Odd

Part One

I was born on January 1st, 3111. The first completely odd date since November 19th, 1999. I was the only baby born on that day. One odd baby, one completely odd date.

            January 1st, 3111, was the day it all started. All the people struck by poverty in the world were given the necessities to survive.

            Everything that was not a necessity was taken away.

            This completely got rid of poverty around the world. Everything was perfect. Rules had been set, everyone listened to them. Everyone was happy because no one was jealous of another. We were all equal.

            It has been perfect for exactly 17 years.

            Oh, I forgot to mention that only the people who worked hard in their job were given the necessities to survive. The people who lived off another’s money or were just plain lazy were “taken care of”. No jobs were open to give, even if they wanted them. No mercy. No forgiveness.

            This was the punishment for laziness. It was a lesson the government thought we needed to learn.

            Certain countries had more people “taken care of” than others. The United States of America was a big one.

            Most everyone where I live were hard workers, so we were rewarded. Though, the reward isn’t what pushed us to work hard, it was because we were poor and hungry. Living in the middle of Africa before January 1st, 3111, wasn’t easy.

            Today is the anniversary of The Change. It is also my birthday.

            No one knows it’s my birthday, because no one was or is allowed to have a baby on January 1st.

            I’m the only one.

            My parents have kept it a secret for 17 years, telling everyone I was born on December 31st, 3110.

            I always celebrate my birthday secretly by myself. I have been since I can remember. I might’ve started celebrating it with one friend, but I don’t have any.

            Just like my real birthday, I am odd.

            I am too smart for people to like me. Too weird, too different. I’ve been told this all my life, and I know it’s true.

            No one else appears to have their own, original thoughts. They follow rules, think only what they’re supposed to.

            I do not.

            I find myself questioning everything. I am the only one who questions what being “taken care of” means. The only one that questions The Change.

            “Zac!” I hear a voice yell.

            “What?” I reply.

            “Hurry up and get dressed, The Ceremony is starting soon!” Crap. The Ceremony.

            The Ceremony is where all 17 year olds get their jobs. I’m hoping for a government job. People who work for the government are smarter than the average. They’re the people that make rules and new technology.

            I quickly find my nicest clothes and throw them on before running to my mother, who was looking very angry.

            “Let’s go,” she said sternly as she whipped around and out the door. I followed suit, accidentally stepping on her heel.