The Revolutionist

Prologue

I jumped out of the car and ran to the door of large dome in front of me; Adrenaline pumped through my veins and excitement settled in my bones. My pink dress whipped my legs at the same pace my heart was beating in my chest.

"Have a great day, Annisa!" My father yelled to me as I ran. Today the government was going to teach us about our careers and I couldn't be happier. Maybe this year things would finally change for the United States.

"Next!" The woman in the black spandex suit yelled, and I stepped in place.

"Name?"

"Annisa Jones." The woman's eyes went wide with an emotion I couldn't decipher. "Go in." I stepped into the large building, and my knees buckled while my muscles stiffened. A small roar of whispers filled the room, coming from kids my age that were both sweating and nervous.

"Everybody quiet" It may have been the authority in their voices, or the menacing glare they cast on us, but everyone obeyed the the command the moment it escaped their lips. I found a seat next to a boy with shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes, but noticed he looked like he hardly cleaned up for such a life alternating event. His appearance thew me off a little bit, but I was positive it would all go over well. They'd tell us our careers and we'd be done with it.

"Today we are going to go over three things: Your class, your career, and your duties to this great nation." A guard barked at us, the kids in the room nodding collectively.

"Your class is where you stand in life. It determines who you are, what you do, and where you live! The higher the class the more respected you are and the more important you are! If you come from a high class, people will treat you as royalty! If you come from a low class, people will treat you like the scum you are!" He barked these horrible words at us the way a military commander would yell at his new recruits.

A horrible thought entered my mind: how do I know what class I am? Do people just treat me nicely because I'm a small girl, or because I'm in a good class? Why don't they teach these things in school?

"Your duties to this great nation are simple: Do your jobs. If you're a cook, then you had better cook great and do it well. If you're a police officer, arrest the scum in the lower classes that cause problems."

He stopped speaking and glared at the boy next to me. Harsh.

"Your careers vary on your class, are we understood? Expectations are to be met, and they can't be met if you've got a low class with a high-end career! The career your father has is the career you'll have the same career as him. No exceptions." My heart dropped.

In six years I wanted to be a teacher, not an assassin.