Criminal Maybe

Get Ready

"Get up get up get up!" is my alarm clock in the morning. AKA, my mother. 

Every day since I was four she's gotten up at six and woken me up like this. I absolutely hate it.

She starts shaking me violently, "Come on honey. It's a big day! We have to get ready!" 

That's right. That's today. The test that could probably change my life. Forever. The test where if I'm in a certain group of people, I will be arrested. Questioned. Possibly murdered. Sounds like fun doesn't it.

And you know why?

Because if you fall into that certain, small group of people, there's a chance you could grow up to be a criminal. That's right. A chance. It's not certain. 

But the government acts like it is. 

They pull people off the streets every day just because they were in that small percent. At first it was people that showed forms of aggression in High School or earlier. Then they started taking seemingly harmless homeless people. Then they started dragging adults from their own homes. I should know. I've seen it happen so many times over the years. Yet I always stay safe behind the window. Always watched as people have been beaten, tortured, and killed right in front of my eyes. Yet every time, I always just let that curtain fall behind me, sealing the gap between the outside and the safe confines of the house. Where I feel like no one can touch me. 

Not once has anyone tried to help the accused. 

But the government sees this as a way of the population saying that they agree with their methods. So they continue. And the body count rises every day. 

And now, it is my turn to take the test. 

Every year, all of the sixteen year olds go to school like usual. But instead of going to their classes, they take the test. It is done on a computer so you get immediate results. As soon as that red X pops up on your screen. You know you're done for. You're pulled out of school right then and who knows. You might never be seen again. 

There's no way to prepare for a test like this. No amount of studying can change what you are. So you either pass or are doomed to fail. 

I struggle to hold back a small hiccup as I grab my backpack. 

I know I won't need it but I feel as if I should take it anyway. It just feels right. 

I heave it up onto my shoulder and I take one look behind me to see my house one last time before I leave. Then I creak open the door and step out onto the cold street.