Truth Be Told.

Part I

   No one had ever been inside the room with beaten-up door, with the paint chipping off as days went by, since the death of my older brother Jarrod Reynolds. I was only seven years old when he died, however I had no recollection of memory of how his death occurred to this day. All I could remember were the words that I was constantly reminded of every single day from my mother, Ava. The same thing she'd tell me everyday was, "Your brother Jarrod wasn't right in the head. His death was inevitable." Never once had I heard her say something to me with sympathy nor empathy in her voice, such as, "Your brother loved you," or "Your brother cared about you." She'd always say something negative about him, implying he'd done notorious things. Sometimes she'd speak of him with such disgust in her tone, as if he wasn't a human being.

      In our society, our population is divided into two major sections, and four minor subsections. The two major sections of our world's population include the "Primaries", on the right side of the continent, and the "Achromatics", which resided on the left side of the continent. When an individual is born, he or she is born with a specific birthmark of a specific color: either red, yellow, or blue. Fortunately, if an individual had a red, yellow, or blue birthmark etched onto their right or left wrist, that individual was treated normally. By normal, I mean that an individual could go on with their day without any harassment or  any harm coming their way. These individuals are known as Primaries.  Unfortunately, the Achromatics weren't so lucky. If an individual is born with a birthmark that is not red, blue, or yellow, or if they had no birthmark at all, they were banished from the Primaries section. If an individual that was an Achromatic was to set foot on the on the territory which belonged to the Primaries, they were never to be heard of-or from again. Luckily for us, (my family, which currently consisted of only my mother and I), we were born with blue birthmarks. Apparently, my late father David was as well, and my mother once very briefly mentioned that Jarrod was as well. 

     Ava and I lived in the middle subsection of section one on the right side of the continent. While the government was testing military weapons on the left side of our continent, we were being pampered with "health care." As if that made me feel better about them killing innocent individuals just because they weren't born with a stupid birthmark. Besides, doctors and physicians weren't really needed as much in our generation. We were to diagnose our own selves when we were ill. This led me to question my mother, because she'd always emphasize to me that Jarrod wasn't right in the head. I'd always thought that she was implying he was mentally ill. "Well if he was mentally ill, couldn't he have diagnosed himself and somehow gotten better?" I'd asked her years ago. Ava would coldly reply, "His case was so serious that not even the medicines we've been provided in our self-diagnosing kits nor the remaining doctors or physicians in the world could save him." I'd never bring up the topic of Jarrod's 'illness', since my mother would give me a broad reply and then later one she would give me the cold shoulder for asking in the first place.

    Today, she'd sent me to go and reload one of her containers which consisted of green concentration pills. She would take these everyday to be fully energized and charged as well as well-rested for work. I make my way through the hall, walking past the door and past the nail sticking out of the wall, the nail my mother refused to fix and would always tell me to fix it myself. I could never find the time to fix it. I walk outside and look at everyone on the surrounding grounds. All of us were enforced to wear uniforms based upon the corresponding colors of our birthmarks, and so everyone was wearing blue (unless of course their workplace instructed them to wear otherwise, this was the only exception.) There was only one woman that was allowed in our subsection to get away with not following some of the government-enforced rules. That woman is Susan Hilton, or as the rest of the subsection refers to her, Crazy Susan. 

       There are many rumors regarding why Susan Hilton was allowed on our subsection of the continent, and why she could get away with bending and breaking some of the government's rules and laws. One rumor was that she knew tons of confidential information about every single politician on the entire continent. It's apparently a mystery to everyone how she knows, but tons of people claim she does. I don't believe that, though. There's got to be something more dangerous that she knows, if she could hold power over the law, that is. Ava always warns me to avoid contact with that woman, and I'd always done a great job at doing so. Well, until today.

      There she was, the only woman that was allowed on our subcontinent that was no longer a primary. Rumor had it that Crazy Susan was born with a primary-colored birthmark, however, one day, the birthmark just vanished. Just disappeared. The government was supposed to kill her, or banish her, but for some unknown reason that no one truly knows, other than the rumors that have circled around her, she's still alive to this day. My hand slowly reaches to pull the latch of the machine to reload the container of green pills, when all of a sudden, I hear a shrill, eerie voice. "Daniella Reynolds? Is that you?" I internally cringe at the use of my full name. Everyone I know refers to me by my nickname, Danny. Everyone except Ava, she loathes the nickname. My head turns once I hear my name, and I'm met face to face with Crazy Susan.

        Her orange stringy hair was completely scrunched up out of order, and she was in a multi-colored, rainbow-looking uniform. Her uniform was one of the many things she could get away with, though, obviously, for some things she was just as restricted as the rest of us. My brown eyes lock with her icy grey ones, and she smiles weirdly, continuing to speak to me in her shrill tone. "Your mother and I go way back." My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. What does she mean my mother and her go way back? My mother constantly warns me to stay away from her, so how could they have 'went way back'? I turn my head to face her and clear my throat, pulling the latch to load Ava's green pill container. "I'm sure you do." I reply with monotone. I need to get away before somebody spots me and informs Ava. I silently twist the cap onto the container when she speaks up again. "How is your mother? We haven't spoken to each other for ten whole years." My eyebrows furrow and I slam my hands on the counter annoyed and frustrated, "Look, Mrs. Hilton. I really don't have time for this. Have a good day." I say, reaching for the brown paper bag, with the container of Ava's green concentration pills inside.