Elysium: City of Dust

Handprint

Here is an overglamified picture of what I think Morwig would look like. Your welcome (︶ω︶).  

Warning: There is a scene with mild violence and gore. read at your own risk.

I realized the truth about the city leaders a long time ago. It happened during one of their re-education programs. I was only 11 seasons old at the time, But I had acquired a sharp eye and spirit from living on the streets. At one point during the session, they showed us footage of the lifeless world outside the dome. Scorching desert sand. Giant boulders and rubble. I was eating it up like every other brainwashed citizen when I noticed something. I saw a shadow move across the ground. At first, I thought it was my own imagination. I lived close to the dome's wall so I had become familiar with the desert landscape. I understood mirages and how shadows played tricks on the eyes, but this one seemed different.

I woke up that day from a mindless creature who always obeyed, to a living breathing person who yearned for the truth. Ever since that day, I have kept a close eye out for mistakes, illusions, unexplainable errors in the leader's propaganda. At first, the sheer amount of lies hidden in the video clips surprised me. My surprise soon morphed into resentment for the leaders.

I had learned how to read a person's body language from years of stealing and pickpocketing. I could tell when a person lied to me, and the leaders were definitely hiding something.

I yawned as the head leader talked on about different subjects he thought were newsworthy. The amount of rain expected this week, how many had died in the past month, how many had been born, our food management and distribution system. I ignored all of this while I finished off the last few bites of raisin bread, which was much more entertaining than the leader's drowning voice.

"Citizens." I perked up at his voice. I recognized that tone, he was about to state the verdict for the poor soul on trial.

"As you all know, the Elysium council has issued to protect the population, in hopes of preserving future generations. Our founders voted on the point system as the best form of justice." The council leader raised his arm and pulled down his white sleeve, to reveal a line of marks running down the length of his arm.

" the mark system code states that all citizens are subject to the tally mark system, and are legally required to wear their current tally mark status on their inner right arm." I glanced down at my bandaged right arm and realized I was subconsciously rubbing it. I had covered my tally marks with strips of cloth a year ago in my own small form of rebellion. I remember when they gave me my marks. The leaders made it seem like a holiday, and it very well was for most citizens.

The police lead every child who was ten seasons old to the Capitol building at the center of town. They bribed us with promises of gifts for turning ourselves in for marking. Most came willingly; I did. I remember one boy who didn't want to receive his marks. He was a scrapper like me, but his rebellious spirit shone brighter than his wild blue eyes. He resisted the police when they came for him. He did everything to resist, kicking, biting, screaming. His blood staining the wall still burns brightly in my memory.

They applied our marks with some sort of clear liquid. They sprayed the liquid on our right inner arm, then, after a few minutes of a strange burning sensation, small black marks appeared. They never explained to us what the liquid was or how it worked. Too soon we realized that the marks were permanent. A constant reminder of our limitations under the council's power. 

The only way to get rid of a mark is to break a law. Then one or two will disappear. Well, if the police catch you, that is. And they always catch you eventually. Only the council can give and take away marks, or at least give authority to other officials to give and take away marks.