Harvest - Chapters 1 and 2

Jack Griepentrog

High School Student

November/December 2025

Chapter 1

Harvest, or get harvested.- Unknown.

It’s been a week and Stefan isn’t back. His short journey outside the wall has left me wondering where he really went. Mother says he went to Grandma’s, but that's not true. How would that justify him breaking our number one rule: ‘Never leave the shed.’ Father has told me this a billion times. I'm tired of hearing it. Maybe they told him that it was safe now, or something like that… but why would he ever want to leave The Shed?

I have affectionately named our home The Shed due to Fathers recent decision to cover all the windows with wood. He says it's to make our house stronger, but that's not true either. I watched him yesterday, his worn hammer hitting the equally worn nails, and I felt sad.

I liked looking outside.

And now I can’t.

For now, I’ll have to imagine.

Inside the shed has always been the same. We have two rooms, a bedroom, and just a room- filled with junk and trash father collects. There is a little cupboard in the main room, next to the water spigot and low table we eat at. Most of our food is in the cupboard, and most of our food is beans. I like beans.

Wood, metal… and more wood. Our house groans with the wind and moves with the elements. On the outside, I bet The Shed is starting to look more like the Ivanovis’ house- our former neighbors, a haphazard pile of wood that barely stands. After the windows were boarded, we lost all sunlight letting the shadows lengthen tenfold. The only light keeping us company now, is the small bulb in the big room.

The Ivanovi next door recently disappeared, though Mother also claims that they wanted to move to somewhere sunnier. But I still don't believe her. They have a machine of sorts, and it's constantly running with a low growling sound. I never actually saw the Ivanovi family, but I knew they were there, at least- until the machine stopped rumbling.

Mother and Father have been acting strange ever since Stefan crossed the boundary, and I can tell something is bugging them. Nowadays, when I ask questions like this they just change the subject, and I’m starting to doubt their previous answers in the first place. The floor creaks where I am laying, scattering my train of thought. As I rise, I scratch the implant behind my left earlobe passively, and start my search for Mom.

I don’t know where my parents go when I’m alone. They used to leave out the door, locking it behind them. During Father’s renovation he sealed the door with some scrap wood and nails, barricading it shut from something. They still leave The Shed, but now out of the window that Father covered with boards and a tarp. It seems silly to me to not use the door, but I don’t want to argue.

I do a short search of The Shed, my eyes searching the shadows for my parents. Today, it happens to be one of those days when they are gone again. When this happens, I’ll just sit and color with my brother Stefan using the crayons that Mom and Dad will summon from god knows where. Only, Stefan isn't here. In fact, none of my family is here.

My fingers tingle and I feel unnerved, being in an unusual situation. Dizziness and anxiety begins, my mind thinking of all the horrible unnamed things that can happen.

I panic.

Scrambling to my feet, I run into our bedroom, and dive under my parent’s bed. My heart pounds. I can't breathe. Stop, I tell myself. Focusing on a knot of wood in the floor as I calm my breathing, I stop- whatever just happened. I collect myself, tracing the familiar lines on the floor for several minutes. Eventually, I emerge from the depths and assess the situation.

My moms voice echoes in my head: What do you do when we are gone for some time?

We go into the cupboard.

This response has also been drilled into my head all my life. So when I make for the cupboard, it just feels like another normal day. I attempt to amuse myself by counting the amount of beans in the see-through sacks next to me. We’ve had a lot of beans lately, and I don't think we're going to have anything different for a while. Counting amuses me for a while, especially since Father recently taught me, but I eventually drift to sleep and dream about Stefan.

I see him sitting in a field of flowers weeping over an empty vial. In my dream, I sprint towards him shouting his name. Stefan looks up and sees me, the light in his implant turned off. I quicken my pace, and notice that his hands are stained red, and it's creeping up his arms. “Stefan!” I scream, as the red liquid engulfs his whole body. The substance seems to shimmer before me, and smells familiar. Despite my best efforts, I can’t reach him. He’s turning into the liquid, and I can't stop it.

I jolt awake, knocking over a bag of beans in the process. The cupboard makes me feel confined and trapped after the dream and it bothers me. But a lot of things bother me, and I tell myself that I’m fine, like always. But today, it feels harder to pretend.

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Some time later, I hear the heavy footsteps of my parents entering the shed, and I hope Stefan is with them.

“Red Leaf” My father shouts.

