Just A Number

The News

 I stepped away from Mom's room, leaving my dad and the doctor alone. Suddenly, I was unbelievably tired. My bed sheets were cold, but my pillow was inviting and warm. As soon as I laid my head on my pillow, I was out. 

A loud shriek of thunder made me jump up out of my slumber. I squinted at the clock, 5:26 am. Removing the covers, I hopped out of bed to brush my teeth. I felt my way down the hallway using my hands. As I brushed my teeth, I could hear the gentle weep of Dad downstairs. I decided that he needed comforting. 

Making my way to the living room, I could already see Dad. He was sitting on the couch drooling and crying, holding a bag of Cheetos in his hands. This was how Dad coped, with orange saliva running down his chin. 

"Dad, it will be okay. I know it seems bad now, but things will get better." I hugged his wet shirt. 

He mumbled something inaudible. I patted his back, and then moved myself away from him.

We just lost a family member, and yet I'm not crying. 

I should cry. 

I should feel like him.

I should be bawling, with Cheeto juice running down my shirt.

I should feel something.

But I don't. I mean, I do, but not like Dad does. 

My mom taught me to be strong willed and devoid of emotion. She refused to let anyone see her cry or complain. She was a fighter, and didn't want anyone to think otherwise. The emotions she felt were never shown and neither was mine. 

Unfortunately, Dad wasn't taught the same lesson. He was a sensitive guy. 

I went back upstairs to continue my sleep for a few more hours. 

Beep! Beep! Beep! I groaned as my alarm clock rang out of control. I shut it off and got dressed. It was a Sunday morning, so I put on sweatpants and an old, paint stained hoodie. 

On a usual Sunday, my dad would be cooking breakfast and the sweet aroma would allow me to wake up, excited to eat. But today, the house was filled with no sweet smell. The amount of sadness my dad had could be felt throughout the house. 

I found my way to the kitchen where I poured Lucky Charms and milk into a bowl. 

"Dad, do you want some cereal?" I asked, poking my head into the living room. He shook his head. 

"You have to eat something other than Cheetos. That's not healthy. Mom would want you eat healthy." The second I threw in Mom's name, he began to sob again. I sighed. Would he ever be the fun loving Dad he was before Mom got sick? What would he do if I got sick and he was left alone?

The doorbell rang. 

"I got it." I said, leaving my father to curl up in his ball of misery. 

A paper man gave me the local newspaper. The front page story?

Drastic Decrease in Women: What is the Next Step?

Within hours, the number of females in the world went from 82 to 60. Now, several countries, including the United States of America, have decided to take immediate action. The population of the world depends on females. Since the sudden deaths of their kind, the male population has also dropped, leaving very few children for the next generation. The United States government has agreed that the best option is to take the oldest girls, ranging from ages 16-29, to be examined and, if proven healthy enough, to become the next generation's mothers.

My eyes grew wide. This could not happen. Everyone looked down on teen mothers years ago, but suddenly we were supposed to be teen moms? I was 17; I had a life ahead of me. I had so many plans for the future. Dad wouldn't let them take me, he couldn't stand be alone. 

I was worried about Dad. What if he got so depressed that he committed suicide? 

I was worried about myself. I was scared, as much as I hate to admit it. 

I was worried for the girls that were even younger than me. Their lives were ruined because we'll be forced into some science lab where they can breed us like dogs. 

I will not stand for this. 

"Look at this. This is crazy! I'm not going. I refuse to."  I blurted out everything in one single breath, throwing the paper beside him. He picked it up with his fluorescent orange fingers. His eyes went from left to right as he read each line, his eyes showing more confusion and disbelief with every sentence.

"Hayley, what do you want me to do? Of course I don't want them to take you, but I can't stop them either. I'm just one man." This was the first conversation he's had since last night. His voice was still raspy, but I figured out what he was saying. 

"Why can't you just help me for once? Can't you just do that? Stop sitting around like a lazy pig and help your daughter from going through this nightmare. I am not a lab rat." My temper was heating up. I rushed to my room before he could answer, so that he couldn't see the tears that were finding their way from my eyes. 

I had a feeling I would do a lot more crying if the government takes me. I don't want to be poked and prodded, or worse, give birth to some kid that I didn't even want. 

If I have to, I will run and hide. I refuse to be taken. 

 Hey guys <3 How are you liking the story so far? Will Hayley be taken, or will she find a way to escape? How will her dad react? Can anyone relate to how emotionless she feels about her mom?

Comment and tell me any opinions, suggestions, answers to questions, anything! Vote if you'd like.  And read on my friends :)