Smile Lines (WIP)

Chapter Six: Day one.

A dawn light shafts into the dorm. The air is cool, and frost spikes on the windows. I shiver slightly, as I look around. Everyone else is deep in sleep, their deep breaths the only thing I could hear. That was, until, the sharp tapping of heels echoes along the corridor. A vicious rap on the door, and without waiting, it's flung open. Miss Crawford stands in the doorway, her shadow cast across the flagged tiles. "Up, now!" She says shrilly, ringing a small handbell incessantly.

I sit bolt upright, throwing my sheets back, not daring to look to her or ask questions. "You should all be down in the next twenty minutes." She snaps, slamming the door shut as she whisks away. I quickly change into the tracksuit, neatly folding the pyjamas. I scrape my hair in a half-hearted bun, away from my face. I stare down the dorm. This time yesterday I had been in my own room, getting ready in my own bathroom, into my own clothes.

A timid tap on my shoulder causes me to turn around, confused. Ruth was stood there, her tracksuits hanging off her bony frame, her doe eyes pleading with me. "Can I stay with you today?" She whispers hoarsely. I nod. "I'll try." I murmur. She seems a little happier as we make our way to the door.

We make our way along the hall, Ruth's tiny hand encased in mine as she follows along miserably. I turn into the canteen. It was quiet, everyone silently acknowledging the situation we were in and refusing to try and be optimistic about it. I don't blame them, finding an empty spot at the end of the long, oak wood tables.

Cold, watery oats are served. Surprisingly hungry, I eat quickly, not caring too much about the foul taste. I scoop up my bowl, taking it to the kitchen hatch where it's swept off me and placed in a thunking dishwasher.

The hall falls silent as Miss Crawford stands up from where she's sat on the platform at the front end of the room. "Good morning, residents of Camp Dankwood." Her voice cuts through the thick silence like a knife. We bow our heads, acknowledging her begrudgingly. "Today you will have your first day of training. Each of you will be handed a timetable with your activities for the day. Each of these have been designed by specialists to ensure you have the best possible experience, to alter your twisted psychological values and conform to how you should be to best serve your country."

I flinch. Like she qualifies to call us twisted? One of the men in grey scrubs hands me a thin sheet of paper;

Violet Marie Byrne:

8:15 – 12:00 – Independent task: respecting authority

12:00 – 1:00 – Lunchbreak

1:00 – 3:00pm – Group task: Etiquette in the workplace.

3:00pm – 4:00pm – Debrief and test.

I sigh. People file out of the hall monotonously, one by one as their names are called. Finally my name rings across the hall. I stand up, head down, and make my way toward the door. A tall man in grey scrubs, a shaven head and stubbly chin stares down at me. He towers over me, he must be well over 6ft. With a grunt, he gestures me to follow him as we troop down the hall. He leads me into a separate room just off the first corridor. It mocks a secondary school classroom, one desk facing the other.

"Sit." He orders. Uncertainly, I take a seat. "You study English Literature at Greenhallow University, if I'm correct?" I nod. He raises his eyebrows, shifting papers around. "You chose the weak subject." He says.

"Actually, it's more advanced then you would think." I intercept sharply. He clears his throat threateningly "You will not argue with me, Violet." He snaps.

"And you won't mansplain what I'm studying." I retort. He meets my gaze, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth "This is exactly what you're here for, Violet. You've just demonstrated that you are unable to respect an authority."