TRANSMIT

So here is the deal, i wrote this for school but really loved it as a short story. i want to know A) if you like it and B) if i should continue with it. 

It was three days until my 18th birthday, and trust me I was terrified! Ever since my best friend Sam got his transmitter implanted he hasn’t been the same. He used to be so cheerful and energetic, now he is monotone. He shows nothing other then an action, no emotion. Based on this and everyone else it has happened to, I am terrified. I like who I am and don’t want to get changed.

 The transmitters are supposed to help us mature as a society. Once we turn 18 there is no room for immaturity of any kind, at least that’s what I’ve been told my entire life. My father is one of our societies leaders and has always expressed the importance of me to be more mature than others. He always tells me, “Elizabeth Page, you must lead by example. The people of your age are not going succeed unless they are mature.” I really do hate my father. I don’t think he sees what I do; much less understand what I think and why I worry.  When people get the transmitter, they don’t just become mature, but everything about them that made them special vanishes as well.

I don’t want to be mature if it means giving up who I am, I refuse. This is what I told my grandmother. She has always agreed with me, she sees what I see. She has told me wonderful stories about when she was growing up they hadn’t developed the transmitters yet. Everybody was free to be who he or she was without being reprimanded for it.  My father’s generation was the first to have the transmitters. His was administered at the age of 5, so they basically grew up being mature. However, at the same time I think they were also more themselves.  My generation however is the first to get it at age 18.  It scares me that everything I love about myself and other people disappear once the transmitter is administered.  I had always wondered what would happen if a transmitter didn’t work, or if someone refused to get it.

Last week, before Sam got his transmitter, we were sitting on the beach talking about the most random things. All of a sudden his face changed, and I could tell something was wrong.

“Are you worried about the transmitter?” he asked me suddenly.

“I guess. I’ve seen what it does to people. I don’t like how it changes you,” was my response.

“You see it too? I thought I was the only one who realized it. Every time I would talk about it with my parents or bother they would just not understand what I meant,” I was shocked, I didn’t think anyone else saw it but my Grandma and I.

“Sam?”

“Ya?” he said as he was staring off into space, clearly deep in thought.

“Do you think there is a way to get out of the transmitter? Like snap out of it or something? I really don’t want to loose you.”

“Even if there was, I don’t think we could figure it out by tomorrow.”

Ever since the day after he got the transmitter and told me “I can’t hang out with you, you aren’t mature enough,” I have been determined to figure out a way to snap him out of it.

I was in the waiting area of where I get the transmitter implanted and all it did was make me more nervous. Everywhere you looked there were pamphlets and signs and posters showing what the transmitter looked like, how it worked, and where it went. I already knew what to expect because the night before my father had finally shared that information with me. The transmitter is implanted in the back of your neck and you shouldn’t feel more then a pinch while they are inserting it.  It should take about 5-10 minutes, depending upon multiple variables.

“Elizabeth Page, we are ready for you now,” this is when the pure terror set in. This was really happening. I had failed in my attempt to get Sam back. After sitting their, probably looking like an idiot for a few minutes I got up, made my way carefully to the door, and sat down on doctors table. Trying, what seemed impossibly hard, to not let my fear or nervousness show as the doctor came in with a giant needle, the transmitter, and a piece of black cloth with a wire attached. With all the instruments I saw, the black cloth scared me the most. I didn’t know what it was, what it did, or how it was used. I had never even seen it before. I didn’t think everybody got it because when I was little I had a transmitter kit so I could play doctor. All the materials were just for play and made of plastic, but I wondered why the black cloth wasn’t in there? Would I look stupid if I asked? It was basically my last moments of freedom; I was going to ask anyway,

“Excuse me sir, but may I ask what that black cloth is and why it has a wire attached?”

“This my dear,” he held up the black cloth “is just a precaution in case the transmitter doesn’t work. It gives it a boost so to speak.” I sat there in utter shock, probably mumbling incoherent words. There was a chance the transmitter wouldn’t work? After finding out this information, I hoped the transmitter didn’t work and decided if it didn’t, I would use my best acting skills to make it seem like it did. Maybe then I could save Sam and everyone else. 

Finally I said, “Thank you,” and hoped he wasn’t a mind reader and their wasn’t an exact way to determine if the transmitter worked or not.

I woke up feeling really drowsy; it took me a minute to realize where I was, and what had happened. It was strange, I remembered my friends and what we did together, but not everything we did. I remember volunteering with my friend Sam for school, but I know that isn’t all we did. I have this vague memory of us sitting on the beach together, having a series conversation, but I know something is missing from that memory. Something immature.