Spectrum

Chapter I

I never desired to be redeemed different since birth. It wasn't much of an option for me, however, since there's a high chance of getting the luck I have nowadays. Everyone has their own time of being supervised, and the least different of the different are the ones who never get caught, or are the ones who fake it and never get caught. I am considered one of those few lucky ones in a time of luck, thanks to much controlling medication.
"Draw me a picture, won't you, Mariah?" The art teacher whispers into my ear every time I come into class, which is every Tuesday and Thursday (today being a Tuesday, of course).
I wouldn't do it based off of force unless it was here, in art class of course. I only desire to get through three more years until I am out of their reach. I can make my life better by not having to hear the teacher use my last name, Jean, which shows an automatic sign of disapproval from the teacher and more than likely a poor report from that person. Besides, I'm only taking this class because it counts as the fine art requirement I need to graduate three years of school from now. "Sure," I respond, keeping the reluctance out of my voice so she can't give the government a reporting sign to send me to that one place. "Exactly how would you like me to draw you?"
"Use your imagination, Mariah," my art teacher, her name being Mrs. Litlia, says directly toward me, and then repeats with a direction to the entire class. "Make sure you all use your imagination to enjoy this assignment, won't you?"
The problem is, imagination isn't something I'm the greatest with, and I know if I don't come up with something out of the norm, that's an instant red flag to the government. So after, I twist my red and curly hair, hiding my frustration, and come up with something hopefully creative to draw: a balloon version of my art teacher. I grab the color pencils necessary for this from a nearby pencil box, and I begin to sketch out a balloon from memory using a basic pencil, deciding to color in the details after I finish the sketch. My pencil work isn't the greatest anyway.
After twenty minutes (ten minutes after ninety percent of the thirty person class, or twenty-seven people are completely finished), I begin to panic. Luckily this is my last class of the day, and I can get a little help in time by the distractions of people talking about anything and everything. I'm only done with my sketch, and I still need to color. Mrs. Litila comes up and speaks to me: "You're just now working on your sketch, Mariah?"
"Yes, ma'am, I'm working on making this drawing perfect," I respond. Mrs. Litila nods her head as she walks away, writing down some notes. Perfect.
I finish my drawing ten minutes before the end of the period, after the other two students who weren't finished are completed with their own drawings and join in the chiming chatter. I don't have any friends in here, and everyone sees me in here as an outcast, so I just tune out any possible gossip about me. Once Mrs. Litila notices my completion, she acquires the attention of the rest of the class. "I've seen some very unique drawings today, some not so much, but others are absolutely perfect," she compliments members of the class, and I know I'm not going to be a receiver of those compliments. "I'm not going to say any names here, but drawing a balloon version of me is not creative whatsoever, and is actually quite insulting to me."
Luckily, I don't lash back at her, but I unfortunately scowl. A few people begin laughing at me indirectly, and I luckily make it out of the classroom on time to make it home without getting looked at oddly. It's another day gone and another day I won't have to deal with in terms of the government.
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My parents work full time as surgeons, so luckily, they're not home to ask me about my day. I wouldn't want to explain to them that the medication that I'm on isn't affecting me correctly, not after today. I decide to watch a small portion of television to calm myself down after the long bus ride, and the first commercial I see after I turn on the television is this: "One out of four people today have been diagnosed with autism. This epidemic must be eliminated, and Spectrum is the perfect program to help cure your child!"
I shut the television off after that, tired of hearing such black propaganda about people like myself, those who have been caught luckily not happy in the care, no matter what brainwashing they seem to do. I sigh, and just grab my math homework after that. Seeming to understand how to multiply many digits at once in my head, I get right on it. If only art was as easy as mentally calculating several digits in my head...
After an hour or so, my math homework is finished, and as I have a geography test, I review for that. Since I can remember all of that without knowing it at first in the real world rather than my head, I complete my review quickly, and then lay down to reflect on my day. One of my friends -- my only male friend -- Sirium, and I decided to hang out tomorrow after school, I ate lunch with my best friend Mandy, and she and I decided to talk to each other after she made it home from band practice at 5:00, while it's only three-fifty.
My thoughts are much clouded, however, as I begin to hear the screams of a younger child across the street. He has just recently learned to ride a bicycle -- I've watched him do it from my window -- and I watch him sob as he develops some form of injury on the asphalt road. His mother comes out to bring him inside and clean him up.
I only wish I could be cleaned up from this harmful world where I'm an ant and everyone steps on me without even knowing.
I come downstairs to the living room and I begin to play a piece on the piano, a skill I'm not great with. However, I hear a knock on the door just as I start playing scales. "Mariah, it's Mandy," my best friend speaks in her calm, mezzo-soprano voice.
I stand up from the piano stool, and look through the eyehole that is a little higher than my head, causing me to look with my toes up. I open the door, and my best friend enters in band practice clothes, as well as her bike in my yard. "I know, I know, I'm here early," Mandy says as she walks into my house. "Band practice was cut short due to Spectrum officers taking a kid into custody, unfortunately."
I immediately feel nothing, because I've grown used to hearing at least one person a day being taken by Spectrum from school. It's commonplace and has been that way for a while.
After that, I spend time helping Mandy with her homework. Mandy and Sirium both think I'm a genius, and they've never directly asked me anything surrounding being autistic, so I'm lucky in that aspect.
Luck is how I live without being killed by those who want me to be dead like the others.

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New book on the way for you fine readers, and I hope you enjoy it!
I love you all so much. Stay strong. xx