Dire wolf

1

August 1, 2115

I don't want to keep a journal. I don't want to write in it everyday. I don't want to be reminded of the torment I live in forever. If our descendants want to read this crap, then read someone else's. Other people write books about the time we live in. And they get paid for it.

I don't get paid for anything. Not even when I join the army. I won't get paid till I'm at least 20, and have the badge of loyalty. I have never earned a cent in my life. Whenever I found a penny lying on the road, I would pick it up from the grimy ground and clean the mud off it with my fingers. I would smile as I saw Abe Lincoln, the honest president. But mom wouldn't let me keep it.

I argued with her, saying "It's just a penny! It can't do me any use! I couldn't buy a rock with it!"

She would pick it up from my tiny fingers, then put it in her pocket. "Of course, it doesn't have much value. But if you have enough, you could make a dollar. Twice as many, two dollars. But you don't need money now. Me and Dad buy everything you need."

"But I want something! I'm tired of only needing things!" I would complain as I dragged my boots through the mud.

"Now, don't speak to me with that tone, young lady!" Mom would bark back at me. I felt my insides curl, and I flinched.

Mom didn't usually hit me, but my teachers did. By the end of first grade, I knew that when an adult got mad, punishment came. Physical and mental.

She sighed, and saw my discomfort. "With times like these, we don't have the luxury of getting things we want."

But now, I don't flinch. It's a sign of weakness; and I can't afford to be weak. I look frail, and easy to break. With a skinny, childish stature and strawberry blond hair. But my eyes are hard, and bronze like metal. Most would call my eyes brown, but you have to look closer. They shimmer a gold-orange color.

Today, I can't be weak. Today, we will be tested for our era.

Once a year, before summer ends, all the fifteen year olds get tested. I don't know what the test is like; all I know is that the day after, I get to find out which era I am a part of.

Everyone gets sorted into two categories, or eras when they're fifteen; the ancients, and the moderns. When the test have their results, They get a unique tattoo, or bar code, on their left hand. It's sort of like an ID, or a birth certificate. When scanned, it tells when you were born, who your family is, and lots of other things.

We ride on the train, sitting quietly. A nervous presence fills the air.

Khara, though, doesn't seem the least bit scared. She's reading a book, with her legs crossed and one arm behind her head. She smiles, and laughs.

I should tell you a bit about Khara. She's a bit of a rebel. She doesn't accept rules very well, and she's always getting in trouble. Lots of guys think she's awesome, which is understandable. Her hair is a beautiful shade of brown, and usually in a messy bun when she's out. At her house, she lets it go wild. She hates wearing the plain, boring uniforms they give us, so she doesn't wear them often. When she does, they're not tucked in and all buttons are undone. Her skin is a shade of olive, which contrasts nicely with her gold eyes. I don't see how I became friends with her; I'm so different from her.

She smiles and laughs again, a little louder. "Khara!" I say quietly. "We're not supposed to be reading."

She looks up. "What? Oh, okay." She says quietly, putting the book under her shirt.

"Why did you bring that?" I ask. "You know what day it is."

"Don't we all?" She says, examining her nails.

I exhale deeply, trying to loosen the stress building in my chest.

"Aren't you nervous at all?" I ask.

She sighs. "To be honest, a little. I don't want to be a modern. I couldn't stand all that schooling. But I don't want to be an ancient; they're too strict."

"You can't just cherry pick," I say.

"I know! But... Well, overall, I just don't want to be sorted."

I sort of felt the same way. I was deathly afraid of guns, so I wouldn't want to be a modern. I wouldn't be able to deal with all that training if I was an ancient.

"I'm terrified." I say.

We're silent the rest of the way. I watch the city flash by, and listen to the