Word Count: 2 734
CHAPTER THREE:
The bus hovers to a stop at the Erudition Centre, one of 180 and I can't help feeling like my chest powered down along with it. It empties, pairs of feet following dutifully after one another, each one of them having never stopped long enough to have even a fraction of a conversation with me in the past.
An army of black floods the scene like usual, obscuring the view of the predominantly glass walls belonging to the building looming over our heads. As my path crosses with that of many others, I'm able to catch a few snippets of conversation. The pale faces of my fellow Water Kru members look paper white as agonising worry toys with their features. A feeling mirrored by the erratic beating in my chest.
Everyone is just that ... scared, and yet I know that the majority of these people aren't facing an impending death sentence by the day's end. The bell rings shortly after my arrival and by the time I've effectively schooled my countenance I'm already huddled into the main hall filled with other persons from my year, barred into my seat by two classmates.
There's about twelve Watchers stationed at different corners of the room. Their attire alone serves as a formidable deterrent to bad behaviour. The black guns nestled comfortably in their hip holsters seem more like over-kill to me.
That's twelve ways to go down painfully. Running is not an option.
I take note of a small scuffle near the front of the room when a pale, dark-haired woman emerges from another gaggle of white boots that's entered the hall. Silence befalls us as her slim figure strides to the front of the space and an undeniable veil of dominance sweeps past us as she advances. A plain white dress clings desperately onto her hips and all that can be heard is the lazy clip-clop of her heels. She's managed to steal all life in the room in a matter of seconds.
Her green-eyed gaze spans across the auditorium as if it were snuffing out the fire in everyone's eyes. She stands behind the glass podium, her ink covered hands clasped together when a small smile licks at the corner of her pink lips. It ripples her sheet of smooth, pale skin, an action mirrored by the large screen hovering above her head, and yet no warmth claws passed her brims.
She's relatively young, no older than my own mother – thirty-eight at most – she's beautiful, she's cold and she's the embodiment of the one fault in a government like ours. People like her.
"My name is Juniper Dassin, leader of Air Kru," she begins, "But most of you know that already."
Why would she choose to come here out of 180 different schools?
She hasn't said much and yet I can feel the favour of the room leaning towards whatever she's about to say. All these people clasp onto everything she speaks so carelessly, like it's a life line. They almost believe that she can never do anything wrong. They fail to plan for the possibility that she may not be as good and innocent as they all think.
"I've been awarded the privilege to address you today and give a few words of advice that will make the next few hours and thereafter the next few days of your life come a little easier to you.
"For a lot of you Selection Day sprouts a ripple of fear and nervousness and rightly so. Today's proceedings will help decide your future which in turn will largely affect the future of your children or your spouse and even your lifespan. This is not something to be taken lightly."
A murmur of acknowledgment looms in the atmosphere as Juniper's lips part once again.
"All of you sitting before me are the future of our race. You are what continues to set us apart from our barbaric, backwards thinking predecessors. You are what will make the human race truly great. Nine years of erudition has prepped you for this moment. Your teachers have devoted their lives to helping unearth a new generation of innovative thinkers and with it a society that will put its wellbeing before individuals."
I can't say I fully expected the string of words that flowed so easily from her mouth. The passion and fire blazing in her voice has the entire hall hanging onto every syllable, every curl of her tongue, every quake and quiver of her voice. But I know what she's really here to say. This message isn't for me.
"I cannot stress the importance of this result and what it will mean to you enough. While it is necessary to acknowledge the weight on your shoulders, when you are in that room you cannot allow yourself to think about any of that. Close your mind off to the worry and the nervousness in your gut. Embrace the circumstances you will be faced with and lastly relax, because all the answers are in your genes," she croons with a sultry smile hacking away at the length of my existence.
But what about me? I have none of those answers.
Her eyes flutter closed for a moment as the audience applauds and I begin to feel my spirit draw away from me. I wonder if Juniper is really going to live up to the reputation my mother's made known to me. They never could get along, both too hard headed to back down whenever they disagreed in council meetings.
