Meet 782. This feisty 15 year old red head will call you an idiot at first glance. She thinks she can make her way through her messed up dystopian world of perfection by swearing breaking all the rules and not giving a damn about anything. But that only gets her so far When she is purposefully placed into The Shift, her life is flipped upside down. The shift takes her out of dystopia and into the forest where she must fight to the death to survive, and to obtain the crown that declares her permanently free from returning. But what happens when love pulls her in both directions? Can the crown truly save her from the torment of her cruel life?
On the verge of tears, I finally realize that I f*cking hate it all. The people, the controlling, the rules and the restrictions. I hate the boring routines and the pressures. But most of all, the open flame that is my burning curiosity.
I want to hide from everything and live by myself in peace. In a world where everything is how I want it to be. I sink deeper into my bed as a failed attempt to do so. Every bit of me wants to slip away into eternal unconsciousness and never wake up. But I can't. I'm not even allowed to.
My hand touches the monitor on my neck and instantly feel uncomfortable. They are monitoring my every move; my actions, my thoughts, my heartbeat. I don't feel like I have a private life at all. Everything is so controlled to the point where it makes me sick and frustrated. And I can't do anything about it.
A wet blob forms in my eye but I wipe it away; crying is against one of the million rules. They say there should be no reason for crying, but I feel like there is every reason.
The anger makes me tighten my grip and I tug at the monitor around my neck to the point where it chokes me. The stupid piece of metal is indestructible and extremely suffocating.
I also hate the artificial, rubbery feel everything has to it. The fact that nothing is natural or pure makes me feel uneasy. It's all been processed in some way; coated in this odd rubber and painted in silvery-gray.
The list of things I hate is never-ending. So I think up some more.
There's the air that is so pure; never a speck of dirt floating around. But it has this density to it that I can't stand. It's like living underwater, except the water has no oxygen. There would always be that odd feeling, where I can't tell whether I'm hot or cold. No wind, no rain, no sun, nothing, ever. Just the thick stuff I'm expected to live off of. With every inhale, a strange scent of breath enters my system. Like, actual f*cking breath. Walking outside makes me sick. I have to do it. I'm basically forced to do it. Everyday. But that's not the worst part.
Aside from the lack of oxygen, so much about this place is… off. Outside my window, endless rows of silver sector houses line the streets, probably making this place look like a shiny yet dull grid from above. Every line would be razor sharp and perfectly straight. Every imperfection would be perfected. Nothing is ever out of place. Well, expect for me.
I am the zit on the face of our community. And of course, zits are to be popped. Then, why am I still here?
That's a question I ask myself every day.
Everyone is supposed to follow the rules. If everyone does what they are supposed to, I guess it would all be okay. If everyone gets their surgeries, does their jobs, attend their classes, stays within boundaries, and remains perfect, everything would be alright. And I guess it sort of is. But not for me. Definitely not for me.
And for that, my life sucks.
Light seeps through the one window in the middle of the wall, covering a corner of the room in a slightly brighter shade of gray. Through that window is the horrid city where one must do what their told to live a half-decent life. And it's bland and colourless; literally. I absolutely loaf everything about it, so I close my eyes. But I know that when I open them, I will still be here, on my bed, in my room, in Sector B, house 14.
This community I live in is perfect, too perfect. I don't believe it one bit and I'm curious to see if there is a way I can escape or at least to alter something, anything.
No matter how exact and under control everything seems, I know something is off. But no one else seems to know it or believe me.
It all started that one night when I was sitting outside of my sector house, forcing myself to adjust to the chunky air. Out of frustration, I looked up and sighed. And through the artificial nighttime brightness, I saw it. A quick and sudden change. A flicker of light. A fault. The council never made mistakes, but there it was, way up high. Within that split second, I noticed a weird glistening. Like light reflecting off of water. What was it?
Since that night, I've been thinking of a way to check it out, and tonight I finally will. Of course, without The Council seeing me. That can lead in serious consequences. I'm always aware of staying hidden but at every monthly behavioral conference, they pull out their footage of me doing something against the rules. There are clearly cameras everywhere. The rules are strict but I can't kill my curiosity.
