Follower [Ben Drowned]

Children of Privilege

The smooth squeaks of clean shoes on a clean floor echoed pronouncedly through the halls. Adonis trailed after the ducklings of students arranged in a line, his arms tucked by his sides, swinging in accordance to the march they were mandated to carry out. Their uniforms were crisp and solid white, the marchers sporting varieties of rainbow skin; children from the higher class of celestial arrays. Children of the elite. Children of the city. Each to their own name, age, progression. So many differences.

All in complete, serene unison.

Eventually the marching group came to a halt, the ringleader of which, a teacher known by most as Mr. Dove, pulling the whistle from his lips. It hung loose around his neck, clear plastic tipped in a thin sheen of spit. "Good work, facilitators." He addressed them, gloved hands tapping against his tablet. "You are dismissed from drill." Meet back here at 1301.

"Yes, sir." The room boomed back.

There was eerie quiet. And then, like a carousel thrust into action, the group of children came alive. Shoulders slumped and breathy sighs of relief could be heard filling the vacant ivory stairwell. Little feet pattering as they dispersed, students in a hurry to make the most of their prior-noon break.

"Thank goodness!"

"That was an abysmal practise, yeah?"

"I can't wait for lunch!"

With peering indigo, Adonis watched the children he grew up with chattering as they gathered in their formulated groups, heading off to do as they pleased before the intense study sessions commenced. He blinked with sticky lashes, before scampering towards their teacher. He had a question to ask of him.

Adonis lingered there in silence for a while, the man tapping statistics on his shimmering slab of electricity. He didn't want to bother him so he sealed his mouth until he was noticed. Usually their caretakers took notes on how the class behaved and the amount of effort they put into what they did. It was regulation. He understood this.

A few minutes passed and Dove glanced down through slit irises. Finally having acknowledged the boy, he appeared dismissive and offered a calm smile. "Child. Do you need something?"

"Mn," he bit his lip, "Did you bring the cards?"

Dove froze. And then he sighed tersely. "I didn't, Adonis. You understand that would pollute your mind."

"Will you bring them tomorrow?"

"No. Now go have your break." Dove shook his head as he watched the lean-limbed boy slump away as he was told, before returning his attention to the screen. He scribbled a few reminders before closing it with a zap and tucking the empty frame under his arm.

Adonis Violante. His file stated he was twelve years of age, Mediterranean background; a generally quiet child that kept to himself and found entertainment in puzzles and mindwashers. His heels ground the floor with smart clicks. And they would groom him, as anyone else in City of Quo Facilitation Centre, to perfection.

The child was just another face in their charge of fourteen Earthen young, pedigreed geniuses that had been nurtured since birth to serve a purpose. No one in the treasured monopolies of Quo were without knowledge and power. Their children were placed in centres such as these from the womb, to be educated and primed future leaders, prowess, scientists.