Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The loading wheel spun in a slow circle on the hologram screen, hovering soundlessly over the desk, counting down the seconds until the code broke and I’m finally in. I’ve come a long way to get here. I’ve risked even more. I’m not leaving until I get what I’ve came for.

“Story, we have to go. Now!” Peter yells at me from the door. His light brown hair hangs in his face as he turns to alert at me. “He’s around the corner. I can hear him talking.”

“It hasn’t beeped yet!” I whisper, still staring at the loading circle. 

Peter curses and disappears around the door. My finger shakes on the control pad where I kept the tiny curser over the OK button waiting the last several seconds for the download to be complete. All I need is a simple ding. Just a tiny beep. “Come on. Beep. Beep.” I glance at the door waiting for it to open and I’ll be caught. 

BEEP… Finally! The desk drawer lurches forward jamming into my hip. Inside is the assorted collection of candy. I can almost smell the chocolate from where I’m standing over the metal desk. I grab a hand full of the delicious delicates and stuff them into my pack. The drawer closes itself when I press the exit button on the hologram. The screen image slides back down into the white pod sitting on the desk. The distinct sound of foot fall approaches the door.

I pause when I hear the mixed voice converse. A rush of anxiety stretches it’s webbed fingers across my stomach and feeds the panicked thoughts going through my head.

“What are you doing here, Loft.” Lud barks at Peter, just outside the thin walls. “You lower Classmen aren’t allowed on Level 2 and you know it.”

“True.” Peter laughs nervously, “I was just cleaning these hallways and decided to take a five minute break.” 

“Get lost then.” Lud’s voice gets closer to the door.

I spin around searching for a way to hide myself. There is a velvet blue couch pushed up against the left wall beside the hall leading towards the kitchen. The plain plastic coffee table covered in old drinking glasses is slightly tilted to the left across the wall to my right that has a single closed door in the center leading back into the bedrooms. It’s the same dorm room as any eighteen year old student. There is nothing in here except what is necessary.

“Wait!” Peter yells and I hear something knock against the wall. “Lud, do you like surprises?”

“What?” 

Peter is trying to confuse him and it’s clearly working. Not a hard task.

“You know the occasional thrill of the unknown?” Peter asked casually. “I’m not a fan myself, but I bet that you are. You have that crazy look in your eyes. Well, there is really a great surprise happening DOWN STAIRS, right now. I hear there’s cake. I’m not positive, but it might be chocolate. Unless, you like vanilla then it’s definitely that; either way it’s DOWNSTAIRS!”

Downstairs? Downstairs! I push the green button on the grey steal pod attached to the wall and watch as the door exhausts as it gets pulled into the slit and disappears into the wall. I’m overwhelmed by the stench of man as I walk into the white walled room. All musk and unwashed clothes saturated in bad body odor fills the stuffy confined space. As I gag on the thick air, I run for the open window, narrowly avoiding the mountain of dirty clothes covering the floor. I climb onto the messy unmade bed and unlock the tabs on the window sill and push it open with the palms of my hands.

A warm rush of air pushes against my skin as I look out at my Community of Dystal. The steel walled windows of the buildings reflect the sun like sparks along the city streets leading from the four separate Quarters. The sky is white washed with a thin layer of marine fog and thick smoke coming from the different Community kitchens. I find my kitchen in the center about a mile down and across the chemical green grass fields separating the buildings. That’s where I need to get to.

I pull my pack onto my back and grab a tight hold on the metal fire escape bar. My legs tuck into my body as I swing one after the other out of the window and crouch low on the metal platform. I close the thick blue curtains just as Lud’s front door slide into the wall and he walks into his living room. I push the window closed as slowly and quietly as possible and then slowly rise. 

The wall to my left stretches up past the building casting a shadow over half the land. For a moment, I let myself lean over the metal railing and take a deep breathe of the fresh air. It has a sweet taste to it, earthy and light. Not the artificial smell the air in the buildings carry. I close my eyes and let the breeze push the small loose pieces of hair away from my face. My eyes follow the length of the zagging stair case down the length of the First Quarter all the way down to the base.

The Community is broken up into four buildings we call Quarters; each building is broken up into three Levels. There is Level 1 at the very top which is reserved for the educated, high-profiled Citizens of Dystal. Level 2 is for the Citizens that manage the people; jobs, placement, transfers, and the educators. Then there is the bottom of the building for Level 3 Citizen, that’s where I fit in. They never see the top of the Quarters. They work for nothing and everything. 

