change history yesterday

chapter 4 - chains & whips

For years now, the nation's top scientist have been at work for a medicine that could potentially rewrite the human genetic code.

In theory, for defects, such as myself, and I guess anyone else whose genes are compliant with the drug, one dose of the prescribed dosage would immediately cause our DNA to rewire itself to suppress less desirable traits - our external appearances changing, morphing in the blink of an eye to be more perfect.

As one of the few instances in which a defect shares royal blood, I have been selected to be a test subject, willfully. Despite my slight distaste for the extravagant lifestyle, I want nothing more than to be more than a defect.

I want my parents to look at me with love and not dissatisfaction - Aero, too. That's why senator Holm is only minutes away from Nephraim.

His scientist have found an incredibly rare flower that was supposedly destroyed in the slow formation of the new super continent, Sybaran; according to old textbooks: the Amorphophallus Titanum, or the 'Corpse Flower,' is a flower that was once only native to the now deserted rainforests of Old Indonesia. It was thought to be extinct up until the year 2678 where it was discovered in what was once called the Andes mountains, and has since been rumored to possess the components to correct the genetic error found sparsely in Sybaran.

On top of the sporadic outbursts of plebeian infiltrations in many villages, the talk of this flower has been in newspapers and podcasts all around.

I check myself in the door mirror one last time before exiting the crimson red room. In the foyer waits the only person with whom brings me even the slightest joy these days: Rhys.

"Hi, stranger," he greets with a bright smile.

"How can you be so cheerful on a day like this?" I force out once I'm able to break free from his bone-crushing hug.

"I try to find light in any situation," Rhys says, matter-of-factly. Oscillating back and forth in his large hands is a deck of play cards. Gambling is one of the many luxuries that members of the upper echelon take part in. For a silver knickel, one has access to alcohol, food, and all of the gambling his heart desires. Of course, at a knickel's worth not even the wealthiest of peats could afford it. A luxury strictly for higher rankings. "Cheer up, Char," he teases with my childhood nickname. "It'll all be over before you know it!" He shuffles the cards expertly between his hands. "You should come with me to Time Hall —" He drops a card onto the floor and stumbles to pick it up. I unconsciously apologize to passers in the narrow, long hallway that are sidetracked by his clumsiness. "— I could teach you all of my tricks."

Rhys is a natural born bettor. Bred of slightly royal heritage, he shares all of the desired traits wanted in society. If not for his lack of discipline and childish nature, there's no doubt in my mind that he'd be at the top of ranks.

"As tempting as that sounds, I'm going to have to pass," I say, tiredly.

"I have a lot I have to do today. I don't want to lose focus."

"You have a lot to do everyday," he complains, openly. I don't respond, too tired of having this conversation with him. As we walk, I glance over at Rhys, painted with irritation at my reluctance. His annoyance seems pointless to me at this age. He should understand that things are much different now that I'm being watched continuously. I can't afford to slip up when so much is at stake.

Rhys and I round the first available corner in the long foyer, instantly surrounded by savory and sweet scents for the aftermath of today's events. Sneakily, I watch as the tall man walks ahead and slips a portion of sliced, golden bread into his coat.

He turns his head, shining proudly at me with satisfaction. He looks like a kid at the candy store. Then, in one swift motion, the head chef of the feast smacks Rhys on the side of his head, snatching the pastry from his coat pocket.