Hey, all! I've finally posted XionTheBlackRose's story on my account! The first three chapters are all her work, but the rest will be from me. Much thanks to her for letting me adopt her story! :3
The only things I'm changing in these three chapters are basically adopting my typical chapter format…and proofreading. That's about it. So I won't be plagiarizing; that isn't cool!
I'll be posting Xion's chapters in my spare time whenever I run out of ideas for my own stories, and after that I'll be working on this story in full as if it were mine. Just letting you know that I won't be posting her chapters all at once. That would take too much time because I need to transcribe them by hand. ^^;
(Incidentally, I'd appreciate it if you guys went to my page and adopted one of the ideas I have written in my profile. I still have nine left and those ideas deserve to see the light of day! At least check them out!)
Ch. 1: World of Numbers
1, 2…
Everything is about numbers.
3, 4…
Numbers mean everything to our people, to the children.
5, 6…
Numbers have replaced our names.
7, 8…
Numbers are our color schemes – black, white, and gray. Those are the only colors we are allowed to wear. And only on certain times, too: white for school, gray for everywhere else, black for someone's death. It doesn't even have to be anyone you know; you just do as you're told.
9, 10…
Children aren't allowed to speak to adults without being spoken to first, but that doesn't happen often since they speak a different language than us – one we won't even know how to understand until six months into our adulthood. That exception doesn't reach the P.Y.C., the police task force of our city; we're not allowed to speak to them at all.
11, 12…
But I'm different.
13, 14…
I have the gift of memory. I can remember anything and everything I have ever seen or heard, and I'm sort of a genius. I can listen to the adults talk, and within a few minutes I can fully understand their language…at the least, what they're discussing.
15, 16…
My name is "19-15-18-1".
17, 18…
Children don't get names. We get numbers.
19, 20…
My real name is "Sora".
21, 22…
I've never been more than a number, but I want to be more.
23, 24…
I want to be someone. Need to be someone.
I want to be…just Sora.
"Student I.D.," the P.Y.C. officer says to me as I enter the school.
I frown, fishing around in my pocket for my identification card. I gasp softly, remembering I left it at my house.
"Student I.D.," the officer repeats, glaring down at me in disgust.
"I didn't bring it with me," I say, then I quickly regret it.
The officer grabs my arm and turns me around, pinning my arm behind me. I gasp in pain and grit my teeth as the officer speaks lowly, "You do not speak to the P.Y.C., boy."
I don't respond to him and he lets go. A teacher comes out and glances at me, then speaks to the officer: "Ec 19-15-18-1 kaddehk uid uv meha ykyeh?"
I frown. I was not out of line.
"Dra tysh puo ryt dra hanja du cbayg du sa ehcdayt uv crufehk sa rec Etahdevelydeuh lynt. Daylr drec puo cusa syhhanc!" the officer replies.
I stand. He doesn't have the right to say I need manners. Oh, yeah; he does. This isn't good for me. I've slipped up. Again.
The teacher nods. "E crymm."
The officer goes back to scanning the students' I.D. cards and the teacher turns to me and glares. This teacher is my professor. In our school, thirty students are put in one teachers class for eight hours. This is Professor Saïx. I try to stay on his good side, but it isn't easy. He ushers me inside and I follow quickly. He takes me to his room, which is still empty.
I remember to stay silent this time, to keep from getting into more trouble.
"This is the third time you've caused a scene at I.D. checkout. I have to notify your father," he says.
I nod numbly. "Yes, Professor."
He moves and picks up a long, thin metal rod.
I do so, closing my eyes, stiffening, waiting for the incoming pain. A stinging, numbing sensation sprouts from my fingers all the way up to my arms. I open my eyes and stare at my shaking hands, black bruises appearing on the knuckles. Professor Saïx puts the rod back. "Do not cause a disturbance again or you will get worse than that."
I nod, still staring at my hands. "Yes, Professor."
Sitting here in Professor Saïx empty classroom after school is chilling, and then there's Professor's angry stare I am always getting. My father sits stiffly beside me and I can't bring myself to look at the either of them. I keep my gaze down at my bruised knuckles. Then my professor speaks, and he has no idea I can understand every word he is saying.
"Mauh, ouin cuh ryc lyicat drnaa tecnibdeuhc yd dra ET Lahdan. Ed ec caddehk y pyt aqysbma vun dra cditahdc' paryjeun," Saïx says.
I frown. I hate when they use that language so we don't understand. He proceeded to tell my father about my "disruptions" at the I.D. Center. He thinks I'm setting a bad example for the other students, but I didn't make a scene. The P.Y.C. did.
Dad answers swiftly, coming to my aid. "E ryja ryt hu bnupmasc fedr so cuh eh dra dycd. Fryd ec ed ra ec cibbucatmo tuehk du tecnibd dra ET Clyhhehk Cacceuh?"
Ha, answer that, Professor. You'll have no choice but to tell him I haven't done anything wrong! I allow a small smirk to surface, but don't dare look up so it can be noticed. I'm still drowning here.
Professor didn't miss a beat, telling him that I keep forgetting my I.D. card and speaking out of turn. "19-15-18-1 ryc vunkuddah rec Etahdevelydeuh Lynt drnaa desac, yht ra cbuga uid uv dinh. Cbaygehk du dra B.O.L. ech'd banseddat vun sehunc."
B.O.L., P.Y.C., same thing; just a different language speaking the abbreviation. When was this going to end? My smirk fades and I sigh softly, trying again to bend my fingers. They won't budge. Damn, what if Professor broke my knuckles? I'll have to ask Dad to take a look at them, considering he's one of the city's doctors.
Dad finishes the conversation with a short and sweet, "E'mm syga cin 19-15-18-1 tauch'd vuncad rec ET Lynt yhosuna. Dryhg oui vun ouin desa, Bnuvaccun Cyeq."
Which means "Thanks for your time; we're leaving", in short. Dad stands, and so do I. Professor Saïx stands and shakes hand with Dad, and then we leave. Once we're out of the school Dad turns to me. "Try not to forget again. I'd hate for you to get hurt."
I nod. "Sorry, Dad. I was in a hurry this morning."
He sighs. "How bad is the damage?"
I show him my hands and shrug. "I think they might be broken. I can't move them."
He inspects my hands and frowns. Then he sighs. "Not broken, just popped out of place. I can fix that once we get home. Did you do any of your work with your hands like that?"
I smile softly. "No, Kairi wrote my work for me. Professor said it was okay, anyway…"
Dad raises an eyebrow in confusion. "Who's Kairi?"
I frown. "Right, sorry. I meant 11-1-9-18-9."
He nods. "Yeah, 11-1-9-18-9 is a good kid. Isn't she the Mayor's daughter?"
I nod, then frown. "Yeah, but that doesn't matter. The Mayor has no authority; it's all done by the Viceroy."
And here's the first chapter edited in all its glory! (Sweet Jesus this took forever. THAT CURSED LANGAGE. Ahem. ^^; I may have messed up somewhere in that regard, so please forgive me. Stupid no-copy-paste function. Hmph.) Look forward to the next two, and where I'll take my story after that! Have a good day!