Chapter Two

I stare at my reflection. I am a short, slim girl with hair that falls over my chest, hanging in ringlets. My eyes are big and round, pools of ocean deeper than any abyss. I am pale, so pale, but I am not without the slight pinkness in my cheeks. My features are sharp, determined, narrow. I look fierce, and yet I look weak.
Perfect.
The knock on the door that sounds as I descend the stairs makes mum shiver. She looks at me and her body seems to deflate. I am wearing my best clothes; my ripped old jeans, a plain black t-shirt and my hoody. Might as well go out wearing my best.
I see my father open the door, where a soldier stands wearing brown boots, tight khaki trousers and a black t-shirt, a gun tucked neatly in his waistband and his arms heavily tattooed. He stares at us with sharp green eyes, his blonde hair swept back from his handsome face. He can be no older than twenty one.
“I am Jake Matthews from Sector Four. I shall be escorting miss Harper to the Line Up.” he says, his voice flat, perhaps sounding bored. I look at his face and wonder if he will be the one to shoot me.
Mum chokes on a sob, but she holds herself in check as we leave our home. The moment the door closes, my heart involuntarily sinks. I will never enter that house again. Closing my eyes as dad wraps his arm around my shoulders, mum’s arm weaving around my waist, we follow the young man to my fate. I slip my hand in my pocket, clenching one last possession that I hold dear. My pebble.
When I was seven years old, back when we had a car and could leave the Segment without problems, mum and dad took me to the beach. The weather had been terrible, rain and wind and even a stage where hale had fallen. Mum and dad had wanted to get me out of the house, give me some air away from home, but they were incredibly disappointed by the weather. However I was happy, and even though there was no sand or blue seas, I thought that it was beautiful. When the rain had stopped, my parents walked me along the shore, our feet making crunching noises caused by the rocks.
I remember there being soldiers, standing still as statues on the sea wall. They’d had guns, handguns in their waistbands and shotguns held from waist to shoulder. I’d stared at them in awe, ignoring my parent’s gentle nudges to keep moving, and I knew that someday I may become one of them. Tall, strong, and appearing incredibly sharp. No expression, no relaxed poster, all severe and jagged. And then, at my feet, I saw a pebble among the many sharp rocks, round and shining from the water. I’d picked it up and ran my fingers over its smoothed edges, and at that time it was oversized for my small hands.
I took it home to remind me that not everything was razor-sharp, and it remained a charm to me ever since. It only seems logical to take it with me today and I clench it tight.
We are led to the centre of town, which is usually busy with people shopping for food, clothes and health supplies. Some of the people here have money and a fair amount. There are a few families here whose sons and daughters have gone on to train at the Sectors, and they send money back to their family to get them by. The others work here, including my parents. They own a shoe shop, and they get us by, but it will be easier once I’m gone.
But the centre is not busy today, at least not in the way I am used to. About twenty soldiers stand by, families lingering behind them with quivering children. There are a few onlookers who will wait to dispose of our bodies, and a few will have the decency to pay their respects to our sacrifices. I recognise a few of the other Selected. There is Maxine Daily, who stands before her mother with tears streaming down her face. Another is Cole Cassidy, who stands with pride beside his lone mother and little sister. Tony, Ant and a boy called Ben linger together, standing respectively away from their families in order to look strong.
Finally, the Wall catches my eye. It stands tall and menacing, covered in plaster painted white which has a fresh coat added every six months. However, no new layer of paint can cover the years of blood stains that fester along it, as well as the small holes and dents from bullets that were through and through. After today, once it is painted, a white sheet with be pinned to it in order to hide the dark shadows that will mark our fates.
Nobody speaks, so when a lanky man comes to stand before the wall and asks for quiet, it is unnecessary. He is in charge of the Line Up here in our Segment, and is no one other than Blaine Jackson. He is perhaps in his late forties, his once blonde hair now greying, his average face now becoming heavy with wrinkles. He clears his throat.
“It is that time again, where the youngsters from our Segment are chosen to help improve our way of life. Some will rise, and some will fall.” he says, his voice not as old as his features. “For the ones that rise, a new life will be born. You shall move on to Sector One to learn the ways of combat, and it will be the greatest challenge of your lives. It is the place where you shall break, shatter, and then rebuilt. You will be bound to new faces, and your alliance will no longer hang in this Segment, but it will lie with the country.” His eyes scan the crowd, locking on each of our faces, many of which he has watched grow and transform over the years, mine included. He does not falter. “As for the fallen, your sacrifice will be forever remembered. Giving your lives will help improve our way of life, and we will be thankful for the rest of our lives.”
I bite my cheek. Sacrifice? Murder sounds better. The soldier, Jake, shifts to the side, signifying for me to step forward. The other soldiers do the same. Mothers sob, fathers sniffle, siblings wail. We all say our final goodbyes, kissing the cheeks of our families, holding them one last time.
Finally, with my heart in my throat and my stomach tying itself in knots, I step forward and mingle with the other Selected. I should not be afraid, that would be foolish, and yet it only seems logical. Either way, the life I know is about to end. My eyes flicker towards the sobbing Maxine, who looks back at me as we line up. She stands two foot away at my side, trying to control herself, and on my other side is a blonde girl who must be fourteen. She is expressionless, but as she turns to take a glimpse at me, her baby blue eyes stare right back into mine. I shiver and look away.
We face ahead, and Blaine paces slowly before us but will not look at us. “There are eighteen of you. You may know that that is a small number. The majority of you will go down.”
As he speaks, the soldiers take their places, and Jake locks his gaze on mine for a moment. I don’t think he sees me, but rather a target. All of them stand five feet away, motionless, hands ready on their guns. My heart hammers, deafening me and it is hard to concentrate.
“These men hold .22 guns. Some will be loaded, others will not.” says Blaine. “They will point the barrel to each of your heads, and will pull the trigger in unison. A word of advice! Do not fear death, embrace it! It is a place we shall all visit, whether it be today or in ten years. We all fear it, but it is also what defines us, motivates us. Let death be your shadow, and life will become much brighter when you know what to fight for, and what to escape.”
All at once, arms lift and guns are pointed at our heads. Jake looks blank, like he doesn’t care. Behind him, my mother crouches to her knees, sobbing into her knees as my father watches in a trance. I cannot hear anything, the pounding of my heart is too loud. I clench my hands into fists at my sides, staring directly into the barrel being pointed at me. Jake’s finger is poised, ready and waiting.
I think Blaine begins to count down. “Five!”
I can’t think.
“Four!”
I feel the sudden weight of the pebble in my pocket. I chew my lip, and taste blood.
“Three!”
Pull it.
“Two!”
Pull it.
“One!”
Pull the damn trigger! End it!
I hear a click, and I my eardrums suddenly explode with noise.

Reviews

[Joshua]

A good place to end off this chapter, and I have to comment, I'm really enjoying the building action here. I think I'm really getting hooked on this story...

I did notice something interesting, though. It seems like you use the words Sector, Segment, Section, interchangeably and yet as proper nouns, the official names for the regions. Personally I'd suggest being more consistent among them and choosing one term to use "officially," though for the sake of variety, when it's just the narrator speaking, going off of that seems perfectly normal.

And by the way, I love the way the last few short, punctual lines of this chapter read in contrast.