I knew the code before it left his mouth. Come out now, it's safe, he said in our secret language. I don't know why he put that much effort into creating this language just for ‘fun,’ but he always tells me to not ask questions about it. I sprint out of the cupboard and tackle his knees with a hug. His face widens in a smile, and I enjoy seeing him happy. I don’t know much about adults, but I think my parents should be happier.

“Where's Stefan? I’m hungry. I missed you!” I pelt these words at him with such excitement I can almost see him flinch.

“I missed you too Kass” He says after recovering from the verbal onslaught. I notice that he is especially fatigued when he makes an effort to straighten his posture. Mother stands beside him looking tired as well, her eyes glassy and staring into the distance.

Father walks over to the chair and sinks into it. He closes his eyes and goes limp, his implant rapidly beeping like an alarm. The flashing snaps Mother back into reality, and she rushes over to father with a small vial in hand. Inside the capsule a small amount of red liquid fills the bottom, and it's nowhere near full. She holds the object like it is worth millions, and based on how battered they look, it might actually be. Clutching his limp head in her hand, she removes an identical vial from his implant. However, this one does not contain any red liquid compared to the one she replaces in the hollow tube at the base of his skull. The light stops beeping, signifying something, but I have no idea. Wiping the sweat from her brow, Mother frantically presses a button adjacent to the implant, but nothing happens. I’m so confused that I just have to break the silence.

“Is Father-” I start.

“Shhhhh” she harshly snaps at me.

Mother has never acted like this before. Something must be wrong. Very wrong. Jamming her finger into the implant again, she removes the tube and puts it back in, as if it didn't fit. She hastily moves over to the panel next to the canal, her fingers pressing several different buttons in sequence. Mother steps away from my fathers limp body and closes her eyes, muttering a quick prayer.

They haven't taught me how my implant works -and what it does yet- but they say they will tell me when I’m older. Apparently, because I’m eight, I’m still too immature to know most things. Due to them having never given me a straight answer, I am left to infer. As far as I know, everybody has an identical tube at the base of their skull with a control panel of sorts. This tube can be filled with a vial of red liquid, as I just saw Mother do to Father. I have a vial, but mine is full and fathers isn't. I was wondering why Father was acting sluggish, maybe he ran out of the red liquid. I guess that's why he is slumped in the chair. The red liquid seems to be energy, keeping Father awake. We have another implant behind all of our left ears, and it's pretty small. It houses the light that beeps sometimes, and I think that's all it does.

I’m deep into these thoughts when Father starts shaking. Violently. His light turns green like ours, and his eyes flutter open. But he does not stop shaking.

“Mother!” I scream, scanning the room for her. She disappeared when I wasn't looking, again. “Mother!” I repeat. His body is still vibrating in the chair, and his light goes from green to blinking green, weird. I’m still screaming for help as I rush over to him. I glance at the panel and frantically flip switches and hit buttons. For being roughly a two inch square, there are so many things to press on it. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I hope I'm on the right track.

Something happens, and he jumps up. I scream startled by his almost mechanical reaction, and cower behind the chair he was in less than a second ago. His light stops blinking and is just a flat steady green, I hope he's back to normal. That was scary.

“Kass…” he whispers now having regained consciousness. “Kass, come out now, it's okay.” He kneels, and I can see the pain in doing that simple gesture.

I’m still cowering behind the chair, in shock from the recent moment. I don’t trust him, I don’t trust how he has lied about Stefan, lied about what's outside The Shed, lied about where he goes every time he disappears. I don’t believe his answers, and I frankly don't think we’re safe. The one thing he has guaranteed all my life, I don’t believe in anymore… and that hurts.

“Kass…” He starts again, only to realize that it's not going to get through to me. He stands up, giving me one look at my small figure hiding behind the chair. “Red Leaf” he mutters at me and walks away.

Chapter 2 Kass

Emotion is the downfall of Humankind. -Dr. Richter, ADG executive.

Mother is hunched and shaking. Tears spill out of her eyes, the dim light flickering over top of her, as the sobs echo through The Shed. I had entered the room by accident, and crouched, instantly spellbound by Mother’s breakdown. The light goes out. The only thing left to see is the green glow of our implants.

The sudden darkness chills me, but Mother remains unfazed. She didn't even flinch- like a statue, carved of stone. I am the viewer of this masterpiece, riveted to the unique piece of art- analyzing the cracks. She continues weeping as I slip back away into the shadows.

I wish I could have a normal place. That’s all I want, a normal place with normal people. It also seems like the one thing I’m not allowed to have right now. I venture to the cupboard and attempt to wait out the chaos, before falling into an uneasy sleep.

