When my heart stops pounding, that’s when I’ll open my eyes.  

When I open my eyes, that’s when I’ll start breathing.  

To see the wreckage laid out in front of me, destroyed like a bomb hit it.

To see the people laying limp, their faces destroyed.  

Destroyed and slain with defeat.   

It destroyed me.

Am I the only one still breathing?

I’m still breathing… Am I alive?

The first time I set eyes to the forest I knew it was trouble.

An adventure: trouble and danger.

It’s tall, dark trees growing up, up higher and higher,

higher than any pair of eyes, even green ones, like mine can  see.

 Green eyes, bright green like the leaves on the trees.  

It’s part of my identity.

Myself and all the other people in Aria.

Aria.

Our first leader’s name.

My name, her name and a prison to both of us.

A blessing and a curse.  

The name that binds me to royalty, to the throne, to the inheritance.  

I don’t want any of it.  

I can always remember people doing things for me.  Cooking, cleaning; I never took any responsibility.  Responsibility is non-existent when you are a young Crowned.  Then all at once, when you are preparing to be Crowned, responsibility comes crashing down on you like a tidal wave, drowning you in duties and responsibilities.

The crowned say that the worst part is the being crowned- there are numerous exams and tests to even be considered; many people have broken down once the crown is actually placed upon their head.

The Crowning seems so perfect.  A new leader, stepping up, receiving the crown as if there has never been a greater moment.   Maybe it is perfect, but I just don’t see it.

The forest is like my dreams: big, tall, vast, and impossible to get to and through.

I’ve made it this far.  What’s stopping me now?  

My name?

My honor?

Or my own fear of breaking away

from anything that I have ever known?  

It’s my own stupidity.  

Some call it bravery, but it  wasn’t brave.  

It was stupid and reckless, like me.

Like me, but no others.

The others were the same – perfect in every way.  

Just like Aria herself.

No reckless or stupid decisions would be made.  

Which is why I need to escape.  

To escape the perfect.  

A girl with a burlap tunic and striped bandana comes in, rolling in a box of cloth– probably to make my Crowning dress.  There is a step I’ve tripped over several times, so was no surprise that her toe hit the step, and she tumbled down.  Her striped bandana fell off to reveal brown hair and blue eyes.  She must be from Abra, the artistry section.  The Crowned in Abra,  Corree Stratz, was my favorite Crowned of the five sectors.  He was always so nice to me, and treated me like an adult, even when I was a child.  I don’t see him very often; our families have disagreed politically for the past three years.

Crunchy dirt filled with rocks and pebbles sits below my feet.

Where is sleep when there is no where to sleep?  

I shouldn’t be afraid; I made this decision.  

The woods are trees, the trees are wood.

It is what lives in the wood that scares me.

Uneasiness lives in the air and circles the trees like snakes,

biting away at confidence.  

Something hits me and my stomach drops

like the glass elevators in The Palace.

The ones where I would play in, trying to get high enough in the building to see beyond the walls of the castle;

to what life was like outside of The Crowned.

I went on my way to to learning one thing– life outside The Palace is in a different realm from the Crowned.  

I instantly run to the girl’s side and help her up.  Once she is up on her feet, I turn to my left and walk quickly to pick up the first of three boxes.  Once I pick the box up, I pick up the cart as well and load the first box on it.  For a large box, it is surprisingly light!

She starts murmuring an apology, and when she looks up, her face with her shock.

“I am sorry sorry, your highness.  Please forgive me!, I should have been more careful and been–” she sputtered out.  I cut her out before she could talk anymore.

“It’s really okay, it doesn’t matter” I told her.

“Oh, but it does!” She wailed.  “You’re going to take away my pay, for disrupting your day, aren’t you?”.

I was genuinely shocked.  Why would I take away her pay for tripping, when she clearly needed the money?

“I wouldn’t take away your pay.  In fact,”  I thought quickly “How much will you get paid for this delivery?” I asked.

“Fifty centas” she responded.  Fear shook in her voice.

I fished out my wallet from my back pocket and handed her all I had in there: about 350 centas.  I gave it to her, and her voice shook like she was about to cry.

“I can’t, I can’t!”  She backed away and shook her head no.

