The Forgotten

A Dangling Carrot

When the guards came to fetch me from the barracks, I thought I was in for another day in the brig. I hate going in there, without food, water, company, or entertainment. You'd think I'd do my best to avoid being sentenced to time in there. Well, I don't. I'm the most rebellious Forgotten there is. Not that it's saying much. Most of us have had their spirits broken. I mean, being abandoned by your parents doesn't encourage joy and give motivation.

The guard who escorts me down the hall has a five o'clock shadow and a nametag. It tells me his name and title: Lieutenant Brace. I can't help but think he's got an odd name. It must be nice to have a name given to you. They deemed me "E-6-11" because I was the fifth person born my year in June. The 11 is for the 11th. I deemed myself Eris after the Greek goddess of mischief. I read about her in class. I am still surprised the government even bothered to educate us. The only reason I can find is that it's no use to have slaves that know nothing about anything.

Lieutenant Brace leads me into a room with a big glass window on one wall. I've never been in here before. Does this mean I've done something right? That's another thing I've never done before. When you're one of the Forgotten, you spend your whole life thinking you're worthless.

He gestures for me to sit. I do so. He stands in front of the door like he's guarding it. His posture is stiff. His eyes are stern and unblinking.

Unable to stand the tension anymore, I blurt, "I stole the scissors."

"That's not why you're here," he tells me. I frown.

"I broke the rules," I remind him. I grab a lock of my now jaw-length hair and shake it. "We're not allowed to have scissors, or cut our hair." Of course, I'm referring to the Forgotten.

For a little over a century, parents have given their children to the government at birth. The children's DNA is scanned, allowing scientists to know the child's entire genetic code: its physical features, their talents, attitude, any handicaps or allergies, and personality. Then parents "shop" for what kind of child they want. They fill out a form of their requirements and the scientists send them a list of the qualifying newborns. They adopt the one they like the best and the others are put back into the system.

The children that are not chosen by the time they turn three are deemed the Forgotten. They live in a government facility and are not nurtured. They are "forgotten" by society. They are not permitted to leave the Forgotten Compound. They are sentenced to a life of solitude and destitution.

I, Eris-6-11, am one of the Forgotten. I use that term loosely though.  It's impossible for the guards to forget me; I'm always bending (and breaking) the rules. My latest rebellion involved stealing scissors from the infirmary and cutting my hair. In the past, I've snuck out of the Forgotten Compound, stayed up past curfew, and committed plenty of other nefarious deeds.

"Yes, you did," he says grudgingly, "but you've been given a...unique opportunity." This catches my attention.

"Unique opportunity?" I inquire, putting my elbows on the table and leaning forward.

He continues, "Have you heard of the Bristills?" I frown.

"Hector Bristill, isn't he a politician?" I ask.

"A Senator," he corrects.

"What does this have to do with me?"

"They have lost their oldest daughter, Raven," he explains. "Do you know Raven?"

Shaking my head, I remind him, "How can I? I've never really had a chance to."

"We know you've sneaked out."

I snort.

"Not for enough time or frequently enough to have any friends," I retort. I don't have any friends, in this compound or outside it. Since the government spends taxpayer money on our upkeep, we Forgotten have to do factory work and other jobs to repay them. Our busy schedules (consisting solely of eating, sleeping, working, using the bathroom, and grooming) doesn't leave us much time for socializing.