Choice of Numbers (Written at age 12)

Chapter 11: Routine of the Torn

I spend the next couple days in the large round room doing the same thing as the 24 hours before. First I wake up on the block of stone the rubber cover off, my hands cuffed to the block. Then I think for around three hours before the group of people come to interrogate me, putting the rubber cover over me before they start unlocking my hand cuffs with a push of a button. The lady asks me new questions for 5 hours and then proceeds to the old ones where I answer the same way (,it takes 1 hour). At the end of every interrogation I find myself covered in the see through rubber. They seem to enjoy changing the effect of the material everyday, once I found myself surrounded in water for the rubber had poured in enough h2o to drown me (though of course I wasn't in there long enough, they still need me for information). Well anyways after the interrogation They'd roll in some science equipment, give me a small portion of soup that made me feel sleepy, and I'd sleep as they preformed experiments on me. I'd wake up the next day and start the routine once again.
Today would be different though. Today I had woken up in a much larger room, with a much larger group of people, some of which I knew.

Ellie's eyes fall upon me, they're filled with horror, I don't know why but they are. Had they announced something already, had they said something bad about me, something so terrible that even my best friend didn't have faith in me anymore? No they haven't, for as I watch her I see Ellie mouth the words What have they done to you? I immediately attempt to look at my hand but I'm handcuffed (with a see through material) to the stone block that has been flipped onto the side that's shorter in width and by my feet so I'm in standing position. I stare down at me. What I see is nothing like I expected.

I'm covered in scabs, to the point where most of my skin has the redish brown color upon it. I'm also covered in cold colors, various shades of blues and purples mark the place of my bruises. But the worst part is yet to come, for when I look at my right hand, the one I once used to spray paint, I notice that my index finger, the one I used to press the button that sprays the paint is no longer there.
My thoughts are interrupted by the calm voice of the white haired lady coming through the speakers.
The large round announcement room (the only room of the building that most people see in their lifetime,) is filled with the sound of her voice.
"Hello citizens of all countries. Welcome to the center building country 10, and welcome to our country building for other citizens viewing on a screen. In the ten countries we give you a lot of chances and choices. We provide food, shelter and a safe environment. All we ask is that you take this into account and understand how fortunate you are to live a lovely life in the 1-10 system."
I think about rolling my eyes, but I don't, everyone here thinks of me as the enemy and I can't change their mind by being cocky.
"The girl before you has been doing some unintelligent things recently, she has been spray painting horrible words on the boarder wall, and those same words in class projects, she even kissed while being underage."
There's a couple gasps at the last one.
"Recently we caught her on the other side of the boarder wall in the wild, unsafe, world, we tried to help her back in but she was rude to us, so we made a wise decision in teaching her a lesson by cutting of the finger she used to spray paint. We would like you fellow citizens to know that there are punishments for repeated actions."
Everyone stares at the empty space where my finger should be, and the fact is I can't help but do the same.
The people think that I did the last thing, but really they don't need that much proof to show someone hates them.

"Thank you for your time." She says.

"Thank you for your knowledge." They reply in monotone.

And I can't help but say something myself.

"Thank you for taking away our choices!" I yell as loud as I can.

"Thank you for taking away my family!" Ellie yells, I knew she missed them.

"Thank you for hurting my teacher!" Yells Tommy.

"Thank you for making us conjoined twins!" Tanya and Tally, two of my students yelled.

Several people started to shout sarcastic thank you's from around the room, until the men wearing black come in, and that's when the sound of gunshots becomes the only thing you can hear.

Everyone rushes out of the room. They don't know that the country 10 police don't have bullets, they fire blanks.
I'm left alone in the large hall, the only sound is of my breath. I look out the door and remember how I hung the poster on the other side of the wall above the entrance. I remember how all the letters in red could be scrambled into the words come away with me.
The silence begins to trouble me so I fill it with the only thing I can, my voice.
I begin to sing.

Come away with me in the night
Come away with me
And I'll write you a song

Come away with me on a bus
Come away with me where they can't tempt us
With their lies

I want to walk with you
On a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
So won't you try to come

Come away with me and we'll kiss
On a mountaintop
Come away with me
And I'll never stop loving you

And I want to wake up in the rain
Falling on a tin roof
Where I'm safe in your arms
So all I ask for you
To come away with me in the night
Come away with me.

I stand/hang there for a couple more hours before anyone comes in, and when this person does they do something completely unexpected.

The lady with the white hair walks up to me to the point where her nose is a centimeter away from mine. She then yanks open my mouth shoves her hand in and pulls out my tung; her nails scratching into it. She grabs a pocketknife from her lab coat.

"DO YOU WANT ME TO CUT THIS OFF!" She screams, her face shows nothing but pure anger. I don't move, though my eyes widen at the sight of the knife. I've never felt this scared.
"DO YOU?!" I shake my head back and forth.
"GOOD!" She yells. She pulls my tung even harder and slids the blade of the pocketknife across the top of my tung. The last thing I remember is the taste of blood and a loud crack.