The Tattoo and The Hair

I eat quickly from the plate in front of me, put the plate in the sink and then rush back up stairs. I look at the wall clock 8:04am.

“Damn it.” I curse.

I throw on a black long sleeved shirt with a green t-shirt on top of it and grey jeans with a monster size rip from the knee to almost my ankle, since I am in the ‘rich‘ sector I don‘t have to wear the standard white and blue (mostly navy) clothing, I could bend the rule. I rarely did that but everyone could see who is rich and who is poor another way The High Power (The people in charge of this place) show that we are different. I take a glance in the mirror in the hall, I look almost like someone from B.E.F.A. almost. I mess with my hair a little trying to get the bright blue to show a bit more, the blue reminds me of the clear skies by the lake with the annoying geese yapping away until the city started to pollute it. Peace and quiet, it also reminds me of clarity and the blue eyes of my dreams but most people don‘t know that. I roll up my left sleeve of my shirt sleeve and see those numbers, the numbers I dread, the numbers that want me to make change. Instead of pass ports or ID’s we get stamped with numbers on our left wrist when we are fifteen, the only people who don’t have it are politicians they get theirs removed because everyone knows who they are and B.E.F.A group because they don’t want to be part of them. I picture the ten pictures they show every year in the square, the pictures haven’t changed even though they could get Kendall’s sister’s photo from the school photo. I look at my number. 15 is my family code, 821 is the first two letters in my name, 4078 is the Sector I am in and neighbourhood, Sector four. All together 158214078 is forever stamped on my left wrist, a reminder that we are their b***h and they run us and we can’t do s**t.

I look in the mirror. I dyed my hair this colour to show they don’t own me and they stamp me before everyone else at fourteen. I roll my sleeve down and take the grey and black folder from my desk and put it in my bag. I swing it over my shoulder and walk out of my room. I shuffle back down the stairs a little more awake and I see Brenda sitting at the table trying to do simple addition, I lean over her “It’s 14 Bren”

She looks up at me a pouts “You didn’t have to tell me Hun Hun.”

“Just helping kid.” I protest grabbing my coat and hat from the rack near the table.

I get my coat and wool hate on, I open the front door and sigh, time to re enter the one place I’ve grown to hate, school.

I leave my house with a shout good bye to my parents then leave the white house, simple but elegant in my eyes. I walk down the paved sidewalk and I catch a glimpse as I walk by of the photo on the screen in the sky that just stays there but the picture changes.

It’s Kendall’s sister. Her piercing bold blue eyes like in my nightmares, her pale skin and her childish look. She looks nothing like that from my recent memory, in this picture she looks about twelve, when the organization began, four years ago.

Her eyes seem like their staring at me, below her photo it says Kat Sheppard.

Under that says, Do not care or bother with them, they are the problem. In big bold letters.

No wonder no one talks to her or even looks at her in a good way, even though she isn’t in the public eye she is hated by everyone. Sometimes I pass her some of my brownie in private because they give her the smallest lunch because of what she is, what she fighting for. I hear them whisper about her saying her family abandoned them for the outside because they rather live in poverty and violence then deal with their kids or label her as a thief or rebel.

I go towards the stair way that leads to the Sleek Subway or S.S as I call it.

I wait by the white platform, sparkling. I’ve seen photos of old subway platforms, it’s rusty, grungy look, this is the complete opposite. I makes my inside turn, sometimes I wished I live in New Toronto when it was called Toronto and nobody was left to suffer the harshness of what it is like on the outside. A time before war and greed finally took over.

I shake my head violently, Dad told me to stop thinking like an Outsider so I don’t cause a disturbance to anyone. I look at the people on my left and right, an old woman with a walker and a badge, probably a Sectors Official.

Sectors are what divide us not by borders though like The Inside or The Outside.

It like out postal code, from sector one to five. It ranges by income level, family relations and literally who you are. When you get married you are put into a sector. I’m most likely going to end up in either sector three or four.

