"You're getting your Selection!" my mother squeals at me.

"What?" I reply, with what I'm sure is the most gormless look ever on my face.

"You're very own Selection," she squeals again, except this time she's bouncing up and down on the tips of her feet. Her smile was huge and her eyes were sparkling from excitement. Her red hair had come undone from its ponytail from all her jumping around, so stray bits of hair were flying all around her face, "You're coming of age soon and we must keep the tradition going, so me and your father th…" I interrupted her before she could finish, "Mom, I thought we agreed NO Selection?" her smiles falls, and she stops jumping around. Instantly I feel guilty but I don't want a Selection.

Mom and dad used to tell me and my sisters stories of how they meet and fell in love. Always by my sisters requests, of course. My sisters would lay on the floor, with their heads in their hands with a daydreamer look over their faces. They would laugh at the beginning, when we were told how mom ran away and yelled at dad. They would sigh happily when we were told how they first meet. And then they would cry at everything else, whether it be happy or sad. When aunt May comes over with grandma and grandpa, my sisters request yet more stories from their point of views, and they go through the whole process again. I, on the other hand, sit in the corner and talk to my very very very limited amount of friends via text. I would complain to my few friends how the whole "falling in love, finding your other half" thing never appealed to me. If I want to find love, I will find it in my own time. Not when my family invite 35 strangers into my house and force me to fall in love with them. Yes, I understand that mom and dad made it work, but that doesn't mean I am. Dad was, and I quote, "ready to find his darling" (at this point my sisters sigh) whereas I don't want to find my "darling". I have my family and that's all I need. All I want to be honest.

"Son, it's tradition. You must, the whole country is expecting it." My father explains, as he puts his arm round moms shoulder, "Father, I don't want…" my father held his hand up, interrupting me, "No. The country needs this right now, they need a little bit of hope. A little but of exitment," my father tries to reason with, with his arm still round mothers shoulders, "the rebels have been getting bolder, braver. They are attacking villages, towns, and it's only a matter of time before they attack cities."

"Dad, please-"

"James. Stop. This topic is no longer up for discussion. The Selection will be announced on the report this week, and we will be selection the girls the following week." I looked up at my father, and tried to speak but all that came out was coughing. My father had never demanded anything from me, especially nothing this huge. He had always told me to make up my mind in my own time, never allow anyone to make decisions or love your life for you, never let anyone hold you back, if you don't want to do something, don't do it. And here he was contradicting everything he had brought me up to believe.

"Please James," mother pulled away from father, and began to walk towards me, with her arms outstretched, "we wouldn't do this if we didn't think it was for the best," she reached me and put her hands on the top of my arms, "if there was any other way to lift the countries hopes, trust me, we would do it, but this is absolutely necessary. It isn't as bad as it seems, if your father didn't hold his Selection he never would have meet me now, would he?" she finished with a small laugh.

"I guess not, but that doesn't mean-" I looked up at my parents faces and stopped mid sentence. They were tired looking. Very tired looking. This mess with the Rebels had been keeping them up every night this week, and I knew even they were beginning to lose hope for the safety of themselves and our people, "Can I sleep on it?" I offered without thinking. My mother squealed again, and clapped her hands together, "Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes, you CAN!" she grabbed the sides of my face and kissed both cheeks, "Go to bed now, go on. You want to get a good sleep so you can make a wise decision!" with that, and a pointed look, she ran out of the door, calling for her maids to come and hear the good news. I turned and looked at my father, and he simply gave me a nod, a pat on the back as he walked past me and a quick, "Goodnight son." Before shutting my door.

I sat down in my chair and looked around my bedroom. I really didn't want the Selection thing to happen, but mother and father both said the people need it. They needed something good and positive in their lives for a change. Ever since about 5 years ago, things in Illea have been tough, and even dangerous in some places. Everyone needs some sort of hope, and something to take their minds off of their 'Immanent doom' as my youngest sister had adopted it. I looked back at the book I had been reading, before my parents had rudely barged into my bedroom. It was an old book, from before the Third World War and the front cover of the book had fell off. It was about some boy named Harry who was a wizard. It was pretty unbelievable, but it was good. What made the book even better, was that I wasn't even supposed to have it. Nobody else in the entire country knows about these books, these 'fiction' books as father calls them no longer exist and the royal family are the only ones allowed to read them. Part of me wants to be able to share these books with the world, because they are unlike anything I have ever read before, they seem to transport you to another world and you forget about all the bad things happening in your own life. A bigger part of me want to keep them secret, because they are for the royal families eyes only and I don't really like sharing something this special to me.

I pick up my Harry book and begin reading once more. The next time I look at the clock, it's 4:30am. 5 hours have passed and I've read one full Harry book, and began a second….. and I haven't even once thought about the Selection.