Sunrise

Andrew wakes up to what he thinks will be just another boring day. However, seems someone has other plans..

Solar rays break through the dim, grange covered windows of my room, tearing at the invisible strands that hold me in the safe, comfortable realm of dreams and forcing me to wake up and smell the misery. It's October and I know that soon the world around me will be encased in ice, so I don't complain about this rude interruption of my respite.

 I put on my clothes, gray shirt and black jeans, tidy my room up and walk out into the dark and slumbering hallway connecting the rooms which make up the dorm I live in. I walk the halls, my boots occasionally slipping on something sickly green and greasy - I'd rather not find out what. Just like every morning, I'm the first to wake up and will probably be the last to come back into the dorm. I hate that place..
I'm finally able to reach the tall double doors, arched at the top which mark the entrance, or in this case, exit of Hawthorn's Dorm for Gifted Adolescents. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Gifted Adolescent. Almost makes me wish I was one, until I remember I share a living space with people who's snob index goes through the roof, even by today's high society standards.

I walk out, without looking back at the gloomy building behind me and head for the bus stop. Walking downtown takes forever, and even though I'd usually jump at the idea of a relaxing jog, today I'm feeling lazy. The bus arrives, fifteen minutes late as usual followed by mind numbing exhaust fumes. I show the conductor my "Advanced Student" card and he grudgingly lets me go on board for free. One of the rare things I love about this city, if you're actually willing to get off your lardy a*s and learn something, you get free stuff.

The ride is boring and uneventful and as the minutes pass I can feel the numbness of sleep fall over me again while watching the graying, concrete visage of the city pass by my eyes.. I feel just about ready to allow my eyes to close when the bus comes to an ungentle halt and my head jerks forward towards the seat in front of me. I immediately make myself busy rubbing my sore forehead when something, or rather someone catches my eye. A girl walks in with a proud strut you can only see on the bodies of the Risen, the ruling city officials or their children. But something about this one told me she wasn't one of them, even though I couldn't place my finger on it.

Our eyes meet for just a moment as she's sliding gracefully down to find her seats, and weak chills run down my spine. Her eyes are intoxicating and blue and her long, black hair perfectly frames her round face. I look away, feeling a sudden rush of red in my cheeks and turn to back to the dull scenes of the city, trying to gather my thoughts.

As the bus drives forward I can't help but look back at her when I think she isn't looking. Just a sneak peak, just a little gaze. But she isn't looking at me, or anything else in the bus at all. She's looking towards the distant skyscrapers of the city with a look in her eyes that's full of longing, or perhaps that's just my imagination. I allow myself the rudeness to drop my gaze from her face and onto her body. She's a skinny little thing, wears jeans and a plaid shirt, rolled up to her sleeves... and that's when I see it.  The small circular tattoo on her forearm, a falcon with broken wings encircled by a snake. Absentmindedly I touch the identical tattoo on my own right arm, inked in my flesh since I was an infant. It's how they marked the children of the Insurgent, the rebels who dared to try and usurp the government nearly twenty years ago.. None survived the backlash from the Risen, but their children did, and they needed to find a way to mark them.

I shake my head, resisting the urge to hit something. Marked, ashamed... shunned., just for something my parents did while I was a hungry baby in a crib, crying and alone while they were off fight their war. The sheer unfairness of it all makes me want to spit. I tug down on my sleeves, even though they cover up the entirety of my arm. I've never been able to get past the fact that I'm branded like cattle. Oh, I've seen Insurgent children wear the mark like it's a badge of honor, like it's something to be proud of. They usually ended up beat up on the playground or stabbed, as we got older. Not me though, half of the time I can't even look at the thing, let alone show it in public.  People used to think I hide myself behind clothes because I was scrawny, or had some sort of hideous disfiguration or scars. They never thought I was a child of Insurgent ,not until they learned from someone else, which was a small victory for me, making my life just a tad bit easier.

My train of thought grinds to a halt along with the bus. It's my stop. As I walk down the seats I just can't help but glance at her one last time as I'll probably never see her again. I can't explain how  or why I feel something special about her , but I know it's probably connected to something we have in common - the mark.  Her cold blue eyes meet mine and freeze, mortified. She just smiles and looks away, making my head prickle at the back as I finally climb down from the bus, confused.

The University of Scholastic Arts stretches in front of me, it's rough edges and carved walls casting an intimidating shadow over the students rushing to and from it's long halls. Today I'm one of them, sliding through the busy crowd to the large arched doors similar to those at Hawthorn's, yet somehow even taller and even more intimidating. As I scurry though the sea of elbows and muffled voices a head of long, black hair catches my eye. My eyes go down noticing the plaid shirt, the rolled up sleeves and.. the mark. What in the world is she thinking? Wearing the mark proudly in the bus is one thing, but it's school it just means you're begging for a beating or to be a victim of the unfairness the Risen are known for.
I make my way towards her, pushing aside the busy cogs of the giant machine of the city repeating the lessons they crammed in their head one last time before the exam....

