Death At Its Lowest (👂)

01|Number 375

"Number 375 please stand in your designated area of the cell," The speaker informs, clawing at my ears voilently.

The ringing in my ears did not help. Standing just made me dizzy. Then starting to my X-marked spot, I sigh.

"Hey, Number 375!" A guard calls out at my sigh. "Keep it down and don't move until we say so."

My eye roll could've been seen all the way in Nebraska. Raise a finger, you get called out. Jump up, you get filed a death trial. For me, though, I just get torture, because I'm awesome! I can't die! Hippie!!

But come on, I have been in one of the most Government controled facilities since age seven, for about ten years. I think I know when I am doing something wrong, but sighing? That's low.

I lift my arms as the red beams check me for whatever they do that for.

"Number 375," The speaker starts again. "Start getting ready for school at Lindéburg Highschool."

I nod a thank you and the guard bids a farewell before leaving. I turn and go to the neatly folded clothes in the corner of the square cell. I have about forty nine feet in area, so it's fairly space-y.

Unbuttoning my dark blue prison shirt, I look over to the window. Out the window, I can see the high school. Not that I'd like to or anything, it just is so normal in this.. abnormal life I have. You know?

Once I was finished changing, I am pulled out of my cell, literally. I fall to my knees by the grap, but they usher me back up, growling at me to obey them like captured prey they were gonna eat for dinner.

My ride was probably the nicest one of them all, by the way.

I get to the car, a Jeep Wrangler, all black, and go to open the door. Today people must have been on their man periods, because they barked at me and opened the door themselves, then let me sit and they buckled up me, which was weirder than usual.

I looked out the car's window as we started to roll out of the drive way of my prison home I've known for so long. I can barely remember when I was not in that place. Tests being held, experiments being proven. Getting killed at least once a week. It was awful there, but rules were rules and they must know how I'm obviously Deadpool, just a foolish kid version.

I look down at my cuffed hands and fiddle with my fingers as we are almost to the school. Lindéburg High is the only school that is close enough go let me in. No others would because of my abnormality. Most people think it's a powerful gift, but it's more like an awful curse.

"375, what do you have?" The question by the driver was shot through midair, making me look up and lock eyes with him for a small moment.

We both look after and I clear my throat before answering. "Nothing, just playing with my fingers."

"Don't have too much fun, 375." I look back up at him and he winks, then it clicks in my brain.

I groan and put my head in my hands, trying to hide the heat creeping up on me. "Not what I meant!" I cry with desperation.

He laughs and slows the car to a stop. "Sure. Sure, you did." He gets up and I wait for him to get me up and escort me to my classroom.

Once in, I turn and he takes the handcuffs off me. I rub my leg with my other, reminding myself to not get in trouble, I have the ankle-thing on. He glances at my homeroom teacher before starting away and I follow out then to the bathroom, since we still have around five minutes before school begins.

Guess who I find in the bathroom? In a stall? My famous middle-schoolhood friend, Jack Reaper. Super popular, super cool, super awesome, super grunty. Yeah, he's one of those guys.

"Jack," I call and he grunts. I hear a zip and hold back a laugh. "You like being the little girl, don't you?"

"Ha, ha," He says while coming out. "Oh man, you need a mirror in your pocket," He assures me right after.

I roll my eyes. It can't be that bad. I turn and look at myself in the mirror. Okay, it can.

My blond, curly hair is a messy fur ball in my beanie, so as soon as I take it off, it's terribly floofed. My shirt was not tucked in like it usually was. My pants looked as if they were put on backwards.

"I look fine," I say after a moment of staring, then start fixing my hair.

"You say as you fix yourself," He snorts, shaking his head. "How's my favourite criminal?" He asks and he claps me on the back.

I looked over at him in the mirror then sigh. "Don't tell me you're gonna write me up for sighing, officer," I say which makes him gasp.

"You sighed, so they yelled at you?" He questions me. It was hard to explain how he got my sarcasm, especially when I do things like I just did.

I nod, putting my forest green beanie back on. "Yep," I huff, rubbing my hands together. "But I've had worse."

We watch each other through the mirror until he says, "One day, you're gonna find a man who treats you right, I promise you that." I shoot him a glare.

**

Hello! Thank you for checking out my story.

I have an upcoming plot. I simply am just letting things build up. This is Intro., after all. We can't just put the catalyst in, can we?

Who likes #375?

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Please remember to vote, comment, and share. Your contributions inspires me to write. (Even though I have no readers whatsoever, and it will take probably a year till that happens.)

[I would like to add something:
All places, names, plot, personalities, etc. Belong to me. The other things not going by me, I will tell you.]