Silence

Chapter One

Silence. It's always been a part of my life, the only voice I hear is the one in my head, only I don't know if it is truly mine.

"God gave us two ears and one mouth. We must act like it." I remember my father telling me when I was 9.

"Why? Why must we be silent?" I would always ask.

"Silence is the key to survival, Ari." My mother chimed in. She had been right. Those were among the last words I ever heard from her. We had been heard talking, my mother told me to hide, I jumped in a near by toy box and watched. Men in red and black jumpsuits barged into our house, and took her out the door, the next thing I heard was a gunshot and she was dead. I try to push away the memories everyday, but they come in harder the more I ignore them. If I had just been quiet like she told me, maybe I could've saved her, maybe they wouldn't have taken her, maybe she would be here today.

I don't want to think about this. Once again, I push the painful memories far, far away and roll over. The floor is cold on my bare feet, as if I'm walking on dry ice. I wince and keep walking, over to the outfit I have laid out on the floor. An oversized gray-blue T-shirt and overalls with a top that hangs down to my stomach. The same thing I've worn every day for the past two years. On the top right corner of the overalls is the number 643, my number, the number I am addressed by. I pull them on and neatly fold my nightgown right where my outfit used to be.

As I glance around at the area I'm in, I see a small room about the size of a bathroom, with dirty white walls surrounding it. In the middle is my sleeping bag, and my maroon nightgown. I turn the doorknob and slowly walk out, I head into the kitchen and prepare a cup of tea, bacon, and pancakes on a platter. I ascend up the colossal glass staircase and enter the third door on the left. A blonde girl with beautiful blue eyes lays on a large, pink canopy bed next to a window on the left side of the room.

"Yes?" She says with an edge in her voice. I look at her and put the tray of food down on her bed stand and exit just as fast as I entered.

I stare at my feet, dirty, worked, and bare. I shake my head and snicker a little, only after do I realize what a bad decision that was. I clamp my hands over my mouth and run downstairs. I hear the booming of footsteps above me and I know I'm in for it. A large man I know to be the man who set me to work here comes down and stares at me. "Was that a laugh I just heard?" He says it calmly, only making it worse. I shake my head. "Liar!" He pulls out his belt instinctively and whips me across the face leaving a red mark going from my forehead, through my eye, and onto my chin. My lip quivers, No! I think. I won't let myself show weakness. Weakness gets me killed. When my mother died, my father had managed to escape, but instead of coming to find me and Luscy, he left. The authorities found us and took us to an orphanage. At the time I was too young to work, but the day I turned 11 I was sent to work here, away from Luscy for a family called the Punan's. "How old are you? 16? You know better than anyone that unless you find your pleasure in work, it will NOT be permitted" He says in a cold voice. He walks away in a flash and leaves me with a searing pain.

I run away without another thought, I want to leave the house as fast as possible. I head out the door and frown, the ground is covered in a layer of thick snow. I keep walking despite the freezing feeling in my feet. Where was I going again? The school, not to learn but to serve.

When I arrive, I knock on the door harder than I probably should have, but I don't care, I can't bear the cold any longer.

"What are you waiting for? Get the door!" A harsh voice says. The door opens to a boy about my age, maybe a year older, he has dark brown hair and astonishing gray eyes. His chin comes to a point, and he stands about two heads taller than me. His clothes are as worn and dirty as mine, on his shirt is the number 140, so I know he's like me.  A couple years ago, a dictator named Janson Grune took over what used to be North America, now know as the Conquered Lands. He took everything that made life before so great. He forced everyone over 18 to become emotionless soldiers. Kids like me who were 11-18 were forced as slaves to either a community, family, or as for me, both. We were not allowed to talk, dance, laugh, or show any kind of emotion or communication. Grune believes that emotion is weakness, he thinks that the greatest weapon is our own words. You did not disobey the authorities, or what I like to call Grunches, if you did there would be serious consequences. Sometimes they hold beatings in the town square for everyone to watch. It makes me sick, people gathered watching others tortured for their own pleasure. Those of us from the CL are called Laborers, but nobody uses that term, they prefer Serfs.

He gives me an understanding nod and let's me in. I feel something being placed on my shoulders and turn around. He stares at me, and I look back at him, we stand there for about 30 seconds before we are called to work. I look at my shoulders and see his flannel jacket. I smile at him quickly, but if he noticed he doesn't acknowledge and instead gets to work. He grabs the broom and starts sweeping, his shirt is unusually small for him and with every stroke he takes revealing more muscles than I thought possible. I look away, my cheeks burning. Why was I unable to stop staring at him?

I grab and sharpen 31 pencils and place one on every desk. The students will be here any minute. Here, schools start in December and end in October. I rush around doing little tasks, and barely finish before they arrive. They are all ages 9-18, and wear the same black, green and purple uniform. Once they are all in they split up by ages, there are six Laborers here including me, one for each age group, and one for the night cleaning.

"As you know this is the beginning of a new school year," The school principal, Mr. Endely, says creating a wave of both groans and cheers. "Students go to your classrooms, I'll be deciding the Laborer's groups for the year." The students leave, and a few older kids call out things like Don't be worried we'll take it easy on you Serfs! and I wouldn't mind a girl this year Endely!

"Ok, 897, go to 9-10's," A girl with long blonde curls walks to the 9-10's classroom with very little energy. I wouldn't mind 11-12 or 13-15, but the little kids are hard to handle, and they remind me too much of Luscy. Where is she? Is she being forced to work?  A boy is called for 11-12's and I silently plea that I'm called next.

"744, 13-15's. 643, you're 16-17." I grit my teeth slightly, careful that nobody can see. I'm with the kids my age. "140, and 568 you will go to the 18's." A beautiful girl with golden brown skin, and dark bouncy hair, smiles slightly under her hood at the boy but it quickly diminishes. I feel a pain go through my chest, maybe...jealousy? I look around, confused, and recount all of the Laborers. There's still six, but he hasn't called the night cleaning yet. "Now, for the night shift, 643." I tilt my head slightly, there were six Laborers but he decided to put an extra in the 18 category? It makes no sense. "Head to your classrooms!" He spits. I start walking towards the 16-17 classroom but before I can enter, Mr Endely calls "643, come with me."