Divinity

Perfection. It is strived for over and over again, only to let down the culprit. It's an elusive thing that no one ever really finds, because it does not exist. Where I live, we're told perfection can be found in beauty. I didn't know that was a lie until it was too late.

*****

I smile and look up at the sun. It stings my eyes, but I don't care. I'm here with no one to stop me. I scream as my brother roughly tackles me from behind and pushes me into the hot sand. I grin and run after him, yelling pointless insults as he zig-zags between the quiet ocean and the sand.

My father and mother sit in the shade watching us. Dad has his arm around Mom and lovingly stares at her and smiles. She returns it and gives him a quick kiss. I finally reach my brother and roughly pull him down. We fall to the ground, sqealing at the top of our lungs. Paradise at last.

But then I open my eyes. It wasn't real. It never was, nor will it ever be. The promising, warm sunshine has disappeared and I'm desperately staring out of my bedroom window at the pouring rain. My daydream was nice while it lasted.

Sighing, I stand up and get ready, staring at my reflection one last time. My hair is long, wavy and brown. I'm tall for my age. My grey eyes are blurry, but I fight back the tears I want to let out so badly. I can't show weakness in front of my mom when it's the last time I will see her.

I walk downstairs slowly, stopping on the last step, and take in the sight. My mother sits at the kitchen counter drinking her coffee and reading the newspaper. I don't know why she reads it; it's always full of propaganda. The radio is on and playing an old song I always wish I knew the name to. Then I cringe as I realize she has left the door open, letting the rain pour into the house and soaking the carpet. She forgets simple things like that. I quickly walk over to the door, close it, and sit down at the only seat left at the kitchen counter. We got rid of the other two once the people that usually occupied them were gone.

"Good morning," I say with a small smile. She turns my way and stares into my eyes, showing no emotion. Death can really mess up a person's mind.

"Happy Birthday," she finally says. I'm shocked that she remembered. She barely remembers anything now.

I give a small, sad smile. I was 15 now, as was everyone else born in my year. We don't have individual birthdays, just one big one.

15 is the year of beauty, also known as Divinity. Officials will be at my door any minute now, taking me away from the place I call home. For my mother's sake I won't go screaming like everyone else does. I won't fight, no matter how badly I want to. For her.

Mother stands up and goes to the cabinet, grabbing a box of cereal and pouring it into a bowl, staring into space with a blank look in her eye. I stare at her, amazed she still knows what's going on. The death of her husband and son permanently messed with her mind, so for her, reality is a dream. Her nightmares are a reality. I would know; I can hear her scream at night.

I stare at the woman who raised me. She looks almost exactly as I remember her from when I was younger- dirty blonde hair that reaches her shoulders, a crease between her eyebrows, and piercing grey eyes like mine. She used to be beautiful, but now she is skin and bones.

I will miss her. I truly will.

I grab a piece of toast and settle down on the couch, turning on the television. We only have one channel used for news feed, and we barely ever watch it, but it somehow comforts me to watch people that aren't me. I become emerged in their world, forgetting mine.

But then I realize it's not regular news about President Hart or his staff. It's not about the latest fashions or a breakthrough in skin-cleansing cosmetics. It's not even about the new law on wearing feathers (only on Friday's).

It's about Divinity.

The announcer, Cecil Abbot, tells the same story every year. How the world was in great financial debt, then how everyone realized we didn't need money. We needed perfection. Perfection in beauty. Flaws were the only thing stopping us from reaching our goals, not debt. As a result of this, they created Divinity.

It's simple, really. At the age of 15, every girl and boy is taken from their regular lives and shipped off to the home of President Hart himself. Once there, they undergo beauty treatments. They're made and trained to be perfect. If any flaws are unchangeable, they are sent away, where no one ever sees them again. Those people are seen as a simple disruption and are needed to be disposed of.

There are three stages. The first one is simple beauty treatments. They transform you into something beautiful, something you would have never become without the help of the staff. You should be eternally thankful. They should except the thanks without question.

The second stage decides your position in the world- your job, social status, and spouse. A group of judges gives you points based on your poise and beauty as you parade around on a skinny stage, trying to impress them. The more points you get, the higher up in society you will be. A boy and a girl with a similar point range are paired together so there's no diversity in their new family.

The final stage is different for boys and girls. I've never been told what the boys do, as it's classified information, but girls are trained in housework and different kinds of labors. We'll be assigned to serve someone, and at the end, they're the ones who decide if we pass Divinity or not.

My younger brother was scared to death about that part. His worst fear was not passing Divinity. The tears he shed at night were pointless, because he never even lived to 15.

And it breaks my heart.

Cecil Abbot is a small, thin man with a huge smile. He's attractive in a way, but his outfits usually draw away from that. They're regular suits, but they're covered in dazzling, gaudy sequins that hurt my eyes. His hair is wavy and hangs over his blue eyes in a way that might make a couple girls scream for him and a few men envy him, but I remind myself it's not real, none of it is real.

"And remember," he says with a quick, flashy smile,"Today is Divinity! Rejoice in the remaking of our future!"

Rejoice in the remaking of our future. He says it every year, but only this year I understand it. Everyone should be happy that we're being taken away and changed. If we're the future, we should be perfect and unblemished, as that's the only thing that matters.

And with that, the screen goes black, the broadcast over.

*****

They come early, much too early. I hear a knock at the door and immediately know it's them. Officials. They've come to take me away for Divinity.

My heart seems to stop working. I thought they would at least give me more time, but they don't. I can't help it when I let out a small moan. This is happening too quick.

"Maylin Ray Hale," an official calls from outside our door.

I slowly, very slowly, walk up to the door. I can feel my heart beating a million times a minute. My palms are sweating, and my desperate attempts to wipe them on my pants are futile. I can't do this, I don't want to do this. Why do I have to do this?

As my hand grips the doorknob, I look over at my mother, who is oblivious to what is going on. She is still at the kitchen counter reading the newspaper. Her coffee still sits there, now untouched. She pulls a piece of hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear absentmindedly. Then a single thought crosses my mind.

No.

I don't want to leave. If I do, I leave behind my home and the only family I have left. She needs me. How will she move on without me? Will she still wake up in the morning and fix me breakfast only to realize I'm never coming? She's not sane, she needs me. I need her.

No.

But the official calls my name again as I pull my hand away. How much trouble will I get in if I don't open this door? What would happen to me if I ran away and hid, like a small child?

I don't want to know, and I won't question it.

I open the door.