At the though of the exams a stray thought comes into the back of my head, followed by a muffled panic. I forgot about the exam! S**t! My minds goes into overload and I check my exam schedule and I see it : Advanced Cultural Origins - October 24, 8:50 AM. I scurry though the halls, pushing everyone aside while I try to find the ACO classroom, my heart skipping a few beats, the blood rushing into my brain. I am so screwed!

I knock on the hard wood door and enter the classroom silent and with tensions so high it's palpable. I notice everyone's gaze on me, their piercing eyes cutting through my flesh and eating away at my core. I manage to find a quiet corner in the back of the room and dart to it with my head lowered, avoiding anyone's gaze. I sit down and only then remember I even forgot my textbook and notes. Yep.. I'm fucked.

On the board behind the professor, now busy examining a student that's clearly having a small panic attack, is written the subject of today's exam. : Arisen Wars, and the Rebellion Conflict

I power up my  WWCPad and access  the information network, trying to find whatever information I have enough time to process....  My mind begins working overtime, and a faint image comes to me about a lecture of the Arisen Wars, delivered in a rather unenthusiastic way. I feel like my brain is just one giant mechanical construct right now, and the gears are finally turning..

The false democracy that had governed us all for more than anyone can remember turned into a tyrannical regime, making the lives of anyone not in their ranks unbearable. Finally, after decades of oppression, the people rose up. The only problem was that they were not united in their upheaval. Two factions formed, made by the same people who had the same, miserable lives, who lived under the boots of the same tyrannical regime... yet idealistically they were earth and sky.

The Insurgent wanted changes, radical ones to the way we function, even to the way we think. The Insurgent wanted every man, woman and child to be able to make their own choices, their own path in the world and decide by themselves whom their allegiance lies with. In theory, this would be ideal. We would all be free to run wild and the natural state of things our ancestors spend thousands upon thousands of years trying to transcend, would be restored. Chaos would run wild and our civilization would be leveled to the ground within decades... or at least what the Risen wants us to believe, I think to myself as I go about the lesson in my head. History is written by the winners, and in this case, that was the Risen. The other faction..

They wanted order. They wanted peace... The brave Risen fought alongside the fanatical Insurgent during the war, even though both sides knew their alliance must come to an end when the conflict is over. And so it was indeed ended, in the most horrid way possible. The Insurgent betrayed the Risen, making assassination attempts on their most prominent figures. They attacks failed miserably, however  resulting in another open war, better known as the Rebellion Conflict. The more numerous, powerful Risen made quick work of the Insurgent, leaving them the only faction, and ultimately the heads of the new government, and all Insurgent children orphaned, marked and integrated into society.

I feel a rush of rage wash over me as I read the words on the World Wide Connection Pad, clenching my fist in order to stifle the urge to punch something.

The Insurgent children, though innocent of their parents crimes, cannot, in fact, be equals in our society. The seed that spawned them is evil, deceptive and chaotic and is of the same people who once sought to destroy everything we hold dear. Unfortunate as it may, they will never have a choice to vote, and will always be regarded as a second choice. By law they are also forbidden from marrying or bearing children, insuring that the corrupted Insurgent bloodline dies with them.

I turn away and turn off my WWC Pad, determined to give that trash of a text another glance. Anger washes over me like a river, clouding my mind, numbing my senses till like I just feel like a statue, enraged but unable to move, unable to do one damn thing about my situation.

The professor finishes examining the girl with the panic attack, giving her an AV-Average, which is just enough to pass. She gets off the chair and runs away from the desk like the professor is the living embodiment of Satan... some people just can't handle stress. I hear a name called out by no one moves or turns, and I wonder for a moment if they're too caught up in their shallow conversations to notice, when I hear the stern voice again.

"Andrew Harris. Is there an Andrew Harris here?"

I can't think, I can't breathe, I can't even move for a moment. My name was called out yet I can't do anything other than pretend like I don't exist. I' m going to flunk this for sure... I hear the stern voice again, fairly certain that it's for the last time.

 "Mister Harris if you do not report to the examination you will automatically get UA - Unacceptable, and will automatically fail the class. "

I start to move without even thinking about it, more like an automaton than a person, and think only of how flunking even a single class will mean revoking of my Advanced Student status, effectively ruining my future and condemning me to the life of a garbage collector or servant, along with the other Insurgent children. Only those of us who are exceptional, whose potential usefulness overshadows, even by a small margin, our shameful heritage, are allowed to have some resemblance of equality amongst the others. Some have even been allowed to marry after being fully "re socialized". And all this possibility is lost by failing a single exam...which is just about to happen to me.

I shake more and more as I approach the professor's desk, the gears in my usually racing mind grinding to a halt. All I can think about is the image of myself cleaning dumpsters for the rest of my life.. I sit down in front of the professor, Edward is his name, I think. Stern blue eyes en framed by spectacles pierce into my soul, his square face devoid of any emotion as he strokes his sharp, freshly shaved stubble.

"Nice of you to finally join us, mister Harris. I was beginning to think the workload proved to be overwhelming for you. It wouldn't surprise me.."

His words once again emphasize the fact that Insurgent children are a lesser species in the usual, untactful Risen manner, and I can't say I don't immediately feel sick to my stomach.

