Annabelle's Legacy: Defying the Silence of Paradise | Teen Ink

Annabelle's Legacy: Defying the Silence of Paradise

September 19, 2023
By Gialuna, Golden, Colorado
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Gialuna, Golden, Colorado
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Favorite Quote:
"You are the flame that cannot be put out.
You are the star that cannot be lost.
You are who you have always been,
and that is enough and more than enough."--Cassandra Claire


Author's note:

I am 15 years old. And writing about illnesses and trying to help people who have them is something that I love to do. I lost my grandfather to cancer, and my goal is to become an oncologist to ensure no kid ever has to lose their grandfather the same way I had to lose mine. 

The author's comments:

In the First-person point of view of Annabelle

My name is Annabelle, and today is September 19th, 2099. I've just turned 17, but lately, something strange has been happening. My entire life, I've known nothing but paradise. Our world is devoid of crime, discrimination, and illness. People here live to a ripe old age, typically reaching 90 or even 100 and beyond. Whenever I ask about the secrets behind our idyllic existence or why our government is entirely composed of robots, I'm met with evasive responses. My dad's go-to answer is, "Well, if it ain't broke, don't fix it," while my mom just dismisses my questions as silly.

But there's something they don't know – I'm not well. In a society where illness has become virtually extinct, I've become an anomaly. No one knows exactly what's afflicting me, possibly because we abandoned medical research and doctors decades ago. I've spent nearly a year in and out of the remaining hospitals, where they discovered my condition is far from ordinary. We were all administered the Emperor Vaccine, which supposedly made us immune to every known disease, making my sickness even more baffling.

I'm accustomed to the wary glances and whispered conversations behind my back. But I've grown weary of living in ignorance, and the desire to uncover the truth is driving me. So, I've made a decision – I'm running away. I haven't ventured beyond the confines of my home since I fell ill, but today is different. I need answers, and I'll find them, no matter the cost. My destination: the last operational bastion of medical knowledge, the headquarters of the American Medical Association (AMA). Here goes nothing.

As I stepped into the AMA, an automated message chimed in. "Hi there, This is the American Medical Association. I am your friendly neighborhood AI. You can call me ALLY. After a quick scan, I see your whole medical history and files, so what is bothering you, ANNABELLE? If you need to speak with a medical professional, say MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. If you want to leave a message for the next doctor, say LEAVE A MESSAGE. And if you want to see a patient in the retirement home, say VISIT PATIENT, then say the patient's room number."

"Medical Professional," I said.

"Okay. You are number FOUR in line. The medical professional in-house will call you in approximately FIFTEEN MINUTES. Please take a seat." I settled into a chair, my anxiety mounting with every passing moment. After about 10 minutes, a human doctor emerged. "ANNABELLE O’CONNELL," he called out.

I rose to my feet, and he gave me an appraising look. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Seventeen," I replied.

The doctor's face contorted into a perplexed expression. "I haven't had a patient as young as you in all my years of practice." He then ushered me into the examination room and inquired, "So, what brings you here, young Annabelle? Broken heart?" He chuckled.

"Um, actually, I'm sick," I confessed. The doctor's amusement vanished, replaced by a deep frown.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his tone now serious.

I embarked on an explanation, revealing my year-long struggle with an illness that shouldn't exist in our world. I sought answers about our society's immunity to sickness and why I was the exception.

The doctor excused himself briefly, leaving me alone with my anxious thoughts. As minutes ticked by, restlessness set in. Just as I contemplated leaving, four men in medical suits stormed into the room, seized my arms, and coldly informed me that my pain would soon be over. That's when it hit me – they had no idea how to deal with the sick; they only knew one solution: elimination.

The author's comments:

In the First-person point of view of Connor

My name is Connor, and I lead the same monotonous life as everyone else. It's a life devoid of excitement, where each day follows a predictable routine – wake up, eat, listen to whatever the current robot president has to say, and then sleep. It's a life that lacks color and intrigue.

That's why I left home weeks ago and haven't looked back. My parents probably haven't even noticed my absence, given their focus on my four brothers and seven sisters. In a family that large, it's easy to become invisible. These days, I've taken refuge in an abandoned hospital. It's an eerie place, but it's a roof over my head.

My daily routine consists of solitary walks. The world outside is serene, and September in Maine is neither too hot nor too cold. People have stopped caring about each other, rendering loneliness an inconsequential feeling. But despite my self-imposed isolation, there's one person I can't forget – Annabelle, my childhood friend.

It's been years since I last saw her, but her memory lingers. I often wonder what she's up to now. Annabelle had striking green eyes and always wore her blonde hair down. I have a picture of us from when we were around 11 or 12. I had brown hair and was typically dressed in an AC/DC t-shirt and dark jeans. Annabelle, on the other hand, stuck to her favorite sweatshirt and black leggings. What's become of her?

Today, I decided to take the longer route to the grocery store, passing by the remnants of old buildings – restaurants, hospitals, libraries, and, conveniently, the AMA. As I approached the AMA, something caught my eye – a girl about my age being forcibly ushered into a van by men who bore the unmistakable insignia of the government. It looked like a kidnapping, and my curiosity got the better of me.

I approached the scene, fully aware that questioning authority was forbidden. "Hey, mind if I ask what's happening over here?" I inquired.

One of the men snapped back, "Mind your own business, kid."

