I stared up at the rectangular fluorescent light, refusing to get up. Beyond my blue curtain of a wall, I could hear the others dressing in their uniforms. A monotone voice came over an intercom, like it had every morning for my entire life, counting down the minutes we had to dress and freshen up. I climbed quietly off my hard bed so the others would not know about my refusal to rise.
My room consisted of a simple blue curtain that covered half of my sleeping quarters that met with my neighbor's curtain to created my own living square. Two objects occupied the small area; a bed draped with a sheet with a single pillow and a wooden chair that held my morning clothes which had been placed neatly there the night before. To my left, I could see up to the ankles of the male next to me.
Number 4313.
I had not spoken to him since I had been moved in with the teens at the age of ten, three years earlier, but I knew his features well. He stood well above me with light brown skin, curly black hair, and hazel eyes. He was two years older than I. We did not have classes together.
I slipped off the white nightgown all the girls wore and put on my uniform, adjusting the white collar of my undershirt to lay perfectly against the navy sweater, before tucking both neatly into the gray skirt. I pulled uncomfortably at the dark tights as I shoved my feet into black flats. My feet were beginning to out grow them and I knew I would soon need a replacement pair.
My heart raced as I glanced to the left taking notice of 4313's gray pajama pants lying on the floor. I blushed as I pictured him in the room next to me. Interest in another was wrong.
The monotone voice announced that all children were to be standing in front of their curtains for clothing and room inspections in two minutes. Pulling my light brown hair into a ponytail like the other girls were required to, I stepped out of my room. To my left, number 4313 greeted me with his eyes like he so often did. It was a simple glance but I found myself wanting it every morning during inspection. It brought a certain comfort to know I was not the only one not standing ridged and staring straight ahead of me. An Officer came around slowly as she looked for anything that could possibly be out of place. The Officers were usually like that; overbearing and controlling.
One by one the woman with the short red hair patrolled down the hall. Her shoes clicked like a metronome, her black uniform instilled fear, her hands were clasped neatly behind her back. Her face held no expression. She passed 4313. She passed me. She stopped at 4807, the girl who had moved in with the other one hundred kids of the age of ten at the beginning of the year. They were the new children in the facility and I felt as though they were always scrutinized more. To find the outsider, the non-conformer, is the Officer's goal.
The Officer's chin lifted as she halted to a stop and faced the poor blonde girl with doe eyes and full lips.
"4807," her voice carried loudly, making us all flinch as we stood at attention. "Do you see what is wrong here?"
"N-no," she stuttered as she looked down at her clothes to make sure they were tucked in correctly. She touched her hair to make sure it was indeed in a ponytail with no hair falling out.
"Are you sure?" The woman smiled nastily. The officer was clearly excited at the thought of putting a child in her place. 4807 nodded, her eyes wide and unsure. The way we were treated between ten and twenty were completely different than when were five to nine. "I'm sorry, wrong answer."
The slap to 4807's face cracked like a whip. She held her cheek in her palm as tears flowed freely from her deep blue eyes.
"Your nightgown is not neatly folded and placed on your chair; it is on the floor. We do not have room for the lazy and forgetful." The woman boomed. "There are no failures! It is not an option."
"No failures." The hall chanted. My stomach twisted as I watched the girl fold her night clothes neatly and set it on her chair. Her hands shook as she completed the task then stood back at attention.
"Now, we're not going to make that mistake again, are we?" The Officer asked in a falsely sweet tone.
"No, ma'am."
"Good." She walked away, her hands re-clasped behind her. With her back turned I took a peek at 4807's face. Her cheek was beginning to swell. In the center was a perfect hand print that was slowly turning from red to a light purple. I winced, feeling the pain as if it were my own. I was sure if the blonde girl ever forgot again they would kill her. I had seen it done before for less. It all depended on how good of a student you were and the Officer that decided your punishment. No doubt 4807's mistake would be permanently put in to record as to never be forgotten.
Our eyes met. The shame she felt was clear. The Officer had made her feel like a failure and as badly as I wanted to tell her not to listen, she could turn me in for saying it. I kept my mouth safe and shut.
We walked in an orderly line to the eating house for breakfast. The buildings were connected by see through hallways with harsh lights lining the ceilings.The sun had not risen yet. 4807 marched in front of me, her blonde pony tail swinging at her shoulders as we went. Behind me stood 4313. His steps rang in my ears and his gaze burned into the back of my neck. I had never spoken with my voice to either of them but we had small interactions with our eyes.
We walked along in our uniforms in silence.
In the eating house, we grabbed gray metal trays and held them out for food to be set into three sections, keeping each food separate from the other. It reminded me of the stages they kept us. The government required us to remain in certain places.