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The bag of beans I’m leaning on shifts, waking me. The sack tumbles to the ground carrying me with it, and I land in a jumbled pile of skinny limbs. The bean-bag opens and scatters, carrying my thoughts with them. I rest here for a moment, and count the beans. 1, 2, 3… I get all the way to 27 before realizing how long I have laid here. I want to get up, but my body doesn’t. What if I just don't get up.

I can rest here forever, counting the beans.

Just me and beans.

No parents, no barrier, no missing Stephan.

Just me and beans.

Just me and memory.

I don’t know how long I have laid here with the beans. Probably over an hour now-my body aches from lying in this twisted, cramped position. This felt comfortable before, but now it doesn't. I start thinking about becoming trapped here, and I can’t stop. I imagine invisible pressure inside of me, building, building and building. To escape this feeling, I force my stiff limbs to stand, carrying more than just my body weight.

Opening the cupboard door, I notice that the light is back on. The single light casts shadows over the low table in the middle of the room. My stomach burns- like it's on fire. I don’t think I have eaten in at least a day, and am not super eager to have beans again. I push this feeling aside, and wander over the water spigot in the corner of the room. Cupping my hands, I turn on the rusty faucet and let the water run over them, before raising them to my mouth. The water does little to subdue the feeling of being engulfed in flames, but I feel refreshed nonetheless. Scrubbing my face, I decide to find Father.

Father does not have a room designated for him in The Shed, and it’s so small, that I doubt we would be able to make a quiet space for him. Usually, he will be writing on a desk in the corner of our shared bedroom. He is always writing something, but I don't know how to read. Sometimes I watch him, a small pencil in his hand tracing shapes on a piece of paper. His hand will move fast, then his hand will move slow. Often, when he doesn't know I'm watching, Father grabs the paper and rips it before weeping on his desk. Why does he cry? That’s another question that plagues me, just as Mother cries.

I walk over to our bedroom and find the desk empty, but a silent figure in the bed. I can’t accurately judge the time now since Father covered the windows, but it must be late into the night if he’s this tired. I stare at him from the mouth of the door. He looks heavy and cold. Just dead weight. His bulb in the implant radiates a soft green, bathing his haggard features, and the face I know so well. I creep over to him, and sit on the opposite side of the bed. The frame groans as I put a small amount of weight on it. Maybe it’s under too much pressure and can’t support both of us. But beds are strong, and I am too.

I watch him for a while, listening to his slow breathing and forget about my worries. I enjoy this carefree moment, and I wish I could experience it all the time. But I can’t bring myself to believe their lies. But right now, I pretend, something that I am very good at. I pretend that Stefan is lying next to me. I pretend that we can go outside. I pretend that there are no cupboards, and reasons for me to hide. I rest my head on my Fathers chest, and see the faint glow of our single light bulb- illuminating the shadow of Mother passed out on the floor.

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Cold air washes over me, threading my bones with ice. Father is long gone, leaving me to lay in the imprint he left. I pull the scratchy blanket over me and shiver, somehow feeling even colder. I can’t fill the space I’m in, that’s Fathers job. I don’t think he knows that.

I’m tired of laying here, and I rise from the bed, brushing myself clean. Entering the kitchen, I pause realizing the physical condition I am in for the first time in days. My stomach churns, my head swims, and my body aches. I need food. Now.

Since I can’t prepare beans by myself yet, I need my parents to do it for me. It’s futile to search for Father so I track down Mother instead. It’s not long before I view her limp figure, flat on the floor.

“Mother,” I whisper. “Mother, wake up.” Her breathing is shallow, strained, tired. “Mother” I repeat. As I reach out to shake her awake, the light goes out. She does not stir, but her implant winks back at me, cutting through the darkness. It's blinking, like how Father’s was. Like how Father’s was! As in response to my thoughts, she starts trembling. Her body rolls over, and the spasms start. I watch in silent horror. My breathing catches, and my head starts to swim.

“Kasiana!”

The voice doesn't register in my head. A form roughly the size of Father rushes over to the unmoving body in front of me, fumbling with something. Tears blind my eyes, and through the haze, it looks like another vial. He removes the vial- the blurred shape nimbly replacing it. A sound like smashing pottery sounds, as the tube slips and shatters on the floor. The glass litters the floor as Father stands up, blank gaze staring into the distance- moisture brimming in his eyes. I begin to cry, and so does he.