I wake up to my shifting ceiling. It’s plain white as always and I automatically say, “Shades!” The room lights up as the voice automated room responds to my command and the shades rise from the left wall. My arms reach over my head as I stretch out my tired limbs. My red curls fall, framing my small round face. I slip out from under my white silk covers and place my feet onto the heated metal floor. This is the last day of trials in the Safe House before the final Choice. “The final Choice…” I whisper the words on my lips and I shiver, even though the room isn’t cold at all. I dismiss the thoughts of running my sector and walk towards the corner diagonal to me, press my hand against the wall and hear the computerized voice echo, “DNA Scan Approved” as the wall slides open revealing the small hallway that leads to the bathroom which is like a bright white tunnel. I guess nobody else from my sector, Atris, is awake and I whisper, “Time” and see the floor light up as I walk over it saying “6:09 AM” I nod and the red numbers fade as I make my way through the aisle and pause only for a second at the door so that it may register my fingerprints. The door slides open and I walk into another crisp white room. I turn on the hot water and let the steam envelop me.
There’s pounding on the door, “Sabi get out of the bathroom! You’re taking forever!” A deep voice bellows. “Shut up Harry! I’ll get out when I want to!” I snapped at him through the door while I wrapped the black towel around my small chest. I purposefully wrapped my long hair in the other towel as slow as possible and decide to let my arms and legs air-dry. I sit there and ask the room what time it was now. The wall directly in front of me glows the red numbers, “7:34 AM” and I smile, Harry is going to be so mad. I decide that today I’m going to look gorgeous, no matter how much pounding the door gets, I have to be here anyways. I lather my body in lotion and open the large cabinet to search for beauty supplies, whatever they may look like. There is a single shelf lined with ten simple white bottles all of the same height and volume, I guess the designers of these place really hated color. I talk to the room,
“Umm… which of these bottles is for making me pretty?”
The automated voice responds, “The one second to the left, I have added a green spotlight on it just to make it clearer and add some pop of color to the room.”
Darn, I forgot I was hooked up to the OverReader and the room was analyzing my thoughts.
“Uh, Thanks…” I say reaching for the illuminated bottle. I twist off the cap and chug down the flavorless liquid. “So when will this start working?”
“In about ten minutes Sabi Veraga, but your hair must be wet by that time or else it will not fully work.”
“Thanks…” I mutter as I remove my hair from the dark towel and reach for the pocket in the wall where the hair dryer appears. I remember from my past years at The School that the old humans use to do exotic things with themselves, like inking their skin from the outside and I can’t help be thankful that now we have it so much safer. The image now is almost holographic and I can’t help but wish I could get what was called then a “tattoo”, but I’m still too young, even though I’m already sixteen. The sector requires me to be at least of the age of twenty-one. So instead of getting a small black star beside my right eye, I simply say “Sharpie”, one of the inventions we decided to keep, and it appears from the pocket in the wall. I lean close against the fogged up a mirror and sketch a star on my moist skin and grin. My small act of rebellion won’t go unnoticed, but I want them to know that these two weeks of exceptional boredom were not welcomed kindly by me.
I decide to head out of the bathroom since I could no longer hear Harry’s faint complaining about me. I scurry out towards my room, trying to avoid any wandering eyes, especially Harry’s. I know he would try to utterly embarrass me after I made him look stupid. Luckily he seems to finally realize that I’ve evacuated the bathroom as I’m closing the white door behind me. I throw my towel onto the cream bed and slide open the thin closet door. There is only one thing hanging on the rack, a simple red dress. It has no sleeves and is absolutely plain; the only remote attempt at making it fashionable was the slit that made the dress look somewhat light and frilly. The blood red dress slid smoothly over my head, and I realized it’s almost the same color of my curls and I turn to face the large mirror opposite of my bed.
