My Mother Threw The First Stone At My Execution While My Brother Watched In Silence. I Was Rescued By A Resistance Group That Proved The Death Lottery Is Rigged To Steal Our Land. What Do I Do Now That I’ve Returned To Make The Council Draw Their Own Names?
The Shadow of the Square
My community killed one random person a month to keep the population stable. I was 12 when my best friend’s mother was chosen.
Her name echoed across the square, and everyone stepped away from her like she had a disease. She looked at my friend and started crying.
“I love you,” she said. “I love you so much.”
The guards dragged her to the center of the square, where they made us all pick up stones. They were heavy ones that hurt to hold.
Her family had to throw first because that was the rule. My friend’s stone barely left her hand before dropping to the ground, so the guards made her throw again harder.
It hit her mother’s shoulder and her mother screamed, which was when everyone else started throwing. The sound was the worst part.
Stones hitting meat and breaking things inside while her voice got weaker with each hit until it stopped completely. When it was over, they left her body there until sunset, and we had to walk past it to get home.
My friend held my hand so tight I lost feeling in my fingers. That night I couldn’t stop shaking.
“What if they call our name next?” I asked my mother. “Then we die,” she said. “But what if—”
She slapped me hard across the face.
“Stop it. Everyone will hear you.”
The fear never left after that. Every month when the lottery approached, I’d throw up from anxiety and have nightmares about my name being called, about stones flying at me, and about my parents having to throw first.
The morning of each lottery I’d beg to stay home sick, but attendance was mandatory. Missing meant automatic selection.
When I was 14, they called my neighbor’s name. She tried to run, but the guards caught her at the edge of the square and dragged her back.
“Please, my daughter needs me. She’s only three.” she was screaming.
They tied her hands anyway and made us pick up our stones. Her husband had to throw first and his stone hit her stomach, making her double over gasping.
Their little girl was crying so hard someone had to hold her up. Blood ran down the woman’s face into her mouth.
She spat it out and screamed for her daughter. And it took so long for her to die.
So many stones. I threw mine when the guards watched but aimed for the ground.
My older brother fell in love that year with a girl who was beautiful and smart and kind. They’d hold hands when they thought no one was watching.
The day he was going to propose, her name got called and my brother dropped to his knees. She walked to him and kissed him goodbye in front of everyone.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I love you.”
But it wasn’t okay because he had to throw the first stone as her boyfriend. It hit her leg and she fell, and the sound she made broke something in him.
I saw it happen as he threw stone after stone after stone even after she stopped moving until the guards had to pull him away. He never spoke again after that, just stopped talking completely.
He’d sit at dinner moving his mouth like he was trying to say something, but no sound came out. Mom would cry watching him.
“Please,” she’d beg. “Please say something.”
But he couldn’t or wouldn’t, and the silence was worse than screaming.
The Illusion of Fate
When I turned 16, I started noticing things that didn’t make sense. The council members who ran the lottery never got chosen and neither did their children or grandchildren.
There were five families who’d been here since the beginning, and never once had I seen them throw first. Never once had they stood in the center bleeding.
“Why don’t they ever get picked?” I whispered to my mother one night.
Her face went white.
“Don’t. But you’ve noticed too. Stop talking right now.”
The next lottery I watched the council leader pull a name from the box. His hand went deep inside, feeling around and choosing, not random at all.
He pulled out a paper and read a farmer’s name. The farmer walked forward on shaking legs while his wife screamed and his children sobbed.
The council family stood in their special section, watching like it was entertainment. Three months later, they called my father.
Mom collapsed completely, falling to the ground like her bones had dissolved. Father pulled her up roughly.
“Stand,” he ordered. “Our children are watching.”
He walked to the center with his back straight and looked at us one more time. Mom had to throw first but her stone went wide on purpose, so the guards made her throw again.
It hit his chest and he grunted. Then my brother threw, then me.
The stone burned my hand, heavy and sharp, and I threw it as soft as I could but it still hit him. My own father.
