I, the Lamb

Chapter One

I am Margaery. I am ten years old, and today I am going to graduate First School. That means the Officers of schooling will choose what second school I go to today. I am very happy to be going to Second School, but I don’t care which school I get in to. I want to do whatever the Officers want me to do.

That is what I remember writing in my statement, required by the Officers of schooling. My ten-year-old counterpart was anxious to graduate and begin the rest of her life, going on to the second stage of education.

As with all the children my age, I went to First School from the age of four and finished when I was ten. I walked to school every day and learned the basics of what I would need to know for the rest of my life: namely, the history and laws of our society. I absorbed each lesson with enthusiasm,  anxious to become a useful part of my community, a piece that fit perfectly in the puzzle.

I write to you now about my choosing day, the first and nearly last in any young citizen’s life where he or she feels a little different, part of a smaller group as well as the big one.

I wore yellow, as all of the girls in Group 2 at my First School. Our large class was separated in to three individual groups, each taught the same lessons but separate from each other, except for during meals, where we were all expected to socialize amongst each other in a way that was equal among every student, with no smaller groups forming.

Now I stood, beside a girl named Marceline and a boy named Marvin, organized in alphabetical order all the way across the first row of the audience hall. We were called up one by one, clear, empty voice of the school master, a tall, thin woman with pale brown hair like the bark of the single tree outside my small, white house on a street not far from where I stood.

“Margaery,” my name was called, and I stood, feeling no anxiety as I climbed the steps of the stage to stand before three of the Officers of schooling. All were clad in white, silver adornments gleaming on their shoulders and caps. The first handed me my certificate of completion. The second handed me a slip of paper that would be my identification in order to enter whichever Secondary School was chosen for me. The third stood with hand outstretched to shake my own, as he announced my next school.

I was chosen to attend Secondary School D, for training to become a doctor. This was a pleasant surprise for me, as I had always thought the doctors admirable citizens.

My fellows were all filtered into the different schools, A, B, C, D, E, and F, each standing for an important job in our society. My parents had gone to schools B for builders and F for farmers, though I can no longer remember which went to which school. In fact I cannot remember their names.

My parents were like all other parents. They were given me when they were deemed eligible, and fed and took care of me. Until this moment, this moment when I graduated.

My childhood had been pleasant; my parents were upstanding citizens. I had always been proud to live with them, though I knew their perfect records would not reflect on how my city felt of me. It was my job to become what they were: well-mannered, dutiful, and loyal members of our society.

Some children cry when they reach their graduation, because once they are given their assignment they move away from their parents and do not speak with them again. This is so the parents can finish their lives in peace, continuing to work until they are permitted to retire, then spending their days in the peace of their homes.

I did not cry. I bid my parents farewell and they gave me fond smiles, which I returned. I took my slip of paper, bearing my name, my citizen identification number, and the words School D.

Outside the First School, each group left on foot twards their new locations. Without having to be told, myself and the other students headed for schools B and D formed a line, walking down the street with our heads high and backs straight.