When I reach the Base, I’m sweating and completely out of breathe. My hands are covered in a thin layer of black dust from the stair railings. Citizen’s rarely use these escapes, they’re mostly there for safety measures so they gather dust quickly. I try not to touch my skin or my clothes as I get a running start from the building. 

There is a group of  Level 1 teenage Citizens walking towards the Center along the pale gray cement pathway. They are all dressed in their white uniforms laughing to themselves. You can always tell the Level 1 Citizen’s from the lower levels because of the way they look. The uniforms are supposed to equalize us but there is no denying that the Level 1 Citizen’s have an air of confidence about them. The way the girls all have golden blond hair tied in long ponytails. They’re clothes are free of stains or holes. They’re beautiful. The boys are the same. They are all tall and strongly built men, with attractive regal features. They comb their hair back away from their faces and always have tablets in their hands while they talk about philosophy or measures of space. 

They don’t notice me even as I walk directly behind them. When we approach the kitchens, I casually slide out of the group and run towards the dumpsters on the back side of the kitchen so I won’t be seen. As I run along the wall, my eyes catch on a picture of a General Copper pointing his index fingers at me with the words “Protecting and Serving You, for a Better, Safer Tomorrow.” I stick my tongue out at the bone angled face and push the green button for the door to slide open and run into the warm kitchen. The cooks clatter pans together and shout orders across the smoky room.

While keeping my pace, I push through the swinging doors into the bakery that is overwhelming with the smell of freshly baked sweet rolls, mixed with sweet spices.

“Slow down, Story!” Gertrude, the best Baker in all of Dystal yells at me as I grab a piece of bread off a cooling rack. It’s fresh and burns the tips of my fingers as I wrap it into a napkin and shove it into my pack. I don’t loose pace as I turn around towards the sink and start scrubbing the dirt from my hands and arms.

“Can’t,” I say, shaking out my hands. “I’m gonna to be late.”

She grabs me around my upper arm and pulls me over to her. “I really don’t have time for this,” I groan.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be running around outside the building and you wouldn’t be late so often.”

Gertrude has thick black hair that she keeps locked in a bun. Her white Dystal dress falls past her feet, hugging her curves lightly on the way down. She always has on her gray apron wrapped around her waist with a heavy layer of white flour covering the middle. 

She is my guardian since I lost my parents when I was young. She’s been watching out for me since I was a child and was brought to the Level 3 orphanage. There isn’t many of us; twenty in this Quarter and I’m not sure about the others. We all stay on Level 3 of the first Quarter with Gertrude’s family. It’s very uncommon for a child to go without parents. Most often the child is the outcome of a Mixed Relationship, when Citizens from two different Levels have a child illegally. They are forced to forfeit the child and are then separated from one another. That has been the case for most; except for the select few that had parents but lost them. They disappear. No one knows what happened to mine. One day they were here and the next, they weren’t.  

Gertrude has been my mother for as long as I can remember. When she’s not cooking the best chicken pot pie in all of Dystal, she’s there helping us with homework or teaching us how to play card games with an old stack she never would say where she got them from.

I smile a mischievous grin as she tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “If you get caught being outside I am not claiming you. I’ll let you rot in that Thinking Room until your hair turns gray.” She grabs a rag off the counter and rubs it against my cheek. I try to pull away from her but she ignored my resistance and simply lets me go. 

“Stay inside! Do you hear me?” Gertrude yells as I disappear out the automatic doors and back out into the bright day light. The path towards our school, the only building in the shape of a circle in the center of the Community, are completely barren. Everyone is back inside where they’re supposed to be. After a quick check around to make sure the coast is clear, I break into a steady run towards the doors leading into the school.

The school is two blocks away from the kitchens, luckily it’s a straight run without any sudden obstacles to get in the way. My pack slaps against my back as I jog over the cement, relishing in the warmth of the sun away from the cold air conditioned buildings.  

The doors open automatically after detecting my movement, the halls are full with other students all filing into their appropriate lines. The teachers stand as white framed screens displayed on blocked machines counting each student as they fall into place on their own silver pod spotting the smooth white ground. Every kid wears a white t-shirts, white slacks and a white jacket. There are no pockets allowed on any clothing. Our shoes slip onto our bare feet with no laces to keep them secure. Mine keep sliding off of the back of my heel as I dodge student after student as I move around the curving walls. The floor inclines as I run up towards the high levels. I can hear the candy wrappers crinkling around in my pack as it bounces against my hip. 