I open my eyes to the metallic silver of my bedroom ceiling. It seems like every item of furniture is silver to match each other. Tonight is the night all my questions will be answered. I figure that there must be some sort of ceiling to the world, like the ceiling in my bedroom, only clear. And all ceilings are connected to walls, so there must be walls to the community. I am going to see for myself if my thoughts are correct. If so, then something major is going on.
But I trust The Council. They mean well. Always. They provide for everyone and keep us safe. They even make these reminders; minute long videos reminding us how much they care. I've been on their side from the beginning, but with these thoughts about them possibly trapping us, I'm not so sure if they're trustworthy.
No. The members of the council are good people. The Council is good. The Council is great. The Council provides. The Council cares. The Council loves you.
I shake my head violently and curl up with my back against the bed frame. The Council has this way of getting inside of my head, to know what I'm thinking, and to purify my thoughts. When The Council talks to me in that slow, condescending voice, my head feels tight. Their mind talk is this sticky poison that fills my brain. Most say it's good that the council cares enough to help us think straight, but it's just plain creepy. Everything they do.
Time to find out. I hop out of bed and go straight down the grand corridor, skipping my getting ready routine. My red hair is the frizziest it's ever been but I completely ignore it, eager to get outside. Once I am, I remember one thing, my monitor. The piece of blinking metal that grips my neck. It works as many things but unfortunately, works mainly as a tracking device so that The Council can find anyone they want to. It's useless trying to get it off because I know for a fact that it's impossible. I decide to run as fast as I can in one line to hopefully reach an edge. The Council would've noticed the high movement easily, since it is the middle of the night. Smart move.
I race down the street, but it feels like I'm not moving. The only sounds are my breath, loud and puffing, and my fast footsteps. If the council is coming, they wouldn't make sound because they wouldn't want to wake anyone. They would come in their little contraptions on wheels that only make a slight rumbling sound.
Breathing is like trying to swallow my own fist. That's how thick the air is now that I'm running. The houses finally change shade to a darker one, indicating a change of sector. I was now in Sector C. Just as a little bubble of hope begins to float inside of me, I hear the rumbling of The Council, which squashes it. There's no sign of an edge or anything. Maybe I got myself into real trouble this time. People that have majorly screwed up and went full force against the rules, well, nobody ever heard from them again. What's going to happen to me? I already broke more than three rules; no going outside at night, no running, always tie hair to regulation, and more.
I suddenly smack into something hard and flat. The impact sends me stumbling backward, and onto the ground. My body stings and a burning sensation radiates through my body. There's a tickle in my throat which causes me to sputter out something red. What am I feeling? Whatever it is, it makes me want to cry and kill myself to ease the pain. With the ache in my body, I stand up to touch what I had bumped into. It's stained in red in one spot, but the rest is clear. On the other side, is a confusing brown abyss. Stunned, I place my red hand on the clear surface and soak in as much as I can before deciding I have to hide.
I spot a garbage box and jump in it. In the darkness, I question everything I ever believed in. What did I touch? The surface wasn't completely flat, it was more rounded.
A light flashes and a face is revealed. Arms pull me out of the box and throw me on the pavement next to it. A crowd of people gather around me muttering things to each other; The Council.
"Her again," one of the voices say.
A lady walks up but it's too dark to recognize her.
"What do you know?" she asks with a sharp, mean tone to her voice.
All I manage to get out are some stuttering noises. She pulls something out of her pocket and holds it to the artificial sky. After catching a glimpse of something pointy, I move back. It appears to be a cylinder with a tall, pointy stick. The thicker part is filled with jet black goo that looks deadly.
I've never seen something so… sharp and dangerous. Is that even allowed? Isn't The Council breaking its own rule? What can she possible do with that? My bubbling confusion leaves me somewhat winded.
"What…" I croak.
She shushes me lightly and grabs my hand to press the point into my wrist. My arm goes numb, then eventually, everything else.
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I do not own original photo. Changes have been made. Link to original photo above.
Copyright © by beacuz
All rights reserved. (For writing)
Crossover between Veronica Roth's Divergent, Scott Westerfeld's Uglies, and Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games.
*I do not own these stories*