Imperfect Freedom

One

The metal is cold against my skin. The gun slung over my shoulder bounces against my black clothing. My bulky black shoes clap against the white marble floor.

The pristine white that was everywhere in the Complex.

Everywhere white.

Nowhere colour.

The only thing you ever saw that wasn't white was black.

Our clothes were either white or black, depending on who you were.

The whites-the independents-the ones that haven't done anything wrong.

The blacks-the watched. They are the ones that have disobeyed the Complex.

The blacks are labelled by their clothes. Their clothes and the mark. You were marked on how bad your crime was. They take your mark and tattoo it on your shoulder, so they can keep track of you.

You could either be an A, B, C, D, E or an F.

I tentatively touch the black F on my shoulder. F meant you had tried to escape. Had broken the Devotion-the promise you made that you would devote yourself to the Complex when you moved from the nursery at the age of 10 to the complex-and tried to run from the Complex. No one can run away from the Complex.

F meant freedom.

F meant failure.

I was the only F. I was the only one who had lived.

All the rest of the F's were six feet underground. My friends. My family. They were all I ever lived for. Yet I'm still alive and they are gone.

No flowers sit atop their graves. No white roses to soothe their souls in death. All that was above their graves were the headstones, marked with the simple black mark.

F.

I could be with them. But I'm not. Because the Complex council can feel pity. Aril Trey doesn't do cold blooded murder.

Instead of killing me, they brought be back, an 11 year old girl who no longer understood the meaning of freedom.

They took me back and punished me. The whip. Over and over again across my back, the pain making me wish I was dead.

They punished me, then trained me. Trained me to protect the Complex. Trained me so that no more of who I am exist in the Complex.

Torture, then training. Now I'm teaching.

I reach the gym and take a deep breath, pushing the thoughts from my head. I was the Complex's pawn now. There was nothing I could do about it.

I open the doors and walk inside.

The new comers stand in a line. There are five of them. Three boys and two girls. Each wear the regulation black clothing and bulletproof vests. Most seem shy and guilty, but one, a boy, he looks right at me with bright green eyes. Green eyes were uncommon in the complex. Everyone had grey eyes. Before you were born your genes were altered so that you were born with grey eyes, however occasionally they missed a child. I myself was a child they missed. I had blue eyes, however they made me wear contacts. Colour was a sign of rebellion. Just this boy not wearing his contacts was cutting close to the edge.

The others were probably A's or B's, but this boy seemed different. He had the air of a further letter. Maybe D, a slight chance of an E. I shake the thought away. He was probably just a C.

I turn my attention away from the recently-made-criminals and walk up to take my place with the other 5 trainers.

Glore, the head trainer watches me take my place and then turns to the newbies.