Dean
What a wonderful thing windows are. They’re like walls, walls with no limitation for how far they reach. One can marvel the beauty of the space, seen by the window. But windows are also a horrible thing. It all depends which side of the window you’re on.
One side, you can see a fantastic view of the world and people all around you, all from the comforts of a warm and happy home. But on the other, the outside of the house, you look in to see happy families living the life that you should be living. You grow jealous of the things they have and that you are on the poor, starving, homeless, opposite side. Windows are awe-inspiring.
I sit on the end of my bed, and stare at the far side of the room. My bedroom has floor-to ceiling windows, with a terrific view. All homes here are like this. I stand up, and walk towards the window. I see the great brown Atlantic Ocean, the litter-stricken waves crashing on the bay surrounding the Hexan Exclusive Living Landscape. I live in Sector 2-B, Suite A. The highest of the sectors here at H.E. Living Landscape, and I make my residence within it.
My father and mother moved my sister and me here when they went for a business trip to the Recoralis Central Edifice. The Rec Center, as the Hexans call it, is where the government officials spend their days, doing whatever they do. The strange thing is, my parents haven’t returned yet.
It’s been three years.
My sister, Nora, has been watching over me ever since the day they left. She makes the pays the chef, pays the housekeeper, and even helps with my schoolwork. My sister is about one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. That is, however, if you’re not talking about the Teslans.
“Dean,” Nora calls, “you haven’t left your room since yesterday. I think it’s time to come down to the community room.”
“Do I have to?” I ask, a little more harshly than I meant to.
“Yes. There is someone waiting for you.”
I know what she was getting at.
“Wait, Nora,” I exclaim, “You don’t mean to tell me-“
It is two months before he’s coming. This can’t be possible.
“Yes. He’s almost here.”
Before she could even finish that sentence, I am already in the elevator. Jeremy DeFranco, my best friend, was recruited last August to be in a Future Recoralis Leaders program. It was a full-scale boarding school made for great-minded young individuals. I was invited, but Nora doesn’t work, so we did not have enough Hexan credits to pay for the school. He has finally returned, and I am thrilled to see him again.
I ran out of the lift, as fast as my long, lanky legs could take me. And to my left, out the large window of the community room, I saw a huge black-and-green truck with the words: Recoralis Collection Vehicle. “What a weird truck they’re coming in,” I thought to myself. But I choose to ignore it. I run to the door, and watch as all of the future leader trainees pour out of the back of the vehicle. I look to see if Jeremy is one of them, but I can’t see him. Surely he had come back with them. Maybe he came out before and I didn’t see him? Strange.
But when I see him being escorted a few other older men dressed in dark green jumpsuits, jump out of the front seats, relief floods through my body. He must’ve done something great to be sitting with all of the trainers. Maybe he was fit for this job, after all.
The men lead Jeremy to the front of the building, and ring the bell. They take the stairs, and after what seems like forever, a loud knock is heard by the door. I run over to the door, open it up, and the men and Jeremy enter. I quickly realize that Jeremy has slashes and bruises and blood all over his face. The tall, husky men throw Jeremy to the ground, and everyone gasps. Ike, the short, stocky, and very muscular Hexan official jumped in front of the guard.
“What the hell are you doing?!” he screams, obviously flushed with anger. Meanwhile, the other Hexans stare in shock, including me.
One of the Rec men clears his throat, and in a very hardy, too-fake-to-be-real voice, declares, “Thank you all for complying during this act of appropriation. Although some have objected,” The man gestures towards Jeremy, and continues: “Many of them have been delighted to join us in the removal of the surplus goods from this facility.”
“Removing the surplus goods… what exactly are you doing?” shouts Ike, very angrily.
“See for yourself!” states the tall man.
And at that, as if all of the Hexans were one, we shift our heads to the door. We see hundreds upon hundreds of young teens, obviously the trainees, carrying enormous boxes; all of them labeled with a common Hexan commodities. Corn. Bread. Steel. Cotton. Solar Arrays. Platinum. All of these boxes pass by the window, and are loaded into the truck, almost too uniformly. I watch as the boys, ranging from early teens to young adults, turn around and return to the Hexan warehouses to retrieve more goods. Each one with an odd, empty look on their face.
“This can’t be legal!” Ike complains.
“And who do you think run this hellhole? The dull and dense Hexans? No! We run the show around here, buddy. We are the law.” the Rec man replies. With that, he turns away and leaves.
After that display of monstrosity, our attention is immediately directed towards Jeremy. “Someone get this kid a nurse!” shouts a rather plump woman, kneeling by his side. “He’s almost bled to death!”
And that’s when I knew something bad was coming. And I needed to find out.