Juniper's orbs remain shut for a little too long and it begins to look like she's involved in an internal struggle, like she's fighting something off. I wonder if I'm the only one that sees it, but then the green of her irises greets us once again, her voice accompanying it.
"But as we all know ... every year around this time we unearth a little more than just the extent of our genetic greatness," it comes out as more of a purr than anything else.
And like that the icy hold of her presence wraps itself around my heart and squeezes. Her eyes stare directly into my own at that very moment and I worry that I may have given myself away somehow.
One scary glare.
Two scary glares.
Three scary glares.
Four.
Then her gaze flits off in a different direction, remaining on that person's profile for a second longer than it did mine.
"We find the Pukkas ... the Retrogrades and let us not be fooled, I know there are a few of you sitting in front of me. I know you are scared. I know you know that there is no escape, but my message to you is not one that I hope will strike fear into your hearts. I give you words of encouragement."
If my heart was beating any faster, it would be doing cartwheels on the podium right in front of Juniper.
"Do not fight. Do not fear. I know that death is not an easy pill to swallow, but there are hundreds that have been in your shoes before. Hundreds that have dutifully met their end. Hundreds that have done their part in preventing further spread of the old and broken genome in our strive for genetic perfection.
"A sacrifice like the one you will soon give is not like any other. It isn't some misguided appraisal of a deity nor is it for wicked, murderous purposes.
"It is simply for your people. So that no more may fall victim to the weakness that comes with that blood. And so I urge you, do not hide what you are ... bare your label with pride. Honour yourself and your Kru and when discovery comes, do not fear. Nor kowu per! — For your people!"
The terrifying truth behind her words pummels over me like a ton of bricks, causing my thoughts to scatter and fall over themselves before barely coming together in one messy string of letters.
There are many that have fallen before me, what makes me any different?
Vibrations caused by chanting people course through my body, shattering every ounce of hope as they go. Fear claws through my chest in an attempt to block my airways and the gravity of my reality sits in my stomach like an unmovable boulder. An outstretched hand comes into my view, suggesting that this stranger wants to help me up, but I'm practically frozen. I'm unable to bat an eyelid, let alone stand.
"Come on," he urges. "Don't act so shocked. Sing with us. Nor Kowu per!"
x x x
From as far back as I can think I've enjoyed math. It calms me, I'm not the best at it, but I enjoy working with numbers to put everything into perspective. Between the moment Juniper arrived and now, I've seen 32 people get dragged out of the room they're being tested in and escorted into an armoured vehicle waiting outside from the 111 people that entered.
32.
At this rate we'll have more tributes than we've had in the last 5 years. Of all the horrible customs we have rid ourselves of, human sacrifice remains. Is this the one way we choose to feed the demons that haven't been exorcized; the desire to harm innocence?
The waiting room has been emptying itself out slowly. There are only a few rooms available for the interviews to take place in and so waiting is mandatory — a trademark part of the experience.
Nothing like eating yourself up while you wait to receive your death sentence.
In the mean time I seem to have evaded grabbing the attention of any Head Watchers. I'm just waiting patiently, hoping that my Watcher will get me through this.
"Wes Krii," a female voice beckons.
"Suki Kione."
I'm out of my chair like a shot, looking towards the male voice that called for me. One glance at his face reaffirms my worst nightmares, knocking any hope out of the side of my skull. He can't be my Watcher ... he's much too young. He doesn't look a day over twenty, there's no way he could've watched me all my life.
His olive skin and dark hair stand out against the white of his attire. In the few moments I allow myself to stare at him, I take in the state of his earlobes, which each have at least two metal earrings pierced into them. I make out the outline of stars which have been inked into his skin, climbing up the side of his neck. His brown orbs narrow at me, scrutinizing my every move, before he opens the door behind him, gesturing for me to enter.
I stared for too long.
