BLURB:
It's 2150 and 75 years after the world came to an unfortunate almost-end, due to human rebellion towards government forces, a strange new world is slowly re-building itself. Under the watchful eye of Dr Klenoc and Dr Lacuriak, the world has been divided into three sections - The Squares, The Wings and Neworld. The majority of the story itself is set in The Wings, a clinically white building, served by grey-robed Matrons, who forbid it's female residents to enter the outside world claiming it is dirty and will reduce their chances of fulfilling their purpose.
Often referred to as the 'angels of the world' or the 'world's wings', the women who reside in The Wings cannot afford to be damaged and so are kept in isolation, with just a roomate and four white walls for company. Starting aged 13, each week, a female resident goes to 'The Banks', to take part in their yearly 'project' - a process which can only be described as touturous artificial insemination, without consent. If sucessful, she then hands the result over to the authorities, where it is bred 'in captivity' to be 'super human', with boost injections, the best education - and a lowered sense of conciousness, so the same over-emotive rebellion can be prevented from happening again.
The story revolves around over-concious Ophelia who is shocked into finding out the truth.
CHAPTER ONE
Ophelia sat patiently in the waiting room all morning, just wishing her appointment sceduled for 11am, was in fact going to be at 11am, as the wait was tedious. She had been through the same process twelve times now, she knew it was twelve because she had her record sitting in front of her. Not because she kept track. The occasion itself was one Ophelia tried hard to forget. The process was tiring, painful and for a reason she didn't quite understand, sad.
"Miss Ophelia. Room 98. Floor 214" the cold, white coated woman said. Despite the fact Opehlia was the only one waiting in the room, the woman looked straight through her, her words echoing, bouncing off the clinical white walls.
Ophelia stood up and shuffled shyly over to the door. "Yes, that's me" she said, quickly glancing up at the woman, before adverting her eyes back to the floor.
"Follow me" the woman said through her nose and she led Ophelia down a small corridor and into a room right at the very end. The room was dark, but warm and Ophelia stepped in nervously. Despite having been through the process twelve times, she still dreaded it, worried about it and had sleepless nights over it. She didn't quite know why, because it was obligatory and every woman on her floor had been through it, but nevertheless it was something she dreaded.
At 19, Ophelia considered herself an average woman for her age. She had long blonde hair, brown eyes and a dedicated number. She had a uniform, a room and a roommate. She didn't have any hobbies like the other girls on her floor and so spent most of her days staring at the blank white walls in her room, wishing she could explore what was behind them. Her favourite day of the week was Friday, a day when floor 214 had a social meet up, a time to chat - and normally, a chance to share gossip, rumours and see who had been chosen for the latest project. As there were 48 girls on her floor, each week 1 new girl had been selected for the project, and it was always the talk of the social to discover who. Until it was your turn of course. Project week was terrifying. Although, it was a job. A purpose. Life.
"Sit down on the chair please lady, are you ready?". The woman, who had now introduced herself as Nurse C12 was looking blankly at Ophelia - clearly wanting to finish what they both knew had to be done, as soon as possible.
Ophelia gritted her teeth, sat down on the chair. She raised her legs to reach the stirrups and opened them apart to slot into each one.
None of the girls really talked about the process, despite the fact that each week, one of them had to go through it. Otalily, Ophelia's roommate once touched upon the subject, speaking of it in hushed tones, something about it being rather awkward and quiet. But they both knew deep down that those two words were a rather light and subtle way of talking about the process. For it was far worse than simply 'awkward and quiet'. In fact, no words could quite describe just how horrible it was.
