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An Unfair Constitution

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I was dragged roughly over to the van, the back of which was open, and I was literally thrown in. The doors were shut firmly behind me.

Pulling myself off of the floor I noticed that it wasn't a storage van like I thought. It was a people-mover. Wooden benches lined the walls and on them sat an array of haggard, scared looking people. I assumed they were homeless like me.

As they watched me wide-eyed I shrunk under their gazes.

"Um, I'm Destiny." I introduced myself meekly.

They continued to stare at me silently, and sadly.

"Um, what's wrong?" I asked in confusion, when the silence started to press in on me. "Have I got something on my face or something?"

"You're so young!" Burst out a woman dressed in dirty clothing that looked as if it was once really, really nice. "They can't take children, that's not how it should be!"

"What do you mean by 'take'?" I continued questioning her. "Where are they taking us?"

At that moment the van started moving, shaking violently as it swerved into the middle of the road. I fell to the floor again, this time hitting my head on one of the wooden benches. I was helped up by a man with no hair and a creased suit on that he'd clearly been wearing for days.

"Thanks." I nodded at him, and then took a seat on a spare part of the bench. I looked around. There were about eleven people besides me in there, a mixture of men and women but clearly all were poor, like me I suppose. It didn't add up though. How could all these adults be homeless when the new law had been directed at children older than thirteen? Surely they could get jobs and homes easily.

I was absolutely burning with curiosity, desperate to understand what was going on, but at the same time I was absurdly shy and besides, I wasn't sure I really wanted to find out.

The ride was torturously long; we sat in silence for at least an hour. When we finally stopped, it was at a train station. The platform we were forced onto was a secluded one, covered overhead and not in sight of any main roads. From the coat of arms represented on the station sign and the text underneath it, I could tell that this train station was owned privately by the government.

I didn't linger on that though, because my attention was drawn to the cargo train that was now pulling into the station. Lumbering towards it from the other side of the platform was another group of plainly homeless people, even more than in the group I was in. Both of our groups were in straight lines, and being dragged along by stern-faced government workers. And I'd thought the official guy who'd confronted me the night my parents died had been cruel; these officials were in a whole new dimension of cruelty. They were dressed in grey uniforms and I was reminded horribly of the images I'd seen of enemy soldiers in World War II, the ones who tried to kill all the Jews. In fact, as I took in the scene I realized how similar this whole situation was. Helpless people being herded into dingy trains, being taken who knows where by people exerting control over us; sound familiar much?

As the other group was loaded into the seatless train carriage I began to realize something else important; I was under-reacting to everything that was going on. All the people around me were ashen-faced, terrified of where we were headed, and there I was looking at everything and contemplating my bleak future casually. If I hadn't already known I was mentally challenged, I would have been seriously concerned.

Soon it was my turn to be placed into the crowded carriage and I finally started to panic as two guards took hold of my arms and pulled me forwards. I dug my heels into the ground, fearfully trying to refuse being taken away, despite the fact that that had happened already.

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