Ultramarine -- REWRITTEN

One. [h.s.] -- REWRITTEN

          Reminder: the initials on the chapter title signify the p.o.v for that chapter. So, of course, h.s. stands for the almighty Harry Styles.

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          My thoughts are not as empty as those around me.

          Unlike others, I questioned things, and yearned to know the who, what, when, where, why, and how. Others just want to know the who, what, when, and where. There's no why and how.

          I first noticed this when I was seven. I had asked too many questions in education hours, wanting to know why we were learning what we were, and how it applied to us. Or I was questioning why and how the Association worked. Nevertheless, I was taken out of class by two Hazel dignitaries, who kindly asked me why I was asking unnecessary questions. Not knowing how to reply, I sat in idle and fiddled with my fingers. One of them had given me a smile and brushed away one of the curled hairs that I hadn't bothered to remove from my gaze. Their eyes seemed cold, lifeless, and sunken as they tried to silently suck the answer out of me. The truth is, I didn't know why I asked so many questions. I remember the small room being cold, as well as the chair I sat on. The metallic silver chair was firm against my bottom and too slick for my liking. I could've easily slid off of the seat if I pleased, but sat perfectly still, for I knew that I should be on my best behavior in front of dignitaries--especially Hazel ones. I felt congested, but ignored the feeling. I didn't remember what they told me, and I don't remember what I told them.

          I always assumed that my vocation would lead me to become a Panacea surgeon, because that would allow me to know the how and why. My assumptions were always wrong, which was why I should've never assumed things. Though my thoughts were not as empty as those around me, I ignored them and pushed them away. I was apart of the Association, but wasn't at the same time.

          I stood behind a two way mirror, waiting for the Ultramarine subject to come into questioning. The room I stood in contained transparent screens above the window of the two way mirror. A long white desk with white chairs sat underneath the window, so the spectators could type descriptions as of what was happening in the room in front of them. I observed the room through the window. A metallic chair sat in the center and reflected the mirror on the wall in front of it, proving to the one that would sit on it that there was nothing conspicuous about it. The chair, though, faced the wall opposite of the door, so we only saw the profile of the person that sat on it. All four walls had similar mirrors perched against them. My gaze shifted toward my dignitary. I asked her a question,

          "Why do all walls have a mirror?"

          Why.

          Aria looked back at me, observing my features with hazel eyes that haunted my memories and contrasted against my viridian gaze. 'Why' questions weren't common. In fact, they were silently prohibited.

          "It's so the person doesn't suspect that we are behind this one," she replied, her dark red lips forming the words slowly and carefully. Her tight ponytail was slicked back, with thin chestnut hair swinging behind her as she turned to face the window once more. I asked another question--a safe one.

         "Do you bring in different people?"

          No why, no how, but a who.

          "No. They don't know as much as the leader and his daughter," she spoke lamely, tapping letters and staring up at the screen while information was being inputted into the terminal. "The old leader is dead, though. We killed him a few years back," she replied simply, not looking back at me. Even when no one was paying attention to me, I nodded anyway. I observed Aria from behind. The crisp, white dress she wore illuminated the dark room. Her black heels did the opposite, and reflected any light that shone in that direction. My gaze traveled from her dress, to my white uniform. Mine didn't seem to stand out as much as her minimalistic dress. The silence in the room shifted as vibrations of noise throbbed inside. I looked up. Two large men came into the room, wearing the same white uniform as I. The same zipper went up the side, the same gray belt wrapped around the hips that held an anesthetic gun, and the same patch on the back that read Association Commissioner. The only things different about the three of us were our features, thoughts, and where we resided. One Commissioner had mahogany colored eyes, so he resided in the Mahogany section. The other was the same. I was the only one with green eyes in the room, and dwelled in the Viridian section. This is how it's always been. This is how it always will be.