Marked

2

The Loft smells like lemon cleaner and and paint. I take a deep breath and enjoy it. I've only been in here once, as a child. I was lost and sauntered in to be quickly shooed out. I stare up at the tall ceiling, a glass chandelier hanging above. It's like modern art. Huge clear triangle pieces cascade in the air with smaller ones. The open doors cause it to sway gently.

Adults guide us to the main room, a seating area meant to fit hundreds when there are only about eighty-four of us. It is lit dimly by ceiling light fixtures. No natural light penetrates the walls, the thick blinds drawn so tight they might as well be one piece. We all sit down, I stray from the group and sit a few seats away. I know them, they know me, but we are not friends. One of my only friends, Jean, isn't here because her birthday is in July.

A man wearing a stiff looking white suit walks up to the podium. I recognize him as the Head Director, Nathaniel Harrison. He is a man that looks like he is trying to keep all his hair but it's falling out faster than he can object. His face is one usually contorted into a sneer or a frown, sometimes a combination of the two. Today, a fake, toothy smile is plastered on his face. I've never been fond of the man.

He taps the microphone to make sure it's working. He then proceeds to start the usual speech.

"Welcome youths. I welcome you here today for one reason and one reason only. To show you your future laid ahead for you." He moves his hand in the direction of the stairway. "Through that door, you will find multiple representatives. They will inject the liquid and show you to your sleeping quarters. I think I am speaking for everyone when I say we hope you all well." He steps down from the podium and a few people clap but the sound is soon scuffed out.

"Never been a sympathetic man." A girl mutters under her breath. I soon realize that it is Nathaniel's daughter, Tracy. She sits with her arms crossed and her golden hair tied back in a complicated knot. She fixes her gaze over to a pack of boys who are playfully shoving each other. A few of the people in the group stand and the rest of us follow, clamoring down the aisles. We go as a herd up the stairwell to wherever the representatives will stop us.

We come to another room, a seating area with one door, most likely a hallway. Plastic chairs line the walls. I sit by the one closest to the stairwell. After everyone's seated, quiet whispers mummer through everyone, wishing of good luck and hugs. A woman with sleek black hair, cut into a bob, opens the other door.

"Aeryn Daniels." She says sweetly. I quickly conclude they are going by first names. I stand up, wipe my hands on my pants, even though there is nothing but sweat on them, and walk to the hallway. We pass many doors. It reminds me of an office. No windows, only artificial light. I remain silent. The woman must detect my nerves.

"I wouldn't worry. You don't look like an Outsider to me." She says in the same tone as earlier. You're probably just paid to say that to everyone, I think. No one looks like an Outsider. No one. She opens one of the doors and gestures me in. A table with multiple needles filled with different colored liquids. She sits down in one of the chairs.

"Come. Sit down." She pats the chair bolted to the floor. I scoot onto the seat and lean back a little. I roll the sleeves of my jacket up. She takes out an disinfectant wipe and rubs it on the skin on the inside of both my elbows. The blue of the blood in my veins stands out against my skin. She picks up one of the syringes. The liquid in this one is a light teal, the little glass part looking tinted. My breath quickens along with my heart.

"Okay, just relax. Hold this." She hands me a little stress ball and I just limply hold it in me right hand.

"Take a deep breath." I do as I'm told and she sinks the syringe into my vein. I feel the liquid get injected into my blood and a shiver crawls up my spine.

"The rest will take a minute or two. May I see your other arm?" I lean over so she can inject that one. She pours something from a glass jar below into a cup. It's a clear liquid with a strong smell, like vanilla. She adds something else to the liquid and hands it to me.

"You need to drink this for the next injection." I nod and dump the liquid down my throat. It's sickly sweet and I resist the urge to cough my lungs up. She injects a dark green liquid. Almost as soon as she is done with my other arm, my blood feel hot, yet the rest of me is cold.

"This is going to be the last one, okay? This is the most important one." She picks up a syringe that has a gray tint to it. It's a bit smaller than the others. She sticks it into my arm quickly and does the other one. She takes the syringe out of my arms and takes out two large bandages and sticks them on my forearms.

"You can look if you want. It won't show up until a few hours though. I will show you to your room." She says and we exit the room. I'm shaking like crazy. My hands won't stay still so I stuff them in the pockets of my jacket. She comes to another room with the number 103 above it. She opens the door.

A small, plainly decorated room is what my eyes scan over. A small bed with a blue blanket and matching pillow. A little desk sits in the corner with a lamp on it. A gigantic window makes up most of the wall I'm looking at, a small sliding door in the middle of it. A thick curtain hangs at the side of it, ready to be drawn closed when ready. There's a tiny bookshelf with multiple books next to the bed, along with a small digital clock.

"This is actually really nice." I mutter.

"We want our youths to feel appreciated and at home here. I hope you enjoy your stay while you're here for the night. Dinner is at 5:00." She shuts the door behind her. I glance at the clock. 1:49. I have already been here three hours? I sigh and sit on the edge of the bed.

The faint noises of outside draw me to the window. I undo the latch and slide the door open, a rush of fresh, cold air filtering into the room. The trams are driving around on the ground, picking citizens up at certain stops. The height of the building is extraordinary. I step onto the little platform that lays there.

The wind ruffles my hair and brushes against my neck. I take off my jacket and toss it onto the bed. The wind is the only part of the visit I am enjoying so far. The bandages remind me of my pre-determined fate. The temptation to rip them off is almost unbearable. To know what my actions of life have been leading up to, to know how I will turn out, to know where I will work, who I will know. Everything. Instead I spread my arms out wide and let the wind take me to another world. I imagine myself flying away from everything.

My future can wait.