The Whisperers

1-Last day of Core

Hey, well I have always loved writing but this is my first attempt at a novel so comments are much appreciated!!

Dedicated to tissas1, my first fan

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1

The sun squeezed through the gaps of the shutters in the history room, creating shadows that danced off the walls. Sitting in the back row, I was in a daze, tracing lines onto the table with my finger, what I imagined the wastelands to be, the natural swoops of the sand forming into patterns even the greatest couldn't achieve. Now it seemed however that there were no great artists left, we only remembered them in lessons like the one I was sitting in, or when we pass a park bench with a small weathered plaque bearing their name. They were told they would never be forgotten, and now they aren't remembered for their gift.

Everyone has a certain endowment; a part of their soul which is not just rendered to the normal day to day of life, a talent, a gift, a true part of themselves which little do they know is actually genetically engineered by the Gerrymanders. When a child reaches the age of ten they have what people call, a soul revelation when they learn what their talent is and who they truly are.

Taking place in the 10th hall of the Plethora, it is thought of as one of the most prestigious events to ever attend. It is an evening of excitement and after each child has received their endowment, it is just one big party lasting until dawn. Not all attend it, those who have been exiled for their parents, or themselves, have been fraternising with the fighters of the cause.

Endowments are not really talents until the children believe they are, brainwashed by the Gerrys, they begin to think that they really can do a certain thing, something that sets them aside from the rest but Endowments aren't really talents but would be better described as work occupations.

I was attempting to conclude why I was given the Endowment "Capturing and Revealing" when Mrs Coulson slapped her ruler upon my fingers which were still tracing lines upon the grain of the wooden table. I gasped at the suddenness of the attack but kept my composure, set a scowl on my face and proceeded to glower at her. In return, she stared me down, preying on my like a ravenous wolf, her crooked left incisor peeking from beneath a chapped lip- I retract that first statement, she was a wolf. Mrs Coulson was formidable for being unrelenting and strict, an identity she had obtained after over fifty years in the teaching profession. Cruelty and maliciousness were particularly evident traits, traits that other teachers turned a blind eye to as they too were at the mercy of her vindictive nature.

"Nyssa England," her sharp voice penetrated my tranquil state of mind.

"Care to paraphrase what I have just been talking about?" I hesitated before adopting a sarcastic tone,

"Why, Mrs Coulson, I feel I would do you injustice, I couldn't possibly deliver a performance as good as the one you have just graced us with." This remark gained a few sniggers from around the room; Mrs Coulson however was not amused and simply looked at me expectantly.

"The dramatic pauses," I paused myself, gesticulating, "the monotonous voice and the little globules of saliva you so kindly donate culminate in something magical," laughter rose "something spectacular, remarkable, some may even describe as enchanting, are you really suggesting you want me to try and replicate that? Why, I am flattered, I'll admit that Mrs Coulson, but I simply could not." Laughter was uproarious but stopped abruptly when her ruler smacked sharply against my temple. A vignette clouded my vision but disappeared a moment later after a few sluggish blinks.

"Get. Up. To. The. Front." She shouted , enunciating each word separately, her face a mere inch away from my own, depositing small spheres of spit onto my chin. It seemed this time I had crossed the line. I shoved my chair back, taking pleasure in the screeching it made across the tiled floor and sauntered up to the board, trying not to show my obvious fear.