 "Not at all sir."

 I manage to say though a grin so fake even the Risen would be proud. Obviously unconvinced he motions toward the five envelopes in front of him. Each holds a different, random set of questions, and at this moment the right choice could save me, while the wrong one could ruin me for good. I hold my breath and make my choice, the one in middle, fitting when you think about my own position. I open it and take out the paper with the question, my heart pounding at the speed of light.
 
1. Founding of the Risen Political Movement
2. The Insurgent treachery and the Rebellion Conflict
3. Risen Ideological Progression

A wave of relief washes over me as information surges from the dark, moldy corners of my mind and into my consciousness as I realize I know about two of three subjects given to me. Maybe I can scrape out a BA - Barely Acceptable after all. There's no time to think and words just sprout out of my mouth, and before I'm even aware I'm sputtering out facts about Risen ideology and history, and even small bits of the Rebellion Conflict, a subject I avoid like the plague.

Almost an hour later, when both my mind and tongue are exhausted, Edward interrupts me with a quick palm up in the air, signalizing my examination is over. He eyes me up and down for a few moments, bringing his fist to his mouth deep in thought, probably deciding if he should give me an UA - Unacceptable, deciding my future... After agonizing silence he speaks up, his voice coarse, dry and rather intimidating

"Well mister Harris that was..." He makes a pause before lowering his voice and continuing to speak in a mocking voice "..utterly sub par. However, taking into consideration your.. predicament I suppose I can lower my standards. This is just barely enough for an AV - Average."

 He's testing me, trying to see if I'll finally give into his mockery at the promise of a higher grade. The prick! I shake my head and curve my lips onto one of those famous Risen grins.

"Thank you, sir. But I'd get the grade I earned. The Risen teachings tell us that special treatment is an undesirable trait, that all men should be equal in the eyes of god and other men."

 Of all the junk that flew out of my mouth in the last hour that sentence had to be the biggest load of bull by far. However, it seemed to have pleased Edward's egotistic Risen mind, as his response was nothing more than a stern nod.

"Acceptable, then. Do try to keep up with the program, mister Harris. We'd hate to loose such a promising student.."

The sarcasm in his voice is so badly hidden it's insulting. He enters my grade into the student data base without giving me a second glance, sparing me of his cold, piercing gaze. I get up and walk back to my seat, my legs shaking so badly I'm afraid I'll fall down. I slouch myself back into the seat in the corner of the room trying to process just how lucky I got to draw those questions. I'm just about to get up and leave the classroom when I hear a soft, almost melodic voice from behind my right shoulder.

"What a typical Risen prick.." The words are for my ears only, and as I turn around my almost stops for the second time today.
It's the girl from the buss, sitting slouched back into her chair and balancing it on two legs, her own defiantly prompted up on the table in front of her, with her hands behind her back.

"Pardon?" I say, trying to make myself look innocent. I'm not a Risen bootlicker, but there's very little I can do, other than make my situation even worse. That mark on my skin isn't going away, and I have to make the most of it however I can.
 Like she noticed my attempt she looks me straight in the eye with the corner of her own, emphasized by black eyeleyner making her blue eyes even more intoxicating.

"The professor. He was milking you just cause you're an Insurgent descendant. Don't pretend.."

I shrug as I notice the other conversations in the room have quieted down, and not just because Edward is torturing another student. They're listening to the conversation of two Insurgent children like a scientist would observe monkeys in their natural habitat, silent as to not interrupt them.
I have out a sigh and raise myself from the chair, walking up to her and amazing myself with the courage I've mustered to sit right next to her. My heart is already pounding and my palms are getting sweatier by the minute, but she'll just make it worse for both of us if she keeps this outspoken loudmouth act.

"Hey, keep it down will you? No need to make our lives any worse by making them agitated." I try to mutter out with a calm voice, realizing I sound like a total Risen bootlicker all too late..

Her thin black eyebrows form an arch as she eyes me up and down, too alike Edward for my taste. She purses her lips and seadies her chair back into a normal position, safely on all four legs before turning my way and continuing, her voice just slightly lowered.

"Well am I wrong?"

"You're more right than I'd ever admit. But not like we can do anything about it, right?"

She frowns at that, clearly not being able to make peace with that statement. Still, she extends a hand covered by a leather glove with figers removed, and I shake it, firmly but gently.

"I'm Christa."

"Andrew." I manage to blurt out, my tongue feeling like it's going to twist into a knot. This girl is.. something else..

Author's Note

This is the start of.. the start, basically. I'd love to hear any opinions you can give me, as this is one of my first "serious" works and I'd love to hear what people think of it.

Reviews

[Fire Mage Andrea]

It's quite descriptive which I like. Who are the Risen? Is A Gifted Student "higher" than an Advanced Student in the same way that an PHD student is higher than an A level student?
The start is good - it flows nicely.

[M.N]

All good questions which which will be answered when their time comes. This is maybe the first page or two and I didn't want to cram it with information off the bat. I'll keep updating it regularly, thank you for your feedback.