explain what is going on in my head. I want so desperately to help you take the Panel down, but I just can’t. I can’t have my memory wiped. I can’t forget the music. There is so much in the world to fight for and I just don’t think I am the one to help you. You need to beat them. You need to take them down and set us all free. I just can’t help you do that. I knew this from the beginning. I knew that my only escape would be running away. Make them all pay. I love you all, I need you to know that.

-Emma

I walked home in silence, retracing every word in the note over and over with my finger until I had it memorized. I couldn’t believe it. Now I have gotten home, and I’m writing this now to tell you before I forget a single thing.

Now there are only four of us. I need to find someone else to wear this ring, to hold all that information that is so crucial to the plan. But how can I find someone I can trust like Emma? Emma, who loved music and freedom so much she ran away just to keep the memories that just a few months earlier she had asked to be kept from her forever. I don’t want to blame her for what she did, but how can I not? She was one of the people I trusted with my life and she just took off. But I hate myself for resenting her for it because I wish I could do the same thing. I wish I could just run away and keep my memories. I wish I could run away and forever listen to music.

Love Always,

Lilly