Phobic

Chapter 1:

My family and I act naughtily in my sector. Sector VII- located in the southeast section of the city- dreads all appropriate behavior. Whether it's at an interview for a local, tolerated business, or eating a family dinner. We cannot help but act improper. Such as, not being physically able to contain a laugh, and boasting rudely. We fear tranquillity.

Maybe the fear originates from people who, quote on quote, "wanted to live like it was their last", during Armageddon, or maybe I'm wrong. It's rather misbehaved of us, and we could've possibly prevented it. But, everyone in each sector must obtain a certain quality- more like phobia, you'd say -relating to their sector's expectations; our's was called anti-solemnity, since the phobia had no actual label. If we do not follow conduct, we are removed from the city's environment into the harsh climate outside of here.

Nineteen exact years ago, a contagious illness infected the old civilizations on the outskirts of our modern one. It causes the human skin to transform into an auburn red pigment. Eventually, the sickness will burn every cell inside of your bloodstream, until you perish from the lost, yet needed bodily cells.

It began, surprisingly, by the over-average smoking annually. Greenhouse gases are also to blame. As you may know, the gases emitted from these things leisurely tore the ozone layer above us, exposing the harmful ultraviolet rays from the Sun upon the land. Well, this is the climax of that situation. It astonished me greatly how vain our nations became without the correct discipline. Then, soon after the announcement of Armageddon, an alliance formed our government. From then on, we've subsisted in the city, Rareign, populating and thriving. It was entitled after the Egyptian Sun God, Ra, and his terrible curse on us.

Our city is protected by a thick dome of steel mesh and a large layer of fiberglass, finished off with a protectant zinc oxide and titanium dioxide covering. Luckily, it shielded us since on from this UV radiation.

So technically, me and everyone who wanted to escape the city, actually didn't have much of an option of doing so.

My story begins at the dinner table with my brother, Joan, and my mother and father.

I had a small portion of peas on my plate as well as fresh beef, sour cream, and a thin tortilla. It was 'Taco Night'. My brother, who had taco meat swirling around in his mouth, bellowed at me from across the table, "Mel!" I jumped backwards in my chair. "Pass the cream, will ya'?" I handed him the condiment, grinning at him. Mel was Joan's nickname for me. My birth name is Melinda Riteson, and my brother's was Joan Riteson, until me was wed in autumn to a damsel in Sector VIII.

Marriage laws in the city were very straightforward. Basically, all ages were permitted to marry whom they'd like, with the significant other's approval, of course. But, same-sex marriage within the city walls was immensely restricted. I honestly never knew why, but nevertheless, I still obeyed the law. I knew what the consequences were if I didn't.

"Hey," Joan said. "You know that you've got... a little somethin'?" Joan touched the crevasse in between his two buck teeth. I picked at the supposed food wedged in my teeth, obnoxiously exhaling through my mouth.

My hand became moist, and I ceased picking, wiping it dry on my jeans. My brother giggled at me, and nudged me toughly on the shoulder. My parents as well, were gloating about unnecessary topics.

Sometimes it became annoying. But I'm forbidden to show it. I could forsake our sector and jeopardize my family in the process by having us expelled from the city. Did I mention that the rules applied for all who inhabited the wrong-doer's home? I purse my lips, and continue to eat my dinner quietly.

My mother is in her early thirties. She has a frizzy, dirty-blonde hairstyle, and doesn't wear the average women's makeup, like some. Only, very bold eyeliner. She ties her hair in a bun, at the moment. We are devoted to being sloppy, and are prohibited from making too much of a dull appearance. It scares us when we do so.

I was raised like this. A female afraid of her own feminism. I usually wore ripped jeans and a black, loose sweater- no bra included -as my attire. Other colors if I was feeling extravagant. Never calm, always boisterous. Nothing else stocked my closet, nor my brother's, and my parents', too.

With our wild look, came our wild personalities. Our government allowed us to perform daredevil stunts- in which I never participated -as a form of this devotion. Crazed men and women would do front flips and backflips, actually amazingly, on our home's roofs like total maniacs. I'd always stay isolated in my bedroom, hearing the clattering of loud feet above me throughout the evening.

When the day came that we could start new life, and grow into a different, new society, these panicky phobias would be imprinted in all of us. Until we'd die. That is, if we grew into an altered society- if our government allowed such a thing.

I gobbled up my dinner, like I was supposed too, and trudged upstairs. Joan rushed after me. As I reached to twist my doorknob I felt a strong tug from behind me. I looked over my shoulder. Joan hung onto the hem of my sweater, beaming widely on his stomach like a seal. "Hey, guess what?" I choked back a groan, then replied, "What?", falsely smiling. He jumped to his feet, his eyes like large marbles staring at me. "Tomorrow's the festival!" He continued. "Aren't ya' excited Mel?" I remember the thought.

The various sectors each had their own festivals held in them, where most would celebrate survival by competing in a series of activities. In my sector specifically, we interacted in archery, and of course, alcohol-related games, consisting of beer pong or combining the two enterprises and shooting one cup of liquor at a time from another's head with the bow. It was foolish, but still, I never could resist the urge to engage in the festivities as well. Toddlers were able to participate in games like, Duck-Duck-Goose, Ring Around the Rosy, or hopscotch. The usual babyhood games.

This festival was tomorrow night. I couldn't determine my attitude towards it. I'm fifteen, so I'm unable to drink. But, I've enhanced my archery technique since last month's festival, and I'm ready to show off my ability.

I looked at Joan, grimacing. "Yeah, I know Joan," I said. "Perhaps if I'm lucky the arrow'll hurl at your head."
I laughed. A dumbstruck look spread on Joan's face; and I strut sassily into my room, shutting the door behind me.

I hear him walk downstairs serenely, and release a big sigh. My brother and I had weekly feuding rivalries. Sometimes daily feuds. But, I'd always win. Sometimes, I'd allow him his spot in the sunlight. But it was particularly me who prevailed. Mainly, because I was much wiser then him.

I chortled lowly, and fell backwards on my mattress. The springs beneath it squeaked. My ceiling fan hung above my face, glowing with light. I cocked my head. One of the bulbs seemed to have malfunctioned. It blinked rapidly, like a strobing light to my eye. I hadn't noticed its defunctness before.

Awkwardly, it seemed as if right before the day of the festival, that bulb represented myself. A dull girl with no aptitude for her sector. I pushed the thought from my head. Aside from everyone else tomorrow, I'd stand out. Tomorrow's the day I'll present my worth.

Everyone will love me, and I'll be happy and crazy, too. Also, I'll ask mother for a replacement bulb.