Alright...quick little one shot about the Giver's daughter. I do not own the book "The Giver". Lois Lowry does.
Rosemary stepped inside the cold release room. Looking around, she swallowed deeply. The walls were gray. Everything was a shade of gray. She sat down on the charcoal coloured cot. It was stiff; not meant to be comfortable.Sitting straight, she interlocked her fingers. She wasn't sure what to expect, but she had a nagging feeling it wouldn't be pleasant. Her suspicions were confirmed when they brought out that syringe and a small bottle containing a clear liquid. She shuddered at the thought of what it might do to her. Shots never bothered her until now. But it didn't matter; she did not fear death, or whatever will happen. The man had boring features and spoke in a monotone voice that held no emotion. "Hold out your arm and roll up your sleeve please." She slowly did as he had instructed her. The man put the needle into the bottle, stealing the liquid from it's glass home and letting it go into the glass carrier for the syringe. He then held it straight and squirted it. Next thing she knew, it was nearly an inch from her skin. She spoke up in a barely audible, very small voice. "I want to do it." He heard her. The room was dead silent. He looked at her and nodded curtly, handing the syringe over. She took it and kept repeating in her head that she feared not death. She smiled weakly. Taking a deep breath, she quickly punctured herself in the arm with it. An eerie calm took over her before her world started to spin. The memories seemed to evaporate out of her. Rosemary eyed the camera she knew was in the corner of the room and painfully closed her eyes, her whole body twitching. She saw colours and heard music.
The Giver finally glanced back at the screen. He wanted to look away again as the men were getting her prepared to leave as her body lay motionless, but he found he couldn't tear himself away. Tears went slowly down his face. His little girl was gone.
