The Harmonizing

Chapter One

            “My name is Sophia Hatching. I am sixteen years old. I live with my mother, brother, and sister-in-law. My father is dead.” I repeat the same lines I have for ten years, with only one minor alteration: my father’s vitality.

            These words are automatic. It’s how we present ourselves. We give them our personal information and in return we receive what we need. Clothing, books for school, minimal amounts of discarded food. It is their way of keeping order. But today I repeat them for a different reason.

            “This afternoon, you will be entering the Psychology department of the Facility to complete stage one.” My proctor is a middle-aged woman, with graying brown hair. She is from the city. I can tell by the dye attempt in her hair, her manicured nails, and the jacket she wears—its seams far too straight for hand-made apparel and much too stylish for government handouts. I understand people of her origin try to fit in her in the lower sectors, out of respect or fear of being mugged I don’t know, but they make the effort. Something I try to keep in mind when interacting with one.

            I nod in acknowledgement. She smiles. It’s very subtle, just a slight raise of the corners of her mouth. I recognize she is uncomfortable by my presence. It must be unusual for her to be surrounded by people who can’t afford to bathe regularly. Maybe even frightening to see those who can’t afford a proper diet. And I can’t blame her. It’s disturbing. They amble around aimlessly, too weak from hunger to do much else, made up of skin and bone. Those of us who have found ways to sustain ourselves try to pool money to help them, but we usually come up short.

            “I have come to the understanding that you have been informed with reference to this process. Schools are required to cover this information.” I nod. “But, in spite of your knowledge, I am obligated by the government to warn you that Stage One may be psychologically disturbing. This stage has been specifically designed to examine your reactions in the event of certain circumstances. It is by the laws of the Harmonizing that you are tested for such psychosis. I would I hope you slept well last night. You’ll likely be needing it.”

            I smile at her, letting out a deep sigh. I want her to be calm. One too many times have I encountered proctors who shake during the interviewing process each year. “I realize that this is not something that will be fun, but it is necessary for society to function properly.” I nod; she smiles and continues, “Stage two will come tomorrow. This is the stage where you will be evaluated and placed in your workforce. You will endure a very physically and mentally challenging exam. Once again, I advise much sleep.

            “Stage three comes the day after. This is the stage that you will not remember. You will be placed in a medically-induced comma. This is needed in order to tap into your subconscious. In this stage, the compatibly test will occur.” As she speaks, I begin to bite my nails. This test is something I am unprepared for and will never be prepared for. “Moving on, you will then attend the Assignment ceremony and the Partnership ceremony. They are a week after the last test and will be held consecutively, with a forty-five minute break in between.”

            I swallow and stick out my trembling hand. This time she is the one who smiles. “Report to the psychology department promptly at one o’clock this afternoon.” She smiles one last time and right as I’m about to let go, I feel a reassuring squeeze. This startles me. Not because she is my proctor, but because she is from the upper class. Never had I met a man or woman who would do that to a ragged, unwashed girl from the slums.

            “Good luck.” It almost sounds sincere, but I can’t help but remain suspicious of its sincerity.

            I walk down the white hallways, heading towards the dormitory—my home for the next three days. I shiver. There is an eerie calmness to the Facility. The quiet is almost too much to bear. I feel condemned. No, I am condemned. Condemned to a life not of my choice.