“Why not?”

“I’m so sorry I disrupted your day”.

And with that, she ran off, leaving me with three dresses and no name.

Two fences separate

Two worlds

Neither of which I am welcome in.  

Knowing you aren’t welcome

Feels worse than anything.

I am not alone and surrounded.  I am alone and alone.

It was an ordinary day for a two year old: crawling around the house, crying for food, giggling at toys, and sleeping whenever I could. My mom and dad were decorating the house. They loved to throw parties for just about anything. This was no exception. Even though they knew that they would not see their son or daughter again, that they would not see their house again, that they would never see another normal day again, they were celebrating their 18th birthdays. Though I was too young to place it, I knew that it was not an ordinary day for a two year old.

At 8:00, people trickled into the house, and the party kicked off.

At 9:00, the party was in full swing.

At 10:00, the festivities were winding down and the first tears began to fall.

At 11:00, my parents told us that they were taking a trip and that they would be back.

At 11:59, my parents tucked me and my twin sister Soph into our beds and told us to sleep well.

At 12:00, the buzzing started.

It happened so fast, the moment was in slow motion. My parents were standing directly in front of us. A single tear lept from my Mother’s face. The roof of the house was ripped open by unseen hands and the claw came through. The buzz was amplified in the small bedroom. The claw grabbed my parents and retracted through the roof where it had came, sealing the roof back up in the process. My Mother’s lone tear splashed with a sickening echo in front of a crystal slab. The only remnant of that night. The night where sounds of celebration yielded to sounds of two infants calling for parents long gone.

*  *  *

July 10th, 2986

Tessa and Darian Reichert Sr.

were taken to The Shred

upon turning 18

Every day I stare at that polished crystal, remembering the events of that night so I may find a way out. I live in a community of people waiting for their lives to end. It hangs over The Shard like a never ending fog. They’re just sitting and waiting for The Buzz to take them. I intend to be different. Everybody who I used to fantasize about leaving this broken town with has settled into a perpetual loop of ordinary life. They all just accept the Buzz. Even my sister Soph, who I had shared the hardest times of my life with, and who was with me when our parents were taken. I hate it. I will not be the same as all of them. I do not see the fog above me like I do above everybody else. I will not be the same. “Here lies Darian Reichert Jr. Burned to death on the day before his 18th birthday. He refused to play by the rules of the Buzz” I spit. I hurl the match onto the gas soaked floor. I get one last look at the clock before I burst out the back door: 11:59, December 31st, 2999.

My buzz is in one minute.

Plip. Plop. Plip. Plip. The old pipe in my cell wept, creating a small puddle on the grimy floor next to my smelly mattress. This cramped cell has been my home for much too long, but I won’t be here any longer. Ever since I had arrived at Kenally State Prison on a false charge for murder, I had dreamed of self-liberation. Now, after 21 years behind bars, I had finally gained the resources needed to undertake the operation. Tonight, I will be free… and pipe, I’ll miss you too.

When the last head count of the night drew to a close, at exactly 11:36,  I silently crept up to the lock on my cell, and pulled a shiny, white wax key out of the pocket of my orange jumpsuit. I slid the key into the lock, turned it, and slowly pushed the door open. I winced, waiting for a loud creak or an alarm, but I was greeted with silence. I sighed in relief and continued down a set of dark stairs, approaching a long corridor filled to the brim with guards. I snuck past most of them, but there was one blocking my exit route. I unbuckled my belt, the polished brass buckle shining under the bright fluorescent lights, and whacked the guard as hard as I could. The man crumpled softly onto the shaggy carpet. I’ll make sure to get him a get-well card when I get out of here. If I get out of here.

The next part of my plan involved sneaking into the courtyard. For many months during our recreational time, I had been tirelessly digging under the sickly green artificial turf to get to a metal ventilation pipe. I then used some heavy duty scissors (They gave ‘em to me for good behavior) to cut through the thin aluminium plating. I almost laughed at the thought. Little did they know that I would be the one breaking out of prison.

I descended down the vent, using my vast knowledge I had accumulated over the past few months to navigate the maze of cold metal and darkness. After what seemed like dozens of blocked tunnels and dead ends, I finally arrived at the vent leading to the front entrance. I carefully unscrewed the vent with my tough fingernails, kicked the vent down, and jumped down into the lobby.

