Hola peeps! I bring to you the next chapter of my story! Love to you all, and virtual cookies by the hundred! I don't own Glee. If I did, Kurt and Blaine would never break up (although they did get back together, so yay!) and live happily ever after in New York. Sorry if this focuses too much on my OC - she's important later!
"Kurt! Wake up Kurt!" The harsh sunlight made Kurt burrow further into his pillow, curling his legs up with the thin, scratchy sheet draped across his body. His father's calloused hands shook his shoulder to wake him up, but he shook him away. It was too bright, too early, too cold - he didn't want to wake up. Usually he had no problem springing from his bed, but today just felt… different.
"Ugh, Dad…" He trailed off, batting Burt's hands away from his body with little intent. Burt would have laughed at the feeble display of , but if his son didn't get up, they would be late for work. The left side was a tightly running system, and lateness was punishable by whipping. He didn't want his son to face that.
"Kurt, please. We need to leave. It's 6:35, and the hot water will be gone soon," At this, Kurt wrapped his arms around himself and slowly sat up, his bare feet hitting the cold floor with a resounding thud. Burt winced - everyone lived on edge on the left side. A loud noise could be the sound of a closing door: but it made a person jump like a gunshot.
"I'm comin' dad…" The usually perfectly composed boy stumbled from his room, eyes bloodshot and sleep deprived, hair tangled and messy. The shower was in the fourth room of the house, the other three being Kurt and his father's bedrooms, and the general living area. It was there that cooking, dining and the allotted relaxation time were put into place.
Kurt stood in the shower and let the warm water run over his exhausted body. Not hot… never hot. Always lukewarm, but slightly chillier in the winter. It was currently autumn, meaning the water was of a moderately bearable temperature. It was what Kurt had grown up with, and he knew no different. It was his life.
"Ah!" Kurt jumped out of the shower as the water switched to a freezing cold jet. Shivering, he wrapped a thin towel around himself, then returned to his room quietly. The entire house was sparsely decorated - Kurt's bedroom had only his bed, a cupboard with his few items of clothing and a mirror in it. It was small, but not what one would refer to as cosy. Draughty, damp and uncomfortable sprung to mind first.
Sitting on his bed, Kurt played with his hands until his three minutes of preparation for the day began. He smoothed his hair down, wiped his face with a harsh wash cloth and pulled on thin grey trousers and a loose white flannel shirt. Finally, he laced up his brown boots and walked quietly down the stairs, before eating the breakfast of bread and butter before him. It was the same breakfast every day - dry, hard bread and sour, curdled butter. Lunch was a slab of cheese and an apple, and dinner was more hard, dry bread with a bit of pork. It was always fish on Sunday, though.
When the government split the world, they realised that they would need as many resources as possible to provide for the upper class citizens living in The Divide. So they scheduled out meals and drink, so that everyone on each side got just what they needed to function correctly. Nothing more, nothing less.
When both him and his father had finished breakfast, they left the house and began on the neat stone pathway to the fields. Kurt walked tall and stiff, in the composed way he had been taught from a young age. Back straight, chin up, jaw stiff, eyes straight ahead, arms down by sides. Different people begin to walk ahead of them, but they stay in their synchronised, uniform pattern all the way to the fields. Each gender had the same haircut - the males, a short cropped style, simple and plain, and for females, a tight bun of shoulder length locks. The regulation clothing was the same for everyone; tight grey trousers with a white flannel shirt or blouse, a thick jacket, warm and actually rather comfortable, and a pair of lace up boots (brown,but fur lined and soft on the inside).
The crowds were powerful and equal as they walked down the path. There weren't too many people - maybe fifty - but they smiled at each other quietly, in the subdued ways they had learnt. It was natural, almost relaxed; however, nothing was relaxed on the left side. Not completely, was always a sense of nervousness, worry about what was around the corner.
They arrived at the fields in approximately seven minutes. Tools were passed around, and a tall girl clapped Kurt on the shoulder as she loped past. Her brown hair was pulled tightly away from her pale, prominently-boned face, and looped in a knot at the nape of her bounced on the balls of her feet, as her lanky form strolled away, with a wink and a wave in Kurt's direction. He smiled at her - she was the polar opposite of him. Her name was Olivia, and she was eighteen years old. Being just a few months older than him, they had been in the same classes at school from aged four to sixteen. Then they left, and moved to working in the fields.
They were friends, very close friends; best friends, actually. She was loud and bubbly and vibrant, where they should be quiet and subdued and nervous. Olivia had a gift of brutal honesty, a sharp wit and a gift for storytelling. Crafting her plots carefully, she spoke eloquently and told stories of sad, sad people in a sad, sad world. That was her synopsis,anyway.
Kurt loved to listen to her stories, and she loved to listen to him sing. Swapping secrets, talents, fears… If they knew of the testing process, they would train together for the chance to be free of the regulation life they lived.
Or at least Olivia would. She did not fit into the Left Side - many thought she should live on the Right. She had no family. No one knew why. Kurt would stay for Burt, was he afforded the choice. But Olivia?
Olivia Smith had nothing to lose.