Appointed (Rector Series Book One) - Rewriting!

The Color That Stains All Our Lives

Here's a taste of what's in store! Please keep in mind I suck at beginnings and it gets so much better, I promise. Comment and tell me what you think! Vote if you really like it. 

Enjoy!

"Number 4! Number 4, wake up!"

I open my eyes and gaze sleepily into Number 9's gleaming white eyes. They're a shade lighter than his pale skin that contrasts with his dirty blonde curly hair. I wonder if he sees the same nothingness in my eyes as I do in his.

"Come on, get up! Today's the day!" His trademark grin is wide, covering the bottom half of his face. Just the sight of it makes me want to duck under my covers. He's practically bouncing on the tips of his feet.

How can he be so excited about this?

"Don'tcha want to know what ability you have?"

I rather not.

A speck of green infects his left eye and I know he'll be declared a Viscus at the end of the day. If I don't become one too, we'll never see each other again. Why would I be excited about that? Number 9 is the closest thing I have to a family.

"Breakfast is served soon 4, get off your ass."

Great. Number 7 is here.

I'm not exactly sure what our relationship status is since the first day of year 6 when we were assigned to the same unit, we were reprimanded for fighting; spent years 8, 9, and 10 throwing numerous objects at each other to see if we can hit our target; and now ever since I gave him half my breakfast rations when his was taken away for being late to class too many times, we've kind of evolved into a love/hate relationship.

I'm feeling more hate than love right now.

"Up and at 'em!," he yells as he snatches the thin white sheets off my body and I'm attacked by the chilled air. My ears begin to grow hot as Number 9 laughs.

"You fell asleep in your underwear again, Number 4," he snickers. Sleeping in your underwear is considered childish and not allowed once we enter year 14 and prepare for our year 15 ceremony. I don't remember shedding my white pajama bottoms but they laid in a heap on the floor.

"At least I can sleep in my underwear without wetting the bed," I retort, getting out of bed. I slide my pants back on.

Number 7 laughs at the look on Number 9's face. I shrug and yawn into my palm.

"10 minutes, 4," Number 7 calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room with Number 9 trailing after him like a puppy.

I try not to think about what will happen to him when the government gets their hands on him. They will beat the weakness out of him.

Every morning after waking up, I try to shut off my mind so I can't think until I've gotten dressed and I'm sitting in the dining hall surrounded by hundreds of kids chattering and chewing with their mouths wide open; it's too loud to think in there; it's safe. But every morning when I open my eyes, the thoughts plague me yet again.

I am nothing but a blank slate. I have no identity. I have no purpose. I have no meaning. The thoughts are drilled into us from year 6 to our final year. We are told not exist before year 15. We are blank slates, blobs of clay waiting to be molded into what we will become. I don't remember what my parents look like or know if I have any brothers or sisters. In this world, everyone is an orphan.

I share my sleeping quarters with fourteen other boys, including Number 7 and Number 9. Twin sized beds line up against the four walls of the large rectangular room. There is a mirror above each bed so when we enter year 15, we can start checking for any signs of our ability. The walls are white, along with the bed, including the sheets and pillows; white means blank. It has no distinction and is easily forgettable and overlooked. This is one of six sleeping quarters in the boys' ward of the Unknown Community. This is where we spend our every moments between our birth and year 15. Part of me wants to escape, while the other part finds comfort in the routines that make up my life. From this day forward, nothing will ever be the same.