Remember Me.

"Bye Ellie. I'll miss... you taking a million pictures of me." Delaney jokes and gives me a hug, wrapping his gangly-long teenager arms around me. I smile and pat his curly blonde hair.

I fight back my tears and walk beside the 'Officer'. She stands with so much power, much like the other 'Officers'. Her chest is high in the air, and she wears her deep green uniform with much pride. On her golden name tag, I read, 'Marilyn Humet'. It's so odd to think of the 'Officers' as actual people, with actual names, and actual feelings. They seem so robotic, and lifeless.

"It's very, very rare to see joint-guardianship." Marilyn says, with a certain edge to her voice, peering over her shoulder, back at Stanley and Linda.

"They're just neighbors. Stanley had a heart-condition a few years ago. It wasn't his expiration date yet, so Linda takes care of him." I explain, remembering the day Stanley moved into our basement. 

I've grown used to explaining Stanley and Linda's situation. My teachers, and guardians of my friends were always asking about them. Usually it's only one woman taking care of what we are called, 'Futures'. After women retire from their occupation, if they have enough time left, they become guardians and keep us 'Futures' safe, before letting us go on our own. 

Plus, the 'Officers' have that aura around them that you makes you feel like you have to give an explanation for everything. Luckily the woman just simply nods, not pressing the subject any further.

We enter a small room, barely big enough for the both of us to sit in. The walls are made entirely of metal, making me feel as if I'm locked in some sort of cage.

I can feel the room temperature changing along with her breathing.

Inhale. Temperature drops.

Exhale. Temperature rises.

"File 2743037692221. Name; Eleanor Marie Renolds. Organ Donors/'Parents': Alexis Lynn James and Geoffrey Scott Petersburg. Date-of-creation: July 17, 2173. Expiration date: December 4, 2263. Occupation: Photographer." She reads off of my file, which is enclosed in a neat Manila folder.

"90 Years, impressive. You'll have a great career. I just got finished with a woman that had only 2 more years. Don't know how good of a job she'll be getting." She informs me, attempting to make conversation, but it only makes my stomach churn, thinking of the poor woman.

I'm sure this is the 'Officer's' idea of a normal conversation; talking of the death of others, like it's no big deal. We've been taught as children, to accept our expiration date, and I do; I really do. But it doesn't make watching others expire any more enjoyable.

The woman has to do all sorts of odd tests. She checks my height and my weight; informing me that I'm slightly shorter than the preferred height. She checks my breathing, my flexibility, my reflexes, my strength and my 'total-body-fat'. The more she focuses on my body, the more self-conscious I get. She even checks my teeth, and my shoe-size; again, shaking her head at my tiny feet. She makes me run on a treadmill for as long as I can, to check my stamina. I run 8 miles. She writes everything down on a piece of paper, and puts it back in my folder.

Then she checks my scalp, digging through my short, chocolate brown locks for any signs of sickness, or diseases. She checks my fingernails, and my feet.

"You are a very impressive human-being. It's a shame you're just becoming a photographer. You have the potential of being great." She sighs, frowning, creating deep creases around her mouth.

Great? At what? I don't see how she can detect greatness from any of these tests. They all seem pointless to me. And what exactly is great? An 'Officer'? No thank-you...

"Well, I have your new address and job right here. Tonight you are to spend the night here, at headquarters and in the morning. You'll fly out to your new destination." She explains. She slides over a piece of paper. It felt thick and important; it felt official.

I open it carefully, knowing that the contents of this envelope hold my entire future. My hands start to feel clammy as the 'Officer' watches me carefully, her patience growing thin.

Residency: SAINT PAUL, MN

Address: 317 WILLOW AVE.

Occupation: PHOTOGRAPHER

Business: ARGILE STUDIOS INC.

Minnesota. Up north where they get snow on the ground during winter? Great.

"Good luck on your new life." The woman nods her head and exits, not much warmth backing up her words of encouragement.

"Gee, thanks," I mumble after she shuts the door behind her.

But a few seconds later, a new male 'Officer' introduces himself to me and shows me the room I have to sleep in tonight. I feel vulnerable as the 'Officer' towers over me, by at least two feet. I am sure to not even step a toe out of line, knowing that one blow from his wooden baton and I'd be a goner.

The room is cold and heartless. Steel walls and a small cot. That's it. It fits the headquarters perfectly. I can't help but to crack a small smile as the 'Officer' locks the door behind me.

I hear a loud ticking noise, and my eyes glance over to the corner. Hanging on the wall is a rather odd looking clock. It's pendulum swings in time, creating a very irritating ticking sound. Normally I wouldn't be bothered by something so small, but the 'Officers' small gesture to make this room more cozy just gets under my skin.

I place my suitcase in the corner and place my camera case next to it. I was only allowed to bring one single suitcase, provided by the 'Officers' of course, with me. I couldn't take anything with sentimental value; so no photos, videos, family books; nothing that would keep memories from my guardians.

 I change into a warm pair of pajamas. I lay in the cot and try to fall asleep, but the damn ticking sound does not ease my restlessness one bit. I toss and turn and the gears in my brain are going at full-speed. 

One thing that keeps coming back to me, was the one time I saw a documentary about expirations at my friend's house. Her parents were anti-government. They often protested outside 'The Office'. Linda never let me back after she found that out. The documentary was about what you have to go through when your expiration date was close.

They have you report to 'The Office' two weeks in advance. They keep you in a room, similar to this. They make you do the same tests I had to do today, plus a few more. They draw blood, they prod and poke. Then they inject you with a chemical that slowly sucks the life from you. It's supposedly not painful, it just makes you tired and then you 'expire' in your sleep. It looked rather peaceful, I thought.

I don't see the reason to protest. This is how it's always been. They give you a time, so you're prepared. You can fulfill what you'd like. Your life is a time-line, you just have to fill it up. There's no use in fighting for something that big, there's nothing we can do to change it.

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Author's Note: Hope you liked the first chapter! :) I wrote this a LONG time ago, but I re-looked at it, and did some major editing. If it's confusing at all, please tell me what is confusing, so I can go back and try to make things a little clearer. <3

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