The City Of A Thousand Lights (Book One)

Chapter One; Part Two

I carefully shut the door of my bedroom, making sure to be silent in case my family is still asleep. I walk briskly down the hallway, the heels of my boots making a soft clicking sound all the way. As I get closer, I can better smell the eggs and oatmeal that my dad prepared. He usually awoke first, than I, as he drives me to the academy unless my friends make alternative arrangements. Today I would be driving with him in his sleek white Prius. I step out into the bright lights of our clean cut kitchen, with the simple living space to my right and the hallway that contains the door to separate bedrooms and bathrooms behind me. My family lives in a wealthy sector of the city, a good twelve floors above ground level. Large, floor-to-ceiling windows cover the outside walls, letting in the pale natural light of the sun rising slowly in the east. I checked my government-issued watch. 5:03. Right on time. It takes about forty-three minutes, accounting for traffic to get to the academy, and another few minutes to reach the City Hall where my father works. He is a rather high ranking government officer, an enforcer of the social pyramid. His job is essential to keep peace in this highly divisive society.

Some of the slum citizens have begun to protest, calling on stories of stolen children as fuel to the fire. If they focused on their jobs, they may have more money. Protesting and Rebelling are useless wastes of time, resistance is futile. It's just the course of nature that caused us to hide in our domed city, cut off from all resources. Overpopulation is a huge problem, but the government has been working on fixing the issue with the overflowing slums. How they do that is a mystery to all.

I take a seat on one of the swiveling bar stools, flush with the counter. A plate with eggs and oatmeal is slid over to me. My dad sits, hunched over his tablet, most likely reading a news article or an imperative message. I fill up a crystal glass next to my plate with a carton of water in the center of the counter. I take a sip, and catch a glimpse of a police helicopter flying overhead. There must be a protest happening nearby. I almost run to the window, intrigued by the idea of seeing a real revolt. How small-minded those factory workers must be to think that rebellion would get them anything less than immediate leave from their jobs. No job, no money. And that is the key to success as it seems. Also being born into a wealthy family helps. People always think I'm adopted. The only similarly I have with my mother is naturally brown hair and a constant stern expression. My father has eyes that are marginally similar to mine, but I don't mind the differences. They are my family after all. I pull up my left sleeve, staring blankly at the writing on my arm.

"I'll be back, don't worry. Just stay put"

Legend has it that those words, are the last words that your soulmate will speak to you. Ha, more like a ploy to keep people on a wild goose chase. Keeping them from settling down and making more children that only act like a burden on our city. But even with that thought in mind, reading those words always sends a shiver down my spine. Even though true love is a lie, a sham. My younger sister's are especially chilling. "I'll see you at school tomorrow!" One of the reasons why my parents have conditioned me to not believe in them. So she won't be crushed if the myths and legends are true.

I lift a spoon, weighed down with soggy oatmeal, taking a bite before taking a large gulp of water. Oatmeal has never been my favorite food, but it is tolerable in small amounts. I take a bite of my eggs and turn to my father, still engrossed in the contents of his tablet.

"You know what the commotion down below is about?" I ask him, continuing to plow through my breakfast.

"Hmph" He frowns and takes a sip of his usual morning coffee.

"Is that a yes?" I continue persisting, wanting some answers for the sudden rise in chaos around the city. My watch flickers with an alarm, reminding me with a sickening beeping sound that I should leave now if I want to get to school on time. But it only takes around forty minutes to get there usually, and training doesn't begin until 6:45. There must be much more congestion than I first anticipated.

"Huh?" My father pulls back the sleeve of his jacket enough for his watch to be exposed. The alert is like mine, though most likely filled with more sensitive information regarding the state of the sudden prompt to leave. His face seems to drain very slightly of color and he immediately stands up, almost knocking over his half empty coffee cup.

"Natalia, car. Now." He gathers up his briefcase and walks briskly over to the door. I stand up and grab my small, leather pack of the floor near my stool that is chock and of essential school supply that are required by the academy. He opens the door and holds it open as I walk through, putting a hand on my back to hurry me forward. He immediately shuts the door behind him and continues to walk with pace towards the gleaming elevator in the center of the floor. We both step in and my father presses a button that shoots us down to ground level. He guides me out and jogs lightly over to the parked car. The lights flicker on and the doors automatically open. I take a seat on the passenger's side and put my bag in-between my feet. The car starts as soon as my father sits down. We pull out of the parking garage and into the early morning sunlight.

Commotion. That's all that I can register as I attempt to process the flood of bodies all throughout the narrow city streets. The sidewalks and driving lanes have people pressed shoulder to shoulder, wrestling with one another to get to the front of the crowd, and what lays there I have yet to discover. My dad grits his teeth and honks the horn of the car, attempting to scare away the fields of protesters.     They continue to shout, some holding handmade signs with crude slogans, bashing the government's "cruel treatment" of the slum citizens. Ha, they feed off the government like a baby bird to their mother. They should be grateful that they are able to live off the welfare that congress provides to the low class communities. But then again, I've never been in their shoes. A small group of people catch my eye. They are a few feet away from my window, they seem to be family unit. All with skin as dark and smooth as a roasted coffee bean, and curly hair of the same shade. One other person stood whispering to the tallest of the small family unit. The tall one had inherited his familiar dark coloring, but had strikingly intense green eyes. They scanned the crowd, searching for danger, while still keeping attention on the one who was conversing with them. They seemed vaguely male, but I wasn't sure enough to assume. (I'm just gonna say he/him) The one he was talking to had pale skin, slightly tinted, and had straight hair, as black as the sky at midnight. Something's tugged at my brain, trying to make sense of the two that somehow caught my eye. Then the boy, who looked around my age turned, and we locked eyes for was realistically a split second, but felt like minutes. I had defined seen him before, not sure where or why or how... but I just know. I saw him point to the car, while talking with his companion. They both glanced over at me, with similar puzzled expressions. My eyes widened, and I slumped down on my seat, out of sight from the window and those piercing green eyes. My father lifts his attention from the protest to me, curled up against the car door.

"Natalia, is something wrong?" He glanced down at me, with the look that he has with my younger sister when she misbehaves or whines.

I cough nervously, clearing my throat. "No I'm fine. Just shocked by the sheer number of people."

He grunts, and honks the horn once more. "You could say that again. Low lives." He mutters the last part under his breath, tapped his fingers on the car's dashboard.

"Yeah..." I let out a sigh and sit up just enough to look back out the window, to keep my eyes on the pair of randoms that I can't seem to shake from my conscious. I think as that I can feel their gaze through the metal of the car. I can't shake the feeling that I know them. And that's when the car halted to a stop.