At graduation, we march in single file lines. Those from Street One wear their Imperium emblems with pride, puffing out their chests to show the gleaming silver. Others are concaving inwards, trying to hide the fact that, despite endless nights of polishing, their cheap gray badges won't match up. Even if we claim equality, we're aware that some may have advantages. It's just a part of life.My badge is silver - my parents wouldn't have it any other way. A daughter of two high ranking officials should never, would never look less than perfect. An exercise regimen to keep me in perfect shape, a beauty regimen so that four hours of sleep looks like eight, hand-picked friends that will advance my social standing, and possibly even my career.
"You're never too young to start thinking about these kinds of things."
So now, the culmination of advanced calculus, political science for the new age, and tests every week has come to this. A parade across the stage, ignoring the crowd. A uniform march into our future. Where all of us will become political leaders, business CEOs. Those of us in the Academy look down on the rest of the country, the rest of Imperium. We learn to understand that it's simply the way the system works, the order necessary for our civilization to survive.
I see the bright eyes of new pupils staring up at me, and fight the urge to laugh. They too sit in perfect lines, learning order from their first day, internalizing it all. And then they end up like us. Ten hard years of work, endless lessons, lectures, anxieties. All for this moment.
After we cross the stage, we stand with our right hand touching our badge and our left in a salute, as the anthem of Imperium blasts through the building. Its swelling music and crashing drums remind us of its power, remind us that Imperium will always reign strong. There's a reason that the rest of the world fell around us. There's a reason our country's been stable for decades. The anthem tells it all.
We march off again, in the same order we came on. Order. Always Order.
Afterwards, I meet my childhood friend, Reb, at the drinks table. He's already taken his badge off and stuffed it in his pocket, and I see he messed up his gelled hair the minute we got off the stage. Our parents are gathered around the brightly colored shots, talking about us in hushed, intense tones. He smiles, his brown eyes glinting, and hands me a glass of sparkling cider.
Reb and I have been friends since before the Academy, a strange occurrence in Imperium. His parents and mine both deemed our friendship acceptable, as my father and his mother work in the same sector of Building One and therefore we have the same social status.
"What are they talking about? They seem pretty worried," I ask as our parents keep sneaking glances our way.
"Don't worry about them. I've just told mother this morning I'm taking an internship in the wildlife sector instead of Imperium Policies like she'd hoped. They're not too pleased about it."
"Reb I... I don't really know what to say...why aren't you taking policies? You're near top of the class." I'm in shock.
He shrugs carelessly.
"Not really my thing. Honestly, father wasn't very bothered by the news, although nothing really affects him at all at this point."
I look over and see Reb's father looking off into space with red eyes, three heavy shot glasses in his hand.
"But my mother on the other hand, I thought she would wake up all of Imperium with her arguing and yelling this morning, it was dreadful to deal with," he continues.
YOU ARE READING
The Rejects
General FictionThere's order to everything. Everything has a pattern, a set of rules that keeps it functioning. Without it, organisms die, governments fail, civilization collapses. There's a reason we're the only ones left. We had order, while the rest of the worl...