"How was your sleep?" His mother, Selene, says softly, as if just hours later, the recruitment ceremony wouldn't begin.
He studies her perfect composure. "Fine enough."
"Did you reach the Otherworlds?"
"No," He responds. "It's been a long time."
The Otherworlds is the land everyone reaches almost once every night, though most of the time you are incapable of recalling what had happened. They were a series of scenes. They were dreams and nightmares.
"You haven't reported entering the Otherworlds in about a week, Whiplash. You may need to be talked to."
Whiplash shakes his head, scattering sliver strands of hair. He didn't want anything more to fear about. Today, he and all of the other fifteen-year-olds would participate in the Ceremony of Choosing. They would step upon the stage, and the Dictator would tear his gaze away from the crowd, to silently approve or disapprove them. The dictator was born with the rare gift of unlocking one's mind, and people talk about how they can feel him poking around inside their head with his eyes, searching for events to determine what branch or what powers they posses. Many people are gifted with strength and bravery, and chosen for the Bravery Branch, a branch where soldiers wear techy and fascinating armor, and charge into battle with weapons of the mind's choice. Many others are gifted with over-the-top smarts, and join the Observing Branch. The last, the rarest, the most elusive, are the people born with gifts they don't know until the dictator calls out their branch, the Manipulators Branch. These are people who can control almost any element, and are determined to fight for the dictator. Whiplash didn't know who he was. He wasn't brave, he wasn't smart, and he didn't have any out-of-the-ordinary skills.
He did have the strange, amber eyes. Amber eyes were rare in their large city. In his faction, names were meant to be threatening, to challenge your rivals, thus having the name Whiplash. His mother, however, didn't fit in, with her gentle tone and soft eyes. The other city factions were of the wealthy, the names of the citizens meant to be intriguing. Whiplash looked out the dirtied window, to the street. A car sprung to life with a quick zap of electricity, neon color flashing through its curves, levitating it off the ground. Upon the person's entry, the car blasted down the road, sending not even a puff of smoke after it. This world, the world Whiplash stayed, was a strange one. Technology has advanced much, leaving his small community in the dust, with small, boxy homes.
He spun back to his mother, who's footsteps had faded to the back room. He closed his eyes, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over him. He sat on the concrete ground, back against the wall. For the past three days, Whiplash had been receiving these waves of strange emotion, and seeing quick flashes of scenes, leaving Whiplash to wonder what he had just seen. There was no time to comprehend what had just happened, no time to speak, no time to blink.
"Are you ready?" His mother was suddenly in front of him, hands clutching a shimmering necklace, barely visible by it's size and how she had coiled it.
Whiplash curiously looked at the necklace. "Yes."
"It's been in my family for decades, when this city wasn't it's own country. When America was united." She holds it out, in the middle of her palm, the low light causing it to slightly shine.
Whiplash studied it. It was in the shape of a lowercase 't.' He had heard the word 'America' many times in history. "What's it's point?"
Selene clucks her tongue, hurrying to put it in the pocket of her stained apron. She doesn't respond, and places her hand on the door, as it slides open. She exits, looking back inside for Whiplash to follow. He hesitantly scurries over, flinching at the rays of sudden sunlight. Cheers erupt from the street as his gaze flickers to the street. "The Superiors have returned!" One said.
Whiplash now has full attention to the street. He watches a group of around fifteen men all move in unison, many more sluggish, eyes half closed, and many others had eyes wide open, their exposed faces pale. The leader has his chest puffed, but underneath his Amber eyes, Whiplash could sense his fear. The people cheer for them, and the Superiors make no acknowledgement. They continue on toward the center of the town. The Superiors were the eldest and most talented members of the Bravery Branch. This group of Superiors were sent to fight outside the barrier, into the outskirts of enemy lines. He focuses on one trailing the rest. His vision begins to blur, and he expels the blurring with a quick shake of his head. They continue down the road, as he stares at the people cheering for them. None of them suspected anything went wrong. His mother even flashed a polite smile as they went by. Did they not notice the horror, the sorrow, on their faces?
