Unknown
They're coming for me. I can hear them. I can see them. They are coming for me, and there will be no mercy this time. My constant days of hiding are over. I can't run anymore. It's time to face my problems head-on, and to be handed over to my greatest enemy. I can't run. I can't…move. I…can't…speak…
1:23 am
My 15th birthday is tomorrow.
I knew this day would come eventually, but I didn't want to admit it. Tomorrow the state will come for me, and they will take me away. They will take me to Washington, DC. They will examine me, and then they will say that I am a positive specimen. They will deliver me to a lab, and then they will do the procedure. And I will be gone. Just like that. I've seen it happen dozens of times before. I learned not to make the mistake of making older friends. I had a few older friends, but their number came up, and the day they hit 15, the state came for them. And they made the mistake of running. If you run, the state publicly broadcasts your procedure. Nobody watches it, but that day, I did. I cried. I cursed. And that's how I know exactly what awaits me tomorrow.
I lay in bed awake, pondering all of these things. I ponder the fact that I will never see my sister again, the only person who actually understands me. I ponder the fact that I will never see my mother and father again, although that part is more of a relief. I ponder the fact that I will never see my friends again, the very few I had. I never had a girlfriend, but I ponder the fact that I will never have the chance to. The state will be the one to take all of these things from me, and I hate them for it. But it's not just me I'm angry for. I'm angry for all of the kids like me that had a chance at an actual life, but had it snatched away from them by the state. I'm angry for all of the parents whose children were returned to them, but had no idea who their child was. But most of all, I'm angry for my mother, who had this done to her when she was my age. Now she is an empty shell, cocooning herself into a safe little hideout of happiness. But deep inside, I know that she's still in there. The 15-year-old girl who was once my mother is still alive somewhere. I've tried all my life to find that girl, to speak to her. But I just can't reach her. And that is the fact that I will carry to my grave.
9:45 am
When I wake up after a fitful sleep, my father is sitting on the edge of my bed. Unlike my mother, his number was not pulled, so he is still him. He smiles at me. It's a very strained smile, with much sadness in his eyes. "Hey champ, how are you feeling?"
"Fine, Dad," I reply. I don't turn fifteen until 10:04 tonight, so I still have about 12 hours left. I don't have to go to school; no, I don't get to go to school. That's a regulation the state imposed, to make sure no one could escape. People have tried, like my older friends. It happens all the time. But no one ever succeeds. "How are you doing?"
"Oh, fine…" His voice trails off. He has always loved me a lot. Always taking me on outings, always buying me whatever I wanted. He has been the best possible dad there can be. But I can never love him. Oh, I do not hate him; I still hug him and speak kindly. But it is not within my power to love him. He is, after all, a state official, and his great-grandfather was one of the ones who passed the C.H.A.N.G.E bill into law, years after his great-great-great-grandfather helped found the Empire. If I had not been selected to be changed, I would have taken his state position when he died. That's how it works in the First United Empire of America; an essential aristocracy, in which the descendant of the current official takes over the position after the death of the current official. My sister will take over the position, as her number wasn't pulled and she is about seventeen now. Usually, the youngest sibling will take over, to ensure maximum time in office. But of course, for that's what the Empire was formed on: greed and power-seeking.
My mother slowly shuffles into the room, her dead eyes staring out in front of her. My father rises and embraces her, although she doesn't return it. Her eyes stare blankly out of a pale, gaunt face. Her nose twitches, similar to that of a rabbit, and she glowers at me, staring me down like she is a tiger about to pounce. She has always behaved this way towards me, and I am not sure I ever found out the reason.
"Breakfast…ready," she says in her harsh, dull, monotonous voice. My father nods and proceeds towards the kitchen. Once he leaves, my mother turns and looks at me again.
"You…dressed."
"I'm sorry?"
"Get…DRESSED," she repeats, raising her voice, the pause between her words clear as glass. I hate that about the Changed. From what my father told me, my mother was a very sweet girl. But once you're Changed, you have a very short temper. You are an infant, with all aspects of an infant, save that of speech.
My sister's voice floats in from the hallway. "Jett?"
My mother turns sullenly and walks towards the doorway, where my sister is standing. She offers me a half-smile as she, too, embraces my mother. Once again, my mother stands rigid, as a soldier would. My sister releases her and pushes past, headed towards me. She hugs me tight, and I squeeze right back, tears welling in both of our eyes. Out of all of our family, my sister is the only one I truly love. She's the only one who ever actually cared for me, since my father is always busy being the leader and my mother is busy being the vegetable.
"Are you OK?" she asks in a hushed tone.
"As OK as I can be," I reply, which causes her to produce a sad smile. She crushes me even tighter and says the two words I've been dreading, the two words only she could say and mean:
"I'm sorry."
At this point we both burst into tears. We stand there and sob, as the minutes tick by, and the time for me to be Changed draws closer and closer.