I make my way towards the man who looks to be of Asian descent, my ambition for life ebbing away, with each tense of a muscle. The identity of the other person who was called up along with me only registers when his hooked nose and dark eyes tear into my own right after he shoulders me harshly, knocking me way off balance, effectively stunting my trip to the interview room. I almost make a move to retaliate, having had enough of Wes and his antics over the years when he starts flapping his gums.
"You better watch yourself Skid, I'll bet you wouldn't want to start bleeding in front of all these Watchers," he sneers, lending his voice to a scoff and a breathy laugh before making his way into the interview room.
I could've dropped dead of a heart attack right there and then.
3. Skid is a highly offensive way of calling someone a Pukka. It comes from the idea that instead of developing further like the others, our genetics Skid or slipped backwards. While I understand that he doesn't actually know what I am, I'm also certain that it wouldn't stop him from trying to cause a little extra hassle for me anyways.
He's always been like that. Normally I can deal with Wes and his games. He's made himself an obstacle in my life enough times for me to know how to work my way around him, but his statement seriously put me on the back foot.
Calling me a Skid here in a room full of people looking for exactly that is a sentence and a half, and when a Head Watcher locks gazes with me, setting a course for my location it all, but occurs to me that Wes has just signed my death certificate. The woman stands across from me, her eyes sweeping over every inch of me before settling on my orbs as I try to school my features.
"You best be getting on with your interview now, Suki Kione ... daughter of Azura Kione. Tell your mother Jen say hi."
She didn't have to tell me twice.
By the time I'm sat across from my Watcher I'm almost grateful for the fact that he's a lot younger than I'd anticipated. It almost makes me feel safer. That maybe what he lacks in experience will be substituted by a shred of humanity and I'll walk out of here a more integrated member of society.
"Suki, Alora Kione," he begins, reading off information from a device on his wrist, projecting holographic text just north of his arm.
"Yes. I take it you're not my Watcher?"
"No, I was not originally assigned to you. I'm afraid your Watcher has been relieved of her duties."
A pause.
She was fired! What for? Hiding information? Keeping me alive?
"But I will be your Watcher from now on. I will decide how well you have done on this interview. I will help you become a full-fledged member of whatever Kru it is that you are part of, I will help you through the rest of your Vicissitude and I will watch you for the rest of your life."
"Yay. Isn't that sweet of you," I whisper dryly, a flickering smile gracing my face during my attempt at a joke.
He doesn't laugh.
It irks me how easily those words flowed from his mouth. As if watching someone for the rest of their existence isn't even the slightest bit creepy. There are days when I think about the hold the government has over us. It's a little suffocating, like wearing a shirt that's three sizes too small for the rest of your life, but then I think of how bad things would be without it... and then I think of my sister.
"Describe yourself in three words."
"I'd like to think that I'm independent, reliable and intelligent."
His eyes dart down to my information then back at me with incredible speed as if saying "wrong!"
"Would you use the word 'kind' to describe you?" he adds as a follow up.
I want to say yes and offer him an overzealous smile, but I refrain from doing so knowing that it wouldn't be entirely true.
"No."
"As a government, we are by law required to let you have one consistent act of human-rebellion. What do you think yours is?"
The interview consisted of questions that ranged from what I thought about the politics within the Ring to my perception of the life we live here. All my answers are the same ones I've practiced since I learnt of this and I regurgitate the phrases that are expected of me, because I know that too much honesty would equal failure. I most certainly can't speak about how at times I second guess the system that's carried our people through so much.
We discussed my motives for things I did years ago, my interests, hobbies and skills, what my life is like at home and everything in between, but overall, I feel I handled it okay. My mother's been drilling me on how to get through this interview for as long as I can remember. While for others the interview may hold most of the weight in terms of making or breaking futures, my problem is the genetics testing.
The part I'm about to fail ... dismally.
I watch with bated breath as he closes my social and academic information, opting to look at my medical records and for what feels like the hundredth time today, a delicious spoonful of fear lodges itself in my throat.
X X X
A/N
Ohhh the pains of being different 😭... well anyway, would you have preferred to be hidden if your were in her time?
Please vote ⭐️ and comment 🗣👀