Altered

Chapter One

I want to run.

I want to hide. But it’s too late.

Across the town square, a certain name rings out just as I decide to stalk off and maybe sulk in my corner of the barn while waiting for it all to end. I just couldn’t handle the disappointment on the people’s faces as they realize the waste, the time, the effort they’ve given just to get in. I could easily read the dismayed looks on their faces and the grimaces that seem to stick itself in their mouth, puckering their lips. Especially the eyes which fill with tears and anger.

Another 10 years has gone by and they didn’t make it in.

I could hear the birdsongs coming from the trees that scatter across the place, the birds’ chirps sounding eerily silent and calm. The breeze sweeps my hair into my face, going into my eyes and into my open mouth. My dress, turquoise blue and has swirls of a darker shade of blue along the hemlines, which is also mostly the only one I own, billows around me and I take a look back.

All around me, my friends, relatives and strangers were looking at me like I had just eaten something exotic, displaying their looks of disgust on their faces. I feel like I deserve them. Undeniably, I robbed them of a spot that could have changed their lives. I took away the spot they’ve been waiting for 10 long years, long enough before I was even born. Before I was even made and forced into taking existence.

I’m the one at fault. Not the emcees. Not the people who picked randomly. Not even the ones who placed the names inside the boxes. But me. Because I signed up.

Maybe I have too much bad luck. Maybe I’m too unlucky. Maybe the world hates me so much it decided to just push me into the direction I have been spending so much avoiding.

But there’s no more hiding. The time has come. I am Chosen. I am one of them now.

“Bliss Clayton?” The voice sounded unsure. Well, they should be.

I force both of my feet to walk in front of each other, willing them to take turns and go back to the routine of walking. The motions of moving, I don’t know why, feels rather unfamiliar now. Maybe it’s just my knees, which were feeling too wobbly and shaky. Truthfully, they feel as heavy as rocks, like the time when my Uncle Ben tied one to my right foot with a rope and threw me into the ocean because I wanted to try the feeling of being pulled under, making bubbles as I gasped for air. It had been fun, reassuring. But without Uncle Ben now, I feel suffocated. Immersed into the water without giving me a chance to breath, to feel air blow through my lungs. He wasn’t there to save me. No one was.

“Bliss? Are you here, darling?” The voice says again.

I raise a hand and try to find the source of the voice. She’s there, on top of the stage, her jet black hair shining under the sun and looking as glossy as ever compared to the ones I see in television. Her eyes survey the crowd until she sees me and waves me over.

I feel a hand push me forward. Koby. Oh, Koby. My little brother pushes me again, giving me a toothless grin and whispers, “Go on! Someone might steal it!”

And I move. Because of him. Because of the benefits I knew I would be getting if I get in. And now I have.

The people I pass by force a smile and clap their hands on my back, making me feel like all the remaining air left has been forced to rush out. Up the stage, the other people who were chosen before me waves and gives flying kisses all over the audience, their eyes sparkling and their lips curved into a grin of what seems like satisfaction.

There was Candace Ember, an Ikon, which meant she was an artist in every sense of the way, looking all blond, long-legged and royal-ish as she winks and laugh at the people below. I could easily associate her with the queens and princesses I used to see in my history books. There was also Jamie Hopkins, a Trader, holding her head up high, bangles making clinking sounds as she moved her hands around.

Since this was for all the people who wanted to grab the chance to change their life forever, for better or for worse, young and old people are mixed together on the stage, some quiet and observant. Beside me, base from her clothes, I could tell she was a Peon—or slave—and she just gives me a small smile and I return it.

A loud ringing echoes around the square and I try to cover my ears as it went on for three seconds before the host moved the microphone to the side to stop the noise. She laughs nervously and leans in.

“Hello again! I have now the name of our last and final candidate! Please help me in welcoming…” she trails off as she opens the folded paper rather quickly, probably in a hurry to get this over with and travel back down to the Academy where we will all be trained and practiced.

“Let us welcome…Xavier Wilde, Fearless!” Her voice echoes all around, but is quickly drowned out by the Fearless who are chanting and pumping their fists into the air, showing their approval in a really different way than the rest of the Ranks.

A tall, lean boy swaggers up the stage, his black shirt rising up a few inches in the back as more people grab onto him. He runs a hand through his hair, which was cropped short, not even reaching to the nape of his neck. But it wasn’t a buzz cut either. He just gives them a smile and I could hear most of the girls sighing in admiration.

Then his bright blue eyes meet mine.

Oh no.