Blood ran from his temple as more stones flew. So many stones until he wasn’t my father anymore, just a shape on the ground.
After that mom stopped eating. She got thinner and thinner until her clothes hung off her like sheets.
“I want to be light,” she said. “So when they choose me the stones will kill me faster.”
She made us practice our throws in the backyard and made us promise to aim for her head.
“Make it quick,” she said.
The morning of the next lottery, I woke up certain it would be me. At the square, I stood between my mother and brother while the council leader reached into the box.
His hand moved around inside, selecting and choosing. He pulled out a paper and my name rang across the square.
My legs gave out completely and the guards had to carry me while I screamed. They tied my hands and turned me to face the crowd where my mother stood in the front row holding a stone.
My brother was beside her, and behind them three hundred people who would kill me rock by rock. The guards grab my arms and twist them behind my back.
Rope burning my wrists as they tie the knots so tight my fingers start going numb. They drag me to the center of the square and turn me around to face everyone.
My legs are shaking so bad they can’t hold me up anymore. Two guards stand on either side gripping my arms to keep me standing and I can see every single face in the crowd.
My mother stands in the front row crying with a stone in her hands that looks way too heavy for her to lift. My brother stands next to her holding his own stone, his face completely empty like nobody’s home behind his eyes.
The crowd behind them stretches back three hundred people deep. All of them holding stones, all of them waiting to throw.
The Breaking Point
My mother raises her stone with both hands, shaking so hard I can see it from here. Tears are running down her face and dripping off her chin.
The guards tighten their grip on my arms and I’m screaming for her not to do it, begging her to stop, but she pulls her arm back.
The stone leaves my mother’s hand and hits my shoulder, and pain explodes through my whole body making me cry out. The guards force me to stay standing even though my knees want to give out.
Their fingers are digging into my arms hard enough to bruise. The crowd bends down to pick up their stones and I watch my brother lift his with movements that look robotic.
His face is still blank like he’s not even really here. I suddenly understand this is how he survived throwing stones at the girl he loved, by going somewhere else in his head and letting his body do the terrible thing without him.
More people raise their stones and I’m crying and shaking, the pain in my shoulder spreading hot and sharp down my whole arm.
My mother picks up another stone with her hands still shaking, her face twisted up ugly from crying, and she throws again.
This one hits my ribs and I hear something crack inside me, a sound like a stick breaking. The pain is so bad I can’t breathe right.
I am gasping for air that won’t come all the way into my lungs. More stones start flying from the crowd and hitting my arms, my legs, my back.
Each one feels like getting hit with a hammer. Bruises are blooming instant and hot under my skin.
I’m screaming for them to stop, begging my mother to help me, looking right at her while stones keep hitting me.
But she just stands there crying and throwing stone after stone, like the guards made her do when my father died three months ago.
My brother throws his stone and it hits my leg. Then he picks up another one with those same mechanical movements.
Blood runs down my arm from where a stone tore the skin open, warm and sticky. Another stone hits my stomach and I double over as much as the guards will let me, throwing up on the ground.
The crowd keeps throwing stone after stone after stone and I can’t tell anymore which hits are from my family and which are from everyone else.
My vision starts going fuzzy around the edges from the pain. Everything is getting darker.
A stone hits the side of my head hard and everything goes blurry. My ears are ringing loud enough to drown out the crowd noise.
Blood runs into my eyes so I can barely see anymore, just shapes moving in front of me. I taste blood in my mouth, copper and salt mixing with the throw-up taste.
My legs finally give out completely, but the guards hold me up by my arms. My whole body is just hanging there while stones keep hitting.
I’m about to pass out. The world is tilting sideways and my brain is going fuzzy when suddenly someone yells something that sounds like now.
Smoke bombs explode across the square. Thick gray smoke is filling the air so fast I can’t see anything at all.
People start coughing and yelling, stumbling around confused. The guards holding me let go and I fall to my knees on the hard ground.
