UnChanged

1

"Maria! Come downstairs for breakfast!"

I recalibrate my imager and finish putting on my jeans, which have holes in about everywhere. Mom makes fun of them by putting her fingers through the holes. I always laugh and remind her that it is the newest style in Nalverna and that I needed to fit in. Her face grows cold and she asks me once more why I need to fit in.

I never have an answer.

Sprinting down our wooden-teal stairs, I grab a hoodie and shove it in my bag. Before I can leave, my mom greets me with a piece of toast smothered in Nutella.

"Thanks, mom" I say, taking the toast and clinching it in my hand. She gives me a quick kiss and opens the door. I look for my bike, leaned up against the wooden post outside my house. Instead of against the wooden post, it leans up against our tree. Without question, I walk towards it and hop on.

Being on my bike takes me back to elementary school. It still feels like I am still riding toward that small brick building. I miss the place that was once filled with paintings and toys. Toys. I can't say I miss them after The Collection, but seeing one brings me to a different mindset that no one can imitate. It's fair to say that most toys are gone, among the watercolors and trumpets. I still have one, a single stuffed rabbit that lays on my bedside. I was lucky, in that way.

My feet lock on to the pedals and I'm off. It's fair to say that I still live in a neighborhood, but it doesn't feel that way. Each one of the houses are much too scared to talk to each other. No one wants their secrets they keep locked up behind their windows and doors spilled. For my mom, it's me.

By government standards, I am not enough, and I will never be enough. My nose bends on the bridge, my eyes aren't big enough for my small, round face. I have a noticeable double chin and my dimples are nonexistent. And since I'm done growing, there is no room for improvement. And so, I am hidden by my Imager. I am still out in the open, still visible by all. My true face is behind an animator. The small device provides me with an extra layer. It fixes all my imperfections and adds some dimples. Hundreds of thousands of pixels make up my new face, tracking my expression and every movement. It's foolproof. It gives me confidence but it also ensures my safety.

Riding into town, my eyes latch onto a group of people standing outside of a window. The window belongs to Mr. JM Murphy, a candy store manager and grump. No one usually wants to hang around those windows. I'm confused, but I am on a mission for my mother; eggs.

Before the takeover, we had all the eggs we would ever and could ever want. We had chickens in huge coops that ran when I reached out my arms to carry them. They were crazy but they gave us everything. Money, food. But the government took them, and there is no arguing against the government.

My feet hit the pavement and I lean my bike against the wall of the grocery store. I stroll into the small shop, waving hello to Mr. Grosman. He's been there for us through everything. Sometimes he lets me have different extra treats, when the cameras turn around. I walk to the shelf titled eggs and try to grab a carton. The shelf shifts backwards and closes. Sighing, I look down into my pockets and realize that I am two cents short of the eggs. I search the ground for an extra two pennies and find three stuck behind the metal poles. I insert them into the machine and instantaneously the eggs appear once again.

"Having trouble?" Mr. Grosman saw me struggling, I hope he didn't see me steal the pennies.

"Nope. I have one carton."

I walk towards the counter and ask for a bag. Smiling, he hands me the bag. I turn to walk out of the store and I hear a silent beeping noise.

I turn my head at Mr. Grosman and look him in the eye. He has not stopped smiling since he saw me walk into the store but his finger remains on a little red button. I know that I have 15 minutes to run.