Specificity At It's Finest.

W A K E U P C A L L

It's been a week since Dad's been told to stay away from work. Portia put in a request form for a job, and although it took a few days to process, she was assigned a job pretty quickly. Since she's never really worked a lot in her life, she didn't get that great of a position, but it's nonetheless a job. The Capital assigned her the job of a message filer, which basically means that when a message comes into the post, she sees who it is supposed to be delivered to, and puts it under a transportation tube, which delivers the message to said person's home. I think it's quite extraordinary, but it doesn't quite fit Portia's fancy.

It's also been a week since I've turned in my application to the Academy. I guess with Portia's job as a message filer, she will probably see the message of rejection or acceptance before I will.

My food from this morning, eggs and toast, sits on my desk. The steam that was rising from the plate has dissipated into the air, and is no longer visible to me. I know it's still hot, though. In the kitchen, we have a Cabinet that has a transportation tube attached to it. But instead of taking something away, it gives something. Every morning, at 8:00 sharp, breakfast is served. I can preset the meal I wish to consume that day with the small control panel to the right of the cabinet. The device knows how many people are residing in the household, and thus delivers the perfect amount of food for each person. If I need some more Vitamin C in my breakfast, the Cabinet delivers. If Portia needs more protein in her diet, the Cabinet delivers. It's quite remarkable, though Portia doesn't seem impressed.

The communication device built into my wall buzzes. Every person in the entire country has a communication device. It's how one can be contacted. You don't even have to tell someone your name or address. Every citizen in the country has a specific number to identify them. Mine's 110403712. They are pretty long numbers, but that's so there are tons of combinations.

I walk over to the device, pressing my thumb to a scanner on the side of the screen. It's a video. From Ravyn. The subject is: Guess what?

Her face fills up the screen, and she's smiling. "Guess what?" She beams. "I got accepted to the Academy! I mean, why wouldn't they want me?" The recording of my best friend winks at me through my communication device. "I'm so excited. I'm sure you'll get in!" I can hear Rebecca calling in the background. "Oops, gotta go. Talk to ya later, Blaise." She smiles and ends the video message. She seems to have forgotten about the incident that took place the other day.

I glance over at my desk. My silver ruby necklace sits contentedly without a trace of wear or tear. Probably because I've never worn it.

It's my mother's. My actual birth mother's, not Portia's. She gave it to me right before she died. She said that she wanted me to have it, that I alone was the only one worthy. She always was a jokester.

The necklace has a small ruby in the middle of it, almost as if it's a pendant. It's attached to a silver chain, which holds a clasp at the end. Mom got it from her mom, and she had always meant to give it to me. I guess her deathbed was the right place and time for her.

My communication device buzzes again, and I snap my head towards the screen. A new message. But this time it looks like a letter.

Sometimes, we can send letters through the post, with the transportation tubes. Those are converted into electronic form and then sent to wherever they need to go. The only reason I submitted mine through the post was because it was a paper form, pretty rare, but sometimes used at schools. On the last day of school, my instructor passed out to applications to the Academy, rather than sending them to our communication devices, because of their importance.

I slide my finger across the screen of my device, pausing to let it scan my finger. The letter opens up and reveals the sender.

Sender: ACADEMY Administrator.