(I feel like this book is boring so far, and then I realized it's a dystopian book and those ones usually start off pretty boring
don't worry it gets better maybe)
(Also I changed the POV to America's POV because reasons)
The next few days, Vicky and I were just relaxing during class in boredom, and during lunch we'd hang out in a corner and try to tell stories.
"Hmmm... I don't really know how to come up with a 'story' per say.... you always come up with something better than I can," I say.
"You just have to stray from logic a bit. Like... what if we had the ability to breathe fire? And we broke out of this place?" Vicky said. I chuckle.
"I might get let out soon anyway... I've been talking to as many nurses as I could about stupid smart people things like their favorite subject in school... I almost f*cked up when I said I liked my biology class though, because that was the one of the only classes where I could draw," I say. Vicky nodded.
"Well, be sure to visit," Vicky said. Suddenly, a nurse walked up to us.
"America, follow me, your brother is here. If this discussion goes well, you may leave," the nurse said. I look up at him, slightly surprised I was possibly being let out so soon.
"Good luck," Vicky said, patting me on the back. I gave her a small smile and followed the nurse to the meeting room where Canada was waiting.
"Hello brother," Canada said. It's a stupid precedent that my brothers have to refer to me as "Brother" rather than my name, just because I am the oldest.
"H-Hello Canada," I said, catching myself from saying "hey". I want to sound as professional as possible.
"...I should have you know I paid to let you be released early... Dr. London is feeling unwell and wants you with him," Canada said. I feel my heart drop.
"Da- Um.... whats the matter? Is he alright?" I ask. I sure hope Canada is not just telling me this to make me break and be unprofessional....
"I... I am admittedly unsure... he fell ill shortly after we heard you were sent to the rehabilitation center...," Canada said. No... Is it my fault? How does that make sense? He can't fall ill over me being a bad son.... right?
"Oh... I see...," I say. We stand in silence for a moment. "Well, I feel ready to be out of here... and I would like to see Dr. London and make sure he is... experiencing something that he'll quickly recover from," I say. Canada nodded.
"Good... good... well, I'll let the nurses know," Canada said.
Soon, I'm let out, and Canada drives me to the hospital where they were keeping dad. When we walk into his room, he seems a bit out of it, just staring out the window and looking at the uniform city below.
"Dr. London?" I say. He looks over at us and nods.
"Canada, please let me talk to your brother alone," Dad said. Canada nodded and left the room, and dad got up and shut the door.
"Canada must've paid to let you out early," Dad said.
"Yeah... um... so what's wrong?" I ask. Dad sits down in his hospital bed, silent. I hate when he doesn't answer my questions. I know it's because he thinks I won't like the answer. I sit next to him.
"You are a lot like your mother," Dad said. This catches me off guard.
"How so?" I ask. I hardly remember my mother, and dad never spoke of her.
"She was a deeply creative soul... I know you probably haven't heard of any street artists, since we live in the elite district. Most street artists live in the other districts, especially the outskirts.... your mother was our districts first and last street artist. Her name was France, but she was known as the Dandelion," Dad said.
"Oh... why the dandelion?" I ask.
"She always saw dandelions grow through the cracks in our pavement streets and sidewalks. She found it admirable that such beauty could prevail, despite all of the world standing in its way. She painted our neighborhood at night, using a cloak and mask to hide her identity... however one night she went out and... she never came back... I don't know what happened... I prayed she simply ran away to the outskirts where there was less of a risk of her getting caught by police... however I worry she was killed and the police neglected to inform me, thinking I'd stay more docile in uncertainty," Dad said.
"So.... do you not know what happened to Australia?" I ask. Dad sighs.
"No... they simply told me they lost her," Dad said. I look down, closing my eyes tight, trying to keep in my tears. I hardly remember my sisters face anymore... I can only remember her laugh. She had such a harmonious voice, yet it was strong and loud. Her laugh was smooth, and would echo throughout the house. I always felt comfort hearing it. It hurt me to know I'd never hear it again. My dad takes my hand, and holds it tight.
"This government is very good at letting us think we have control. We are highly educated. We have the right to vote. We are allowed to pursue a successful career. If there is a new breakthrough of factual knowledge, the government doesn't suppress it, instead embraces it. We are given all of this, so we feel silly thinking that anything could possibly be wrong with abandoning our creativity and individuality. After all, it would just complicate this perfect, uniform utopia, right?" Dad said. I look at him, and he has a solemn expression.
"It's not right at all," I say. He nods, a sad smile on his face.
"Intelligence is stupidity if one cannot use it to innovate. What does it matter that I can name all of the elements on the periodic table if I do not explore everything those elements are capable of? My field would be centuries more developed than we are today if we only tried to innovate. America, please, you are a deeply intelligent individual, but if you never use that mind of yours to try to innovate, I will be so very disappointed," Dad said.
"Dad... are you... asking me to be creative?" I ask. Dad smiled.
"I've stifled you far too long, Ame," Dad said. I've never heard my dad use a nickname before. I like it.
"I-I... I don't know where to start...," I say.
"Don't worry Love, I'll be dead soon, you do not have to innovate something before I do... I just have one request," Dad said.
"W-what is it?" I ask.
"Bring me a bundle of dandelions before I go, and find a place to bury me far away from this damned district," Dad said. I tear up, and for once in my life, let it all out.
"I will, I promise,"
(Ok, from now on it'll probably get more interesting)
YOU ARE READING
Street Cred (CH MexAme Dystopian AU)
Fanfiction"You have absolutely zero street smarts and it SHOWS... don't expect me to baby you, because I could care less about you," "Don't you mean you could NOT care less about me?" "Ugh.... f*ckin nerd...," -------- Neuorolia, a place where the last surviv...