As I glanced ahead at the front door, I wiped a tear off my old cheek. After two decades, I would finally be able to see my family again. But I knew that once I opened this door, the alarm would go off and the guards and police would be on me in seconds. But I had nothing to lose. I forced open the door and hobbled off into the night, with the alarms screeching behind me.

Darkness

The year is 2083. The War of Spectrum is over. The Officers won. Officers defeated it. Everything changed. The wavelengths of light don´t separate anymore. There was something once called ¨color¨. This is a old uncomfortable word. Like the words in the forbidden books, the dictionaries. There is no record of this ¨color¨. It did not leave a trace to follow. A secret, preserved in the past. But I shall not question it. Things are the way they are for a reason. Everything is for my own good. I am being protected.

This is what I am told by my Giver.

At 24:28-6578, I was born. I had different skin. Unnatural defects. That’s what the Officers say. A word Givers don´t name. It is forbidden and unspoken, I will never know. Now I am like the rest. All other Givers and Childs are unpigmented. They hold me down, they tear me apart, inject me, just because I am different.

I am Aurora.

Different

This word sits on a page in my journal. In my scrawl, a direct defiance of the Officers. Journals are dirty and secretive and illegal. My world is a place of understanding. Inner thoughts are shared. Nothing is secret.

I do not know why this word different is bad. But different is not a characteristic my Giver and the Officers recognizes as good. To society it is a slur. A term unspoken of. And yet it is still there.

Color

My condition is hid from no one. I am labeled. Tagged. Different.

Aurora. It is a shameful title. I am told Aurora is a natural occurrence of ¨color¨. Which I am and others are not.

As a young Child I had gazed into forbidden books. My Giver was a writer, when writing was legal. I am taught that the book of words does not lie. It carries the past, present, and future inside its ragged but silky cover. The dictionary tells me the Officers are wrong: Aurora -a natural electrical phenomenon characterized by the appearance of streamers of reddish or greenish light in the sky, usually near the northern or southern magnetic pole.

This phrase sticks with me. It sounds beautiful, like a name not an insult. The foreign words roll off my tongue as I speak them quietly into my head. I do not know what they mean, but I feel they are important.

Imagine standing in front of your king with a bow and arrow, proving to him you are worthy enough to be his vice. You take your stance and aim the feathered bow, releasing the arrow to the magnificent peacock feather before you. Nothing happens and the room is full of hoarse laughter like a bird mocking you. You smirk. They’re all wrong. As the laughter dies down the peacock feather bifurcates like a snapped twig.

What you are doing is putting your mind in place of Shrimant Bajirao I, the king’s best chancellor and warfare commander.

Sitting in his tent one day, Bajirao was plotting where he and his army would attack when he heard a muffle outside. He stood up, curious about the sound when he saw his guards fly back in the air as though they were helpless birds. He craned his neck at the guards as a warrior with a mask over their face come barging in, taking everyone of his soldiers down, one by one. He quickly stopped the warrior with his arm, making them topple down. Due to the topple the mask escaped the warrior’s face and a spool of dark brown hair hit the soil beneath. Bajirao then saw that the warrior was a woman. The woman stood up and bowed in front of him asking him for help since a competing anarchy was declaring war on her home empire.

So let’s talk about this. As an intelligent man, Bajirao could take this as an opportunity. If he helped the warrior he would get an opportunity of help from them in return, whereas if he left them to suffer he would have one less Mughal empire to defeat and defeating Mughal empires was his whole goal. Bajirao though decided to help the woman and later learned that her name was Mastani. The king’s very own daughter. Mastani was a very brave woman. Even during the war they fought together she stepped in and risked her life for him, taking a hit that was meant to be his. Bajirao was amazed by the risk she had taken for him. He had quickly jumped upon the king’s elephant and swung his belt like sword in the direction of his neck. He fell off the elephant and lay there on the soil not moving. The other men ran and retreated. The war was over and they had won. Bajirao then hurried back to Mastani, draped her body on top of his, hopped onto his horse and rode off towards the palace, hoping her time was not over yet.

-to be continued-