But before they could silence the girl, she managed to utter, "Oh my gosh, Connor! It's Annabelle, please, get me out of…"

That single sentence confirmed my suspicion – it was Annabelle. She looked just as I remembered her. Without thinking, I stepped on the foot of one of the men, causing him to release her.

The author's comments:

In the First-person point of view of Annabelle

"Oh my gosh, Connor! It's Annabelle, please, get me out of…" I attempted to plead for help, but the gag in my mouth stifled my words. It was unfathomable; this was how the government dealt with sick individuals. Although I couldn't recall the last time a child had fallen ill, it didn't justify such inhumanity. When Connor intervened, my captor released his grip, and I crumpled to the ground.

Connor extended his hand, gesturing for me to follow him. I removed the gag and began to run, my gratitude and disbelief rendering me nearly incoherent. "Thank… You… So… Much," I stammered.

His voice remained calm as he replied, "You're welcome."

I was still in shock. How could they have attempted to end my life like that? A dilemma gnawed at me – should I confide in Connor? How well did I truly know him after all these years? I hadn't seen him in ages, and he wasn't known for keeping secrets.

Connor probed, "So, what was that all about?"

My hesitation was evident, and he urged me to speak up. "Well, actually, I'm sick," I confessed.

His face contorted with disbelief. "You're joking, right? People here don't get sick. It just doesn't happen."

I sighed, "You don't think I know that? Trust me, I wish I were joking."

We continued walking, eventually seeking refuge in an abandoned hospital. Connor's question echoed in the silence – how had I become ill in a world where illness had been eradicated? It was a question I was determined to answer.

The author's comments:

In the First-person point of view of Connor

Annabelle. It really was her. And she was telling me that she was sick. In a world where no one got sick. It was impossible, or so I'd thought. Should I even be near her? Could she infect me? They had tried to kill her, for heaven's sake. Suddenly, we heard strange noises echoing through the hospital.

"What was that?" Annabelle asked, her voice tinged with fear.

I had no answers, but I couldn't let my unease show. "I don't know, but we should check it out." I led the way cautiously, my instincts on high alert. The noise grew louder and closer.

"So, you're telling me you're sick, and these government guys are trying to kill you because you're sick?" I probed, attempting to make sense of the situation.

Annabelle nodded, her face fraught with worry. "Yes, it's incomprehensible. But I've been sick for a year now, and they don't know how to handle it. I don't even know how or why no one here gets sick anymore."

"Is it contagious?" I asked, my concern growing.

She shook her head, "No, I don't think so. My mom is still perfectly healthy."

"Okay then. So, what's the plan? You hide until they stop hunting you?" I suggested.

Annabelle hesitated for a moment before agreeing, "Yes, I suppose that's the best course of action for now."

Just as we resumed walking, a sudden series of loud crashes rang out. The men who had attempted to capture Annabelle had caught up with us, and they didn't seem inclined to negotiate. In the chaos, Annabelle collapsed.

The author's comments:

In the First-person point of view of Annabelle

The men who had pursued us were closing in. Panic surged through me as I tried to regain my footing. However, dizziness overwhelmed me, and I lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I found myself in an unfamiliar room. It resembled a hospital chamber, complete with a functioning IV in my arm. My medical records and lab results lay on a nearby counter. The doctor from the AMA entered the room.

"Hello, Annabelle. How are you feeling?" he inquired.

I was disoriented. "Where am I? Where's Connor? What happened?"

The doctor's response was chilling, "Listen, Annabelle, you're in critical condition. You may have only an hour left. My advice? Don't dwell on that no-good kid." And then he left.

I was stunned. "An hour? What's wrong with me? I've never been told I could die from this." I said to myself.

Then, the lights went out, and the IV ceased to drip. Panic set in as I heard a commotion in the hallway outside. A blood-curdling scream pierced the air. In my vulnerable state, I had no idea who would enter that room next.

The door creaked open, and to my surprise, Connor walked in. "It's over. The robots, the doctors – they won't bother you anymore," he declared.

I was about to explain the dire situation the doctor had presented when Connor cut me off. "Don't worry about the doctor; you're going to be fine. You can stay here for a bit if you need to catch your breath, but we must get you back to your mother."

With only minutes left, I knew I had to make a decision. "Listen to me," I began, "I don't have long. You need to leave and tell my mother that I'm sorry I left."

"What are you talking about?" Connor inquired, his voice tinged with disbelief.

I knew it was too late for me. I'd already surpassed the year I was initially given when diagnosed. "I'm not going to make it. Especially since the IV is out. It won't be long before I..."

Connor interrupted me softly, "Annabelle..."

I didn't have time to dwell on my fate any longer. My only hope was that no one else would suffer as I had.

The author's comments:

In the First-person point of view of Connor

Twenty years had passed since the ordeal with Annabelle. Now, on September 19th, 2119, I stood before a global audience as the President, addressing the world about the "Annabelle Disease."

"It is September 19th, 2119," I began. "Ten years have passed since Annabelle's tragedy. We've managed to overthrow the 'Robot Empire,' as we fondly refer to the century of robotic rule. Today, I stand before you as your President, and I want to assure you that Annabelle's family has been taken care of."

I continued, "In the past decade, we've encountered several hundred cases of what we've come to call the Annabelle Disease. Instead of resorting to elimination, we've sought solutions. We've managed to cure nearly half of those affected and have rebuilt most of our hospitals. While we're still searching for the source of this ailment, we've learned to identify its symptoms. Now, people can live without the looming fear of the government's ruthless measures against the afflicted. All of this is thanks to Annabelle O'Connell."



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