I found a seat. Rarely did we ever switch our seating position. I sat in the usual area with some others that I didn't know. We had sat together every day and never said a word. Hardly anyone ever said a word unless we were talking about our lessons and even that was rare.
Instead of focusing on the absence of voices at my table I looked over to 4313. His black curly head dipped down a little as he ate a bit of porridge, then another and another until all of it was gone. Next, he ate his perfectly cut and portioned strawberries. One by one he ate them in order and so did the rest of the others. I found myself not wanting to. Instead, I drank my milk first.
The others at my table looked at me quizzically. Who drank at the beginning of their meal? No one.
Except me.
I sat in class in my assigned place writing notes in my computerized notepad as the teacher talked. We didn't call them anything other than teacher unless there was more than one teacher around then they would be called by their job. Example using my current teacher: Mathematics Teacher.
If there was more than one mathematics teacher in my presence I would have to become more specific. Example: Mathematics Teacher 208.
Mathematics Teacher 208 was a short woman with mouse brown chin length hair and glasses. She often had issues with coughing and sneezing because she had an allergy to dust. I imagined what she was like outside of teaching us. If she had a routine that she followed when she went home.
Maybe she just went home, ate her selected meal, and got ready for bed. The next morning she taught us and the process repeated. We didn't live with anyone but ourselves. We were not allowed to.
No one knows who their parents truly are unless you are put in a job where you kept records so there wasn't any inbreeding and so couples whose children turned out as defective, because of genetics, were not put together again. For all I know, I could be related to my Mathematics Teacher.
You didn't choose what you did in life, who you were to be with, or when to do anything; and, for some reason, unlike the rest of my peers, I had a problem with it no matter how hard I tried to just blend.
We are unified.
I said it every day. So why wasn't it working?
"4522," the teacher stood over my desk as I stared blankly at the board where she had originally been writing down problems.
"Yes, Teacher?" I blinked several times to hide my shock.
"I asked you to complete the problem on the board."
"Of course, right away," I said as calmly as I could before standing up and walking to the white board. I selected a blue marker so you could see my work and the, written in black, question. I knew the answer without going through the steps, I always did, but I followed the process because it was expected of me.
I became enraged by the thought.
Why follow the process if I could just do it?
I hadn't been far into the problem when I reached up and erased it with my uniform sleeve. One of the others gasped. The click of the teacher's shoes as she approached the board, probably angry, didn't faze me. I had disrespected my uniform.
I wrote the answer. The simple answer that turned out to be nothing more than x=22. And I was right.
"4522-"
"Yes, Teacher?"
"Where are the steps you are supposed to follow?"
"I didn't need them."
"What do you mean 'you didn't need them?'"
"I knew the answer in my head."
"But I told you to write the problem which means you are to follow all the steps."
"But I didn't need them," I said more defiantly.
"And what if one of your peers needs them? What if they can't do it in their head like you claimed to have done?" She questioned angrily. "All must understand. We are only as strong as our weakest link. We are one."
"We are one." Chanted the students. All except for me.
"Then maybe the government should have picked higher quality genetics for the future." The others gasped. "This is only basic math."
"Do you find yourself better than the rest?"
"No."
"Than how can you judge their genetics?"
"I'm not judging theirs; I am judging yours."
What I had said was punishable by death.
I spent the next hour in the principal's office being lectured and studied as they put me back into my place. The Officer from my morning inspection had arrived to punish me only to be told that her section had two problems that day and was forced to give it to a different Officer.
The new Officer was a tall man in his early twenties with raven hair, pale skin, and dark eyes.
Instead of physical punishment, something the previous Officer had found enjoyable, the man instead forced me to write one thousand repetitive sentences stating "We are one" in the neatest handwriting possible. When my hand cramped I had no choice but to keep writing in fear he may add more to the already long list.
This took me a total of three hours. By the time I had finished, dinner had already come and gone and the students were already in bed. I had to go hungry until morning.
The new Officer led me back to my own living section in silence, walking through the white brick and glass hallways. I went willingly, wishing I would have followed the process my Teacher had wanted me to do.
To my left, I saw a sign that read library. I had never been to the library but I knew what it was. The only people typically allowed to use it were teachers coming to get class sets to be used for their lessons.
I had heard that students were not allowed in because there were old and forgotten books that had been banned from society.
I had never passed by the library before but the rebellion for war that raged inside of me forced me to remember every step from the large wooden double doors all the way to my bed. Three hundred and seventy-two. I didn't know why my brain decided to never forget the number but I knew that, somehow, I would end up back there again.