Origin

Hey guys! Just for the heads up, this is just a short story written by me (Mary), and was written for school as a creative piece for the subject of 'encountering conflict.'

Anyway, please go ahead and enjoy :)

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I didn’t choose this life.

No one did. It was God’s will alone. Him and Doctor Roth, I guess.

If I could choose my life from the beginning, I would. The life I’d wish for is simple. I would have wished to be someone from the Upper House. Realistically, that’s everyone’s dream– well that was everyone’s dream.

It’s okay though, I’m not complaining anymore. I have accepted the fact that I didn’t choose to look this way or be the person I am today. I’m not one of a kind, I’m not pretty or ugly and I’m nothing special; that’s for sure. I’m just me, and no-one can change that.

So I’m glad that I haven’t made an enemy from the people I work with. Many of us don’t really become friends. We never really learnt what it’s like to love, or have friendships. But I guess it’s impossible to be nemeses, especially at a time like this. For now we are all sticking together and going through with this plan for the same reason.

‘You’ll love it here,’ they told us.

‘You don’t belong anywhere else. You must stay.’

‘When it’s done, it doesn’t hurt. It’s like waking up from a dream,’ they said.

That secret wasn’t kept for very long at all.

It was only last year when I had my first donation done. It was just my right kidney, so that wasn’t too bad. But when the operation was finished, it felt like someone had forgotten to take the scalpel from my stomach.

‘It’s like waking up from a dream.’

I beg to differ.

That operation was when I received my first scar, additionally the first time I had seen her. My Origin. At first I thought I was looking into a mirror but Doctor Roth told me otherwise.

My Origin kind of looked like me, but kind of didn’t. From the head down she was me, only a whole lot wrinklier and a whole lot paler, with blotches of red swells along her dry white skin. I still remember the look on her face when she saw me. Her brown hollow eyes were so dark it looked like two black holes ready to suck in life, and that smile she wore – it was as if she couldn’t wait to do it.

That was probably the worst experience of my life. At least I can say I had it better than many others. It could have been much worse.

Uncle George – a nice man who sat in a wheel chair – had told me that I was lucky for not having many scars, even if people respected you for the more scars you had. He said to me: ‘Your Origin must be very strong considering she isn’t from the Upper House.’

My Origin sure looked infected badly. But judging by the reason Uncle George was in a wheel chair, I bet his Origin must have been infected ten times worse.

Indifferent from me and Uncle George, my good friend Alice had no scars. It came to no surprise because her Origin lived in the Upper House. I was really jealous of that. Upper House people were nearly never infected. They had a good immune system, matching well with their nice clothes and neat hair. I guessed that not all Origins looked as sick like mine.

Treated with something close to what I saw as ‘royalty’, Alice never really had the need to donate anything. Until the one unlucky day she did. Her Origin being Upper House or not, she was still one of us, and not one of them. It was just that one day.

 Alice never even lived to see her first scar, let alone her fifteenth birthday. Sometimes you’re just that unlucky even when it’s not your fault.

It’s not our fault that we were made to look just like them, to act just like them. We never chose to be who we are. We didn’t have a choice. And no matter how much they tell us that ‘it doesn’t hurt’, as much as they tell us we’re ‘waking up from a dream’; we know the truth. We know because we understand what it feels like to have pain. We feel pain more than they ever will.

‘You don’t die. You just disappear.’

‘You don’t exist.’

‘You’re nothing but a clone.’

I believed them at first. Truly I did. I thought that maybe people like us would just disappear once we finished donating. But with these raw emotions I feel everyday of the typical happy, sad and angry; I think it’s hard to say that I agree.

Uncle George finished his donations just yesterday. He said he was growing old anyway and that it didn’t matter if he were to give up his last breathing lung to his Origin that needed it. But before he left to ‘disappear’, he told me to promise him something. I still remember how teary his eyes were and how his voice sounded all bubbly and strained. It was then when I realised just how many emotions I really had.

He said to me: ‘Find your freedom before they destroy you. Remember, they can’t take it. They can’t take you.’

I thought long and hard about my choice. It was a difficult decision, but since the year of the loss of Alice and Uncle George, I’d rather call it easy.

We will never be safe with them. We will never be equals. They will never accept us.

I understand that perfectly now, and learning it the hard way has only made me stronger. It’s made us stronger. And strong is all we ever were, stronger than those who are diseased. They don’t have the power. They never did, and now they never will.

For now it’s over. For now we are going to prove them wrong.

 

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Boom.

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Woohoo! So that was the first short story that we've uploaded :)

I hope you liked it and if you did, let us know. We might just upload a few more short stories in the future :)

Feel free to comment, vote and share. It would be much appreciated.

- Mary x