RUN (h.s)

one

1

brain·wash

ˈbrānˌwôSH,ˈbrānˌwäSH/

verb

a forcible indoctrination to induce someone to give up basic political, social, or religious beliefs and attitudes and to accept contrasting regimented ideas.

“We believe choices cause destruction. When chices are made, people get hurt. That is why we pledge allegiance to society and devote every ounce of our energy into living life the way our government has planned out for us. May the gods above bless our souls. We believe in the New Order.”

The words are muttered holding no meaning. They have become a habit after these past few years. My eyes wander left and right taking subtle glances at the people around me. They all have the potential to be different and unique, but it seems as if they have been forced into a blur of unity. Everyone wears similar clothes and facial expressions.

“You are dismissed.” A prerecorded voice rings through the speakers, causing me to snap out of my daze. My orbs catch the tiles of the floor as everyone files out and into the hallway, my black shoes blending in with everyone else. After reciting the pledge of allegiance for the second time today, I enter the outside world. The harsh wind nips at my skin which causes me to pull my jacket around myself tighter. There are New Order officers patrolling the streets, so it must be around the 13th hour of the day. I catch something in my peripheral vision, I almost miss it, but I turn just in time. A male is roughly being dragged by two officers. He is dressed oddly, his clothes are all black and red; colors which are not familiar to anyone in society these days. I’ve seen people being dragged away by officers before, but it’s very rare. Everyone knows that they must obey the New Order. The boy grunts in pain as he struggles to break free, the officer pushes him down to the ground onto his knees. He cries out in pain as an officers swings his foot into his stomach. His head hangs down as his breath comes out in heavy pants. This time when he’s taken towards the building he doesn’t put up a fight. As he’s being taken his brown eyes meet mine, but I look away.

My stomach grumbles, begging for me to pick up my pace so I can get home sooner.

My burgundy-brown eyes scan the premises for my bicycle. I finally find it and place myself onto it, shifting about a bit, I find a suitable position. The harsh wind pushes against me making it hard for me to push my bicycle forward, but soon I manage to get on the road. A long time ago, roads were used for vehicles, but now only special people such as officers or trainers may use them to prevent accidents. Normal people like me ride bicycles. If you’re traveling a far distance, you may get permission to catch an air lift.

When I finally reach my living location, I park my bike outside and walk over to the small elevator. I pull my card out and insert it into the small slot made for ID cards. After a few measly seconds, the light turns green and the doors of the booth slide open. “Welcome, Arabella. It’s almost time for your second meal of the day and your compeller serum.” The electronic voice says as soon as I enter the booth. The platform I am standing on descends underground. After a few seconds, I am welcomed to my home. My mother and father are sitting at the table, drinking their compeller serum.