The subway comes by in a blinding pace then slowly stops, snapping me out of my trance.

When the black doors open many people walk out, a few with Official uniforms, many with suits or dresses. I stand out with my casual outfit and wild hair, I get some looks from people. A small smile appears on my lips, that‘s one thing I get joy out of, not being in the box but it seems it‘s getting smaller. I step onto the subway and show the officer at the doors my pass. It’s almost dead in car I’m in. I sit close to the doors and the officer gives me a nod, he knows me.

My uncle couldn’t have children so I was like the son he always wanted but never had. He didn’t bother to adopt but part of me wished he did so I could not be notice by everyone.

I look in front of me and see out the large window there. I see the city all clean and fake, I get a bitter taste in my throat. The Outsider side of me is getting out. I blink a few times and breathe heavily, you‘re an Insider, you‘re an Insider.

“Next Stop Bellamy.” The announcer says over the speaker.

The train comes to a halt and I see some other students get off along with me. They seem bored and tired, like they don’t give a f**k but then again, who does?

I race up the stairs that lead outside, when I’m outside on the busy sidewalk I hustle down the sidewalk with my bag clinging to my shoulders. I see the large red building sticking out from the mountains of glass and concrete.

The school was one of the few buildings that was still useable after the war according to my teachers. They fixed it until it worked properly then re opened it.

I cross the street with everyone else but I’m the only on with the blue and black hair with a hat covering it. I enter the building and slow my pace down the hall. I feel their gazes, the girls, the ones who want a piece of Mr. Future “President”/ Dictator of New Toronto a*s. It doesn’t matter their grade, they want it but I don’t want them. I want to be solitude, at least for now. I go to my locker and punch in the digits, it unlocks with a snap and I take off my jacket and hat and throw it in there with not much care.

“Oh Hunter Collins showing some skin!” Some jock from the end of the hall hollers “I thought Politicians were supposed to be modest.”

I roll my eyes, a*s hole. I tug my under shirt down a little more and same with my over shirt.

I don’t really want to be a politician, I want to be me, Hunter Collins. I grab my History books and I feel a shiver down my spine.

I look beside me and I see her a few lockers down, Kendall Sheppard’s sister, Kat Sheppard. Her light brown hair tied back with a rubber band or string into a short pony tail. Her face looks the same and so do her features except a little older, she looks taller. She is wearing a black sweat shirt and black jeans with blue paint smudged all over them, custom colour of B.E.F.A, black, blue or red.

Her eyes flicker to mine and I see blue, I look back.

I close my lock with a bang and approach her, all eyes on me.

“Nice jeans.” I breathe out.

If I told most girls that they would most likely faint then I would awkwardly walk away.

She is only about five foot five. She looks up a little at me.

“You shouldn’t be talking to me. You have your reputation is on the line.” She snarls looking at me fiercely.

She knows, I know but I don’t care. Something inside me wants to talk to her.

“Also thank you.” She adds.

I back away from her and all eyes are on her now, she has a scowl on her face and I’m backing away with my hands in front of me with my books tucked under my arm. It looks like she scared me.

“What’s your problem Rebel?” Some b***h steps forward.

With her pink nails and outfit with blonde hair she looks bitchy.

“Nothing, Megan.” Kat remarks.

Megan goes up to her and gets in her face “ Don’t touch my man! I’m going to be wife and we will kill you and the rest of you Beef’s when he is put into office.”

I’m not going out with her, I don’t even know her name before Kat said it.

I try so hard to be an outcast but I end up with a fan club.

The b***h hits Kat with an open hand and a loud smack.

Kat holds the lockers for support. Part of me is angry and wants to save Kat but the other part of me wants to protect my reputation and not get another scolding by my uncle about public appeal.

I can see Kat’s fist ball up and I rush towards them.

“Stop it! Seriously.” I yell.

But it’s too late and everything goes black.