The Unreadables

Chapter One

Chapter One

It was my 5th reading when I was taken from the comfortable lie of a life I knew, and harshly shoved into the real world. 

“Eric!” my mom called from the kitchen. “You’d better get up! There were people camping in Town Square two nights ago! If you don’t want to sit there until the afternoon, you’d better move it. If you’re not ready by 5:00 AM, I’m leaving without you!”

My eyes opened groggily. I knew she wouldn’t actually leave with out me, but she was right about getting there early. The number of campers was getting larger and larger each year. 

I got up and pulled on a gray collared shirt and my nicest pair of pants. I actually combed my dark brown hair. No matter how little I cared about appearances, the Superior, basically the King of the Nation, was the one person I thought maybe I should look presentable for. Even if it was only in a photograph. 

I ran downstairs and threw on my tennis shoes. I grabbed a ready-made-by-mom piece of toast, and Mom grabbed her purse.

“Is dad already there?” I asked, not seeing him anywhere in the house.

“Yes, “ she said, pulling her dark blonde hair into a bun, “But we’d better hurry there. You know how people feel about saving spots.”

We walked out the door and blended into the sudden mass of people. They crowded the streets, pushing one another to get to Town Square as fast as they could. People carried their children, terrified that if they put them down they would be lost under a storm of feet and gone forever. One lady almost got trampled, but her assumed boyfriend managed to grab her hand and quickly pull her up.

Basically, it was a really bad day to be claustrophobic.

Slowly, we finally made our way to Town Square. The crowd broke off, and I felt like I could breathe again. 

“Well, dad’s right over there,” she said, pointing. I waved, and when e saw me he grinned and waved back. “Well, you’d better go. Be good, I don’t want you causing any troubles for the SPF or the Readers or any of those folk.”

“Obviously. Bye Mom!” Before I could go she pulled me into a tight hug. Then I walked over to the right and took my place at the end of a long, long, line of 10-15 year olds. Next year I’d finally be moved up to an older age group.

The day ticked by slowly. I chatted with a few people. One group invited me to play cards, but when they switched to a game I didn’t know, they kicked me out. I listened to some tattooed girl play her guitar, which actually sounded really beautiful. But when she caught me staring, she scowled at me, and with her patch of shaved hair on the left side of her head and tattoos running up her left arm, she looked pretty mean.

The line trickled forward each couple of minutes, but with so many people it hardly seemed to make a difference.

Until, by late afternoon, almost evening, I was at the front of it.

“Are you Eric Haywood?” one of the SPF asked me gruffly. I nodded and got up. They walked on either side of me, and lead me into the clean white Town Hall. They led me into a small room on the right, where the Reader and his assistants were.

“Thank you gentlemen,” he smiled, and the SPF officers nodded and left.

The Reader was a man maybe in his thirties. He wasn’t a particularly big man,  but I wouldn’t describe him as scrawny either. His short black hair was neatly combed, and his white coat spotless.

“And who may you be, young man?” he asked, looking me over.

“Eric Haywood, sir,” I replied, trying to sound polite. He offers a hand and I shake it.

“Well, Eric, would you take a seat on that chair for me please?”

I did as he said. It was a red dentist chair, and for some reason it always made me nervous.

“Just sit back, relax.” he said as one of the nurses came and wiped my arm with an alcohol wipe. Then she came over with a needle.

“This is just to ensure the Reading goes safely,” she says, and when she smiles I get the feeling she’s trying to show off her pearly white teeth. Then she slowly injects the needle into my arm. I wince a bit. Then she pulls it out. One needle down, one to go.

Meanwhile the Reader has pulled my name up on his computer screen. Next to the information is a terrible picture of me from last year. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, as if he knew what I was thinking, “We’ll take a new picture once the Reading is over.”

The nurse comes back with another needle.

“Now,” she says, “I need you to lay back on the chair. After I hook up the IV to you’re arm you’ll fall asleep in a few seconds.

I don’t wince as much this time when she sticks the needle into my arm. “Now, count backwards slowly starting from 10.”

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6...” And as the numbers start to drift into silence, I’m ready to drift into the unremembered blackness of a dreamless sleep.

Except this time, unlike all the Readings I’ve had before, its not dreamless.

I dream I’m in a strange room full of colours and growing, spiraling plants. A brick wall sits comfortably around it, sturdy and strong.

Then I hear somebody pounding on it. I don’t pay much attention. No one can break walls with their fists.

But then I hear something bigger outside the wall, a bulldozer maybe. They are trying to break it down.

Suddenly I become very alarmed. I find myself concentrating, as if I can keep the wall up with my mind. Whatever’s out there, on the other side, I don’t want it to get in. I’m concentrating hard, beads of sweat forming on my brow. I will not let you break it. I think, and hold onto this thought like my life depends on it.

When I woke, the Reader wasn’t smiling and taking off his gloves, telling me I did great and its times for a picture. The nurse wasn’t showing off her perfect white teeth. The relief of having everything over with didn’t come.

Instead, I woke up with the barrel of a gun aimed at my head.