They Chose Me (Draft 1)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 

                I watch an old American dollar float down, falling from the illuminated mustard yellow and burnt orange leaves turning on the trees indicting fall. I quickly take a few steps over and pick up, lifting my head and flipping it side to side to confirm that no one saw me.  I shove it into my pocket and continue walking like nothing happened. My neighborhood street isn’t very busy at dusk, which is good because this is the time I come home from babysitting if I have it that day.

                I think about all the other American money I have stashed away in my house. There’s at least a hundred or so dollars in there, all in different forms. I mostly find the ones, but I’ll pick up other values here and there. Good thing the guards and officials haven’t figured any of this out. I would die. On the spot, just like they did with my mother and my older sister. Except what they did is much more punishable than a fifteen-year-old girl hiding former money. I hurriedly push thoughts of my mom and sister away before I get too angry and I start to clench my fists so hard my skin gives way to my nails, or if I have the option, throw things. Either or.

                The thought of the officials arriving at my house every month and finding the money scares me. I have to admit it. No one is allowed prior American money. A few years ago, the United States got overthrown to a powerful group of rebels who thought they could lead the country better than anyone else. My mom used to tell me arrogance can lead to bad things when I was little. It was a common household word. Mom would also joke about how my dad had too much arrogance, which he didn’t, and that he would rebel against the government. I didn’t understand it when I was young, but now that I’ve matured, I can barely see why my mom was killed because they thought she was leading a rebellion with her eldest daughter Rose. Before, I was so confused and angry. Anyways, they eventually won and told everyone they were going to lead a democracy, but it isn’t. Like at all. They killed my mom and sister. They knocked me out, and when I woke up my left arm was still bleeding from when they cut a long gash in my forearm. I still have a scar. They almost murdered my dad too, but decided it would be too suspicious to the neighbors, aren’t they kind? Never in a chance of a lifetime. They continue to make monthly visits every year to make sure my dad and I aren’t starting a rebellion since after all, I saw my mom almost every day, except when she went into the woods and came back a day later. This is my only belief that she did initiate something. My sister would sometimes go, however I was too young to understand why.

                I arrive at the primrose front door to my house. I take my key out from my other jean pocket, the one without the dollar, and slip into the lock and open the front door.

                “Dad?” I ask. I step inside to my house. Light blue walls and clear windows surround the open space. A contemporary kitchen to your right, a nice-size living space to the upper right, and in a separate room, a study, a bathroom, and a large dining room all line up to my left with a staircase leading upstairs.

                “Emma? I will be down in a minute. Leftovers in the fridge,” he says. I turn right into our kitchen and open up the glossy fridge and pull out some macaroni and cheese and heat it up in the microwave. I take a seat at the island which separates the kitchen from the living room somewhat. Scooping up the macaroni, I slide it into the depths of my mouth. The cheese slowly ebbs away in my mouth until I let the rest glide down my throat. I take more spoonfuls, and then I see my dad making his way down the stairs steadily.                                                                                                                                                                                                               “Hi Dad,” I say. He looks tired and miserable. I wonder if I look the same. Ever since my mom and Rose died, we both seemed to take over this despondent look. Of course, on this day, the third of every month is when it’s the worst. This is when the guards visit.

                “Hey Emma,” he replies. He makes his way over to the fridge and similarly pulls out some macaroni, and heats it up in the microwave. A few seconds later he comes over and sits next to me. “How was babysitting?”

                “Good, like always. No one pulled my hair this time,” I say with a slight smile.

                Just as I’m finishing up dinner, one knock thumps the door and then three guards barge in, or officials, all the same. They’re all very burly looking and tall, but one has very dark brown hair, and the other one’s head is shaved somewhere between a buzz cut and baldness. The third one is a woman with brown hair that comes a little past her shoulders like mine, and she too has green eyes like me. The brown eyes and green eyes evaluate at my dad and me, and I stare at them back, glaring my enraged eyes at them.

                “Hello Mr. and Ms. Roche. How are you doing?” Brown Hair asks.

                “Just fine. Enjoying dinner before you two showed up,” I say muttering the last few words. My dad nudges my leg, and when I look up he gives me a scowling expression.

                “We’ll get started,” Bald Guy states. They hold up a very official looking document which my dad and I have seen plenty of times which just says they can search and take anything. Of course they had to get permission from us, but let us just say we did not go willingly. The parchment also says that if they take anything not associating with a rebellion, the three officials will be taken into custody. This was our perk. So in a way, we do have some fair rights in this situation. Our government can’t control everything we do, however they do bargain with us. It’s not always fair, but it’s much better than what they could do to us. When the government started, they established more of a dictating government, but they slowly turned it into something a little different than a monarchy. There is one leader and with the help of others pass laws that seem fair; only fair if you behave. Moreover, they pass a bunch of laws they never tell the citizens about because the so called ‘others’ are right under the leader in terms of ruling influences and fairness. Clearly, my family is an exception to the fairness.

                Every time they come, my hands always get slick with sweat. My spoon slides around my fingers, trying to get a grip. Finally when they do, I have to pinch the spoon so tight that the tops of my fingers turn an alarming red. But this time my stomach is unusually clenched. I always tell myself that they will find they old American money I’ve hidden. Here’s an example of unfairness, if you have American dollars from the past, they will take and punish you. Depending on how much you have, they might leave you off with a hook, or sometimes they will physically punish you. I remember someone in a few houses over found a hundred dollar bill buried in his backyard. He told everyone because he was so excited to have something special. The guards came and took the dollar away and him too, yet we never seen him again.

I add up all the money in my head. Now I really hope they do not find it because I will die on the spot.  When they come downstairs, they seem more pleasant than they were. Good, they didn’t find anything, I think.

                “Now please turn out all pockets, and we will start your search with our scanner,” the lady says. I stand up from the stool and go to put my bowl of macaroni on the counter. As I turn around the island, I remember why my stomach is tightened when it is usually not, it’s because I have an American dollar in my pocket.