  A line of students for Class 11 are being inspected as I run past the eleventh hall and down towards the Twelfth. 

As I run, I pull my loose hair back into a messy ponytail and turn the corner too quickly. A girl walking in the opposite direction gets shoved into the wall by accident as I continue in my haste. I shout her an apology but don’t wait around for a reply. When I reach the Twelfth floor I see Peter all the way down the line leaning against the wall. His leg is shaking nervously as he scans each student as they passed in front of him. His pale hair falls into his face in straight lines as he grabs a girl that hardly looks anything like me and then shoves her along when she disappoints. 

When he does see me, his green eyes widen and his mouth shapes my name. I walk to my own silver pod on the floor in front of his. I face forward, my back to Peter, as our instructor logs the hour. I make it with two minutes to spare. 

“What happened?” Peter whispers over the noise of chatting students.

I keep my back turned to him. “Mission accomplished. We feast at three.”

“Cut it out, Story.” He sighs heavily. “You could have gotten caught. I could have gotten caught. Do you know what the punishment is for sneaking into another Level?”

“No, but I bet you do.”

“It’s twenty-four hour confinement and a deduct in pay.” He adds. 

“I'm a minor. I don’t get paid.” 

He is quiet for a moment. “Then it’s twenty-four hour confinement.”

I roll my eyes. “Peter, have you ever even been in twenty-four hour confinement?”

“No but neither have you.”

“Then how do you know it’s so terrible?” I say, smoothing my damp hands down my shirt. “What if it’s twenty-four hours of eating cake. Or twenty-four hours of playing games. Or what if, it’s twenty-four hours of reciting the History of Dystal?”

“It was too close today, Story. I don’t want to do it anymore.” He whispers ardently. 

“Fine,” I snap. “I won’t ask you to.”

He is about to add something when our Instructor sounds the warning beep. “Prepare for inspection.”

We all turn in unison towards the main wall to our right shoulders. It’s a long mirror that reflected what looks like just a bunch of tired teenagers in white uniforms. You wouldn’t think anything of it, for all we know it is just a mirror. It’s what’s inside that sets it apart.

I stare at my boney frame. I’m short for my age. At seventeen most of the girls in my class are tall and curvy and have breasts. I’m short with no curves and no breasts. I have long straw like hair, eyes that are large and set close together, and the color of warm chocolate. Ordinary. Plain. 

  The long red line slowly begins to lower itself down the reflection completing one inspection. Another loud shrill beep follows and the sound of shuffling footsteps fills the small hallway as we all turn in unison so our backs are to the mirror now. I stand with my arms out at my sides as the red line scans, it completes with another loud beep. 

“Inspection complete.” The monitor announces. “Error occurred on number; four hundred and twenty seven. Please address and continue.”

It’s probably nothing. Some kid forgot to put their nail files back in their personal drawer or left a hair pin in by mistake. It happens at least once a week and normally no one gets in trouble for it. It’s Dystal’s very own way of keeping their children safe. No weapons. That includes and is not limited to; hair pins, keys, jewelry, and open toed shoes. As well as hair must be pulled back and away from the face or for the boys cut short and even. 

It’s annoying, but effective. I’ve only heard of what the world was like before Dystal. And I’ve seen what it looks like because of it. Safe isn’t always convenient, but it’s better than the alternative.

“Story,” a computerized female voice announces from behind me. I turn back around slowly to face my Instructor that has wheeled down from the front of the class line and down to my pod. Two Coppers stand behind “her.” 

“Yes?” I say, my heart beating aggressively against my chest. How do they know?

“Step out of line, please.” 

I move forward, so I am inches away from her. A face appears on the screen. She looks human except for the pixel skin and iridescent blue eyes. My chest feels hollow as my heart pounds against my rib cage pounding into my ears. I stand in front of her and the two Coppers looking down at me from their seven foot frames. 

“Hold out your arms and spread your legs.” She instructs. 

I do what she asks and try to breath carefully as to not to let my anxiety show. My upper lip begins to sweat as one of the Coppers takes a security wand and carefully lowers it across my chest, over and under my arms, down my waist and slowly between each leg. The wand clicks and buzzes as it searched through my clothes and past my skin. When it reached my shoes there is a high shrill beeping that alerts my Instructor and everyone in line. The words Metal Resource flash across her screen as she turns towards the two Coppers. 

Peter stands cautiously still beside me. His hands are clenched in white knuckled fists at his sides as he watches them communicate soundlessly. I want to apologize to him. I want to reassure him that everything is going to be okay. 

But it isn’t. 

My once completely white shoes are now covered in blackish soot. A metal resource from the stair case. 

“Please take your belongings and follow us.” One of them says. 

I grab my heavy candy filled pack from the floor and leave my pod. Peter steps off his pod. As I walk away I hear the Instructor’s monotone voice instruct him back into place. I glance over my shoulder, between the two Coppers walking behind me, as Peter watches me walk away. I nod once, trying to be reassuring and wait for him to nod back. He doesn’t. 

Every citizen of Dystal is marked with a 1, 2, or 3 number on inside of the left forearm. Whatever Quarter you are born into that is the number you receive. I run my index finger over the white three that is scarred into skin. A habit I formed after the day I received it sixteen years ago. There are times when it burns and itches like it’s not supposed to be there and wants to get out. 

I walk down the long white hallway, spiraling towards the floor of the building. The sound of children singing the national Dystal anthem fills the small space. 

We are the free and the safely kept

We keep the peace of a world without debt

We are the hope change to come

We are the children of freedom

I step out into the sunny morning again with both Coppers on either side of me. My eyes drift to the one on my right. Their arms hang like giant sausages from their wide upper torsos. They each where a white shirt that cuts off where their shoulders meet their armpit leaving their arms bare and displays impressive muscles. They wear long black pants that fall to the floor and cover black laced boots. Each Copper has a belt with a holstered weapon on their right hip. It’s an electric device that shocks the recipient with enough electricity to knock them out cold. I’ve never seen one used on another individual; however, at school, they did shoot a block of cheese and after we couldn’t get the smell of burnt cheddar out of the classroom for almost two days. Coppers all look the same, they have their black hair cut down to the tan skin of their perfectly round head. No hair threatens to poke from their almost orange skin. I want to poke the arm of the one on my right just to see if the skin gives. 

I think better not.

We walk around the first kitchen where Gertrude is probably preparing for the lunch rush already receiving order from the working Classes in the first and second levels. I’m so glad she can’t see through the thick cement walls.

Jobs are all held in the Monument building, a glass structure made with over a hundred level of windows. It takes us over twenty minutes to reach the opposite building from the Transport Dock. The cart isn't crowded this morning, not like usual. The zip through the city at a velocity of two miles per five minutes. A calculation Peter conduced after making me spend several hours take the Transport halfway around the Community. 

When we reach the Monument Building, the doors open automatically and the Coppers don’t miss a beat as they drag me through the long white hallway towards the elevator doors waiting openly for someone to enter. There is a cleaning group scrubbing the windows in the lobby, a delivery man pushes a cart full of freshly baked lunches towards the elevators with us. A group of prestigious Level 2 Communicators walk towards the elevators with their light hair tied in buns. They wear knee length shirts with their white button up blouses tucked neatly into the hem.

The elevator slides closed when one of the Coppers pushes the Level 2 button. They each keep a hand around my arm, I don’t notice at first but as I stand casually between them, I realize my arms have more than enough room to slip out from their grasp. I find no reason to escape at the moment but it’s nice to know.

They lead me down another hallway that I’m not familiar with. Each door is labeled with a cause on it. The Thinking Room. The Holding Room. The Investigation Room. The Question Room. We don’t get farther than that before they stop dragging me and bring me to a halt.

“Watch the jacket.” I snap, adjusting my arms slightly. “It’s new.”

The Copper on my right grunts unappreciatively. 

“It speaks,” I say. “Sort of. And here I thought you guys were mindless baboons. It’s good to know our community is being protected by literal gentlemen like yourselves.”

They keep their beady black eyes forward without wavering. 

“Don’t argue,” I say. “I mean every word.”

The Copper on my right reaches out his brick of a hand and knocks on the door. It opens a moment later to a tall blond woman in a white dress and heels. She smiles down at me and eyes the two Coppers appreciatively. I can tell she’s a Level 2 Citizen just by the way she stands. Her posture is perfect and elegant. She has sharp blue eyes that are lined with thin black liquid and her eyelashes reach all the way to the bones of her eyelids. Her skin is like porcelain, similar to a doll I saw an Upper class girl carrying around once. 

“Thank you, Coppers,” She says, and her perfect white teeth set me on edge. Her voice stands unwavering like a song. “Bring her in.”

Author's Note

What do you think of the story? What do you think of the characters?

Reviews

[Daydreamer0626]

So far, the story line is very intriguing. Very kind of dystopian-ish. Story sounds like a very plucky character who I have a feeling I'm going to like :) You write very nicely and I like the descriptions (something I struggle with so I hope I can learn a little from reading your work) I can't wait to see where the story goes, and good luck!

[Wolven]

Ah! Do I detect a little 1984 influence in here? "Big Brother is Watching you." Security guards everywhere, the separation of classes on a physical level. A nice Dystopian futuristic society.
To rob an apartment for sweets though? That is something new, and not too conventional if i may say so for such a setting. I love it already.
The suspense here is awesome. From the robbery, to the escape, rushing to class, getting singled out and this barbie doll character at the end who in all likelihood, i would wager, is an antagonist.
You've created a duet of rebellious citizens who take an approach of 'screw the rules' and 'to blazes with the punishment' in an environment that so far as i can tell persecutes individualism.
I would suggest that you brush up on your spelling and grammar though, because i di notice a few mistakes in there. I think 'Meat of Dog' pointed them out though.
This level of work rarely comes along. Well done!

[Hannah]

Nice pick-up on the 1984 effect. That was a big influence in the design of Dystal, as well as Zimbardo's underground Stanford experiment. If you haven't read about it, you absolutely should. Thank you for reading this and reviewing it. I'm working on spelling and grammar, most of the time I miss half the stuff because I'm so focused on the story so I appreciate any mistakes you spot. I'm so glad you enjoyed this. I hope you keep reading.

[Wolven]

I certainly intend to. Granted, I'm still in the middle of reading a number of other things, I shall make time to read this. I don't think I've heard of this Zimbardo person though. I'll look into it.

[Meat of Dog]

I really praise people who create instant suspense. There is so much writing out there and so many options that without a proper initial hook I have a hard time getting into something. Being I use computers a lot, I can relate to how obnoxious waiting for them is let alone dancing around waiting for it to load when a suspense situation like this! Pleasantly unnerving. I liked Peter right off the bat also his tricking Lud dialog regarding the ‘surprise’ made me laugh. Wit can be hard (no one knows this better than me, king comedy fail) so you’re off to a good start. You have a good way with flow and imagery; it’s just enough, not too much or too little. I like how you went the opposite direction with the orphan bit rather than bleak, hopeless, and sad. Also, most the time it annoys the heck out of me when people use words for character names but Story work quite nicely.

I like how careless Story is about punishment, I smell a bit of unfavorable foreshadowing for her here so I’m interested to see where that goes. I like it because she’s a kid, a minor, and it’s common for young people to feel unduly invincible thus it’s realistic. This story has a weird sort of Fallout vault feel to it, or at least that’s what genre it reminds me of. There’s another good hook at the end. I really liked this and I’m excited to read the next installment!


Suggestions:

“stretches it’s webbed” Its. This word is one of the few that’s backwards, coma is isn’t the possessive version.

“steal walled windows of the” Steel.


“smokey room” Smoky.

“don’t loose pace” Lose.

“isn’t alway convenient” Always.

“the reciprocate with” Recipient.

“Each door is labelled" Labeled.

[Hannah]

Thank you! I can't tell you how incredible this is to read. I must have read over it twenty times before I got the nerve to comment back to you. You, literally, made my whole day so much better. This books is my pride and joy, I've had so much fun with it and I think it's a pretty cool concept... But I'm biased. It's nice to know that some one feels the same connection to it. Thank you for the suggestions, I'm going to go back and fix those in my manuscript. I'll probably post the second chapter later today, and I would love it if you would give it a read and let me know what you think.

[Meat of Dog]

Aww ;) I'm glad I could help/ make you feel that way! I love to read and review on this site because I really feel like it helps to get some detailed feedback (I know it helps me). Also I know that feeling about your book I can totally relate. I put my heart and soul into mine, been working on the series for darn near a decade. It is a cool concept! I haven't run into anything like it on here yet and I review a LOT of stuff. I will totally read the next chapter, also.