In the Gray

Chapter 1

The 19th a of January, I wake up calmly.

 I know the date. 

The whistle blows loudly outside, but I don't even flinch.

 I know what the sound means. 

I'd recognize Steve's bellowing voice any day. "Five minutes! Five minutes or you're sheared," he cried. I laughed a little as I put my jacket on, with a cross patch that adorned the front. The only thing holding those two sleeves together was a small, but still sturdy line of fabric across my back. It's alright though.

I know I'll be warm in a bit.

"Five!"

The countdown? Already? 

"Four!"

I said quietly to myself after him, in a deep, mocking voice, "Four!" Either he was rushing, or I was just slow. Maybe a bit of both. 

"Three!"

I hid my two pages from the book of Matthew and ran out of my dainty cubicle. 

"Two!" 

But not without whispering, "Five minutes, huh? More like five seconds. Jeez Steve!" 

"One!" All stomped into a perfect line, all except me. I scurried into my open spot, about two seconds after the final countdown. I noticed a few newbies to the Gray. They looked at me with wide eyes and scared faces. The born grays, such as me, shrugged. The shear is no big deal to us. I honestly believe my body has become immune to shearing.

I smiled smugly as Steve and Walter, two of the most...delightful guards, came to visit. Their suits were bright red, and they wore crimson ties. Walter held the shear with a blank face. A newbie would be terrified. Steve looked down at me and said, "Virginia Risk, at this point I assume you understand protocol?" He may have sounded intimidating to some, but I kept smiling.

I know he hates it when I smile.

I held my right leg out, with a joyful expression and responded, "Have at it Walter!"

He held my calf and lifted it up high enough for the other children to see. I hopped a bit to keep my balance, then mockingly gestured to my ankle. I looked up at Walter, and grinned widely. He looked annoyed. 

He pulled back the shear, about an inch from my ankle, and swung. I saw a gash open at the back of my foot, but I was used to the pain. I just felt a little sting and throbbing.

I know I'll be okay.

 I heard a few gasps, gulps, I think someone even fainted. It was priceless! Especially when the guards walked to the front of the line with their hands behind they're backs. "Forward!" And off we went to the car lot.

I will admit, I limped slightly on the way there. It wasn't anything I wasn't used to though. This is the most unpleasant part of the trip. The suffering. I view the scenery of broken down buildings, like hands reaching to the sky. Large groups of men and women in one room. Tears can really stain someone's face. Beautiful young women's faces look dry and salty.

 I look to my left and see the three hour line for food. I watch as most take the small portion of bread, corn, and pork in a cup. Some are so eager that they down all of it in one gulp. A dark skinned woman, using a spare shirt as a hijab, slyly slips her pork into another young woman's cup.

 One guard wearing a neon green suit and bright yellow tie held a chart at the back of the line, checking off hundreds of people from his list. But he looked tired. He looked over at me with eyes of copper, his face representing defeat. We made eye contact, but I couldn't look away. He gave me a slight smile. A grown man held back tears and smiled at the teenage trouble child, one he had most likely dealt with. I had recognized him.