Okay, so this was cobbled up very quickly and has a few little minutiae details that a few people at my writing group missed, that hint at the nature of the world. It's quite short and meant to be more of a snippet than a full story.
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Roger Davison had been making googly eyes at me the day I spoke the truth in public. I've never been good looking, not in the modern way. It was partly by choice: what was the point of trying to change myself when I'd always have such a plain looking face? But whether it was through a dare or through genuine affection, he'd been giving me signals since morning. Even at lunch, when I sat away from the rest of the students as they indulged in the colourful delights of the System and ignored the old volumes of the past that I craved, he made a point of walking past me, giving me a wink.
In the afternoon light of the sun his feathery blonde hair couldn't look more beautiful. I was staring at him the whole time, and that was when the teacher called me out and told me to stand and answer the question on the board.
We'd been talking about the thing I hated the most, something endemic to the corrupt and depraved System that we were all a part of – history. But it wasn't
my history. It was Agorinthian.
I was always the student that kept my opinions to myself. That was something my mother had drilled into me. "One day you'll find others like you." She said before they took her away, "but for now you must be silent. Or else the Agoranthians will listen, and then they'll hunt you, just like they did to the rest of us. They didn't like what we did, because we always tried to tell the truth - to make the world listen about how they're in charge of the System." We used to pick strawberries out on my grandfather's farm, and she'd instruct me in all the ways of the old world, the old paths, but never neglected to teach me how to navigate the world of the System. I still remember the honeyed fragrance of her hair, a smell I've never smelt again but lingers in my memory. Just recalling it is a comfort.
Normally I heed my mother's words. But on that day, with Roger's azure eyes and feather blonde hair in my peripheral vision, I let a little bit of my true self leak through.
I boldly proclaimed the truth. "The Agorinthians are monsters." The classroom was silent. "They stole and twisted the System, perverting it from the inside and turned it against us."
The teacher, red-faced, told me to be quiet. I didn't.
"You can't just change history – our history – without noticing. Everything we've been learning here is wrong."
Everybody kept a wider berth after that day, and I knew that my Test date had been bumped up significantly. It was the only thing I truly feared, and for weeks I was restless until I couldn't take it any longer. Everyone knew about it, even if they denied its existence to my face.
But for once in this crooked world, I spoke the truth, smothering the lies the teacher of the System was taught, even as she tried to plant false ideas into my head, taking me aside day after day to explain them to me. Agorinthian ideas. In an Agorinthian world, truth and lie were upside down. That was the result of the System.
That was why I was left, and why I'm now here.
The best part about being away from the city was awaking to the sound of silence. Even the heat of the desert and the occasional bluster of a sandstorm wasn't enough to dampen the fact that I was following the path of truth, the path my mother wanted me to take before they took her away. I can only hope that I'm half as strong as her in doing what needs to be done.
Sammy was waiting at the doorway; I couldn't help but blush and turn away as we met eyes. He had beautiful olive skin and chocolate brown eyes. There were murmurs in the camp about his inclusion as he wasn't one of us, wasn't connected to the old world in the way we were, but he was as strong as a mule and just as committed as the most fervent rebel. From my perspective it was just as important he be here as the rest of us. The System and the Agorinthians were a threat that needed to be stopped.
At the very least, that was what I reasoned. I kept an image of Roger in my head as he looked at me with piercing eyes. Sammy isn't him. Can't even aspire to be like him. Or change himself to be what I like in Roger.
"Are you ready?" He asked.
I nodded, slipping on my weather-worn tunic and hood. Today was the day. The first day of the rest of my life, when I would follow in my mother's footsteps. The rebel leader, Father Thomas, had known my mother. "She was as fiery as they came," he told me on the first night I was here, "her passionate hatred of all the System stands for inspires all of us, even now."
And as all of us stood, row by row, faces tanned from the sun, restless but determined, Father Thomas and the elders came out of their tents. I was the only girl.
"Today is a proud day." Father Thomas said in his tranquil voice, looking over us. His eyes rested on me for a moment before moving on. "For years we've been downtrodden, helpless, as the System took over. Ever since the Agoranthians came to power the harmony and peace of the old path has diminished into nothingness. Those traditions governed us for centuries, and we are here to take it back. Whether it is peacefully or via violence depends on how willing to listen the Agorinthians are. But it's likely we'll have to make them."
One of the elders came out now, and passed us our cloaks and hoods, dyed in the colours of the old world – banned colours. It was clumsy and ill-fitting, given my skinny frame, but I didn't complain. This was an important moment.
Father Thomas' voice grew more impassioned. "They have taken our history, our past, our truth, but we will make them see reason. We, who are brothers and sisters in blood, refuse to stand against this. This is a declaration of a new rebellion against the System, born from the ashes of the old! What say you?"
I added my voice to the shouts, our voices ringing into the sky.
The rebel leader gestured and brought out three Circlets - symbols of the System, ghastly things, all painted and multi-coloured, each colour meant to represent the things that had infiltrated our pure society.
Sammy was given the torch. He burnt them, one by one. "There will be a reckoning."
My heart swelled at those words. I have never felt more connected to the truth, to my mother, than I have now. As the Circlets burnt, the words rung in my heart.
Yes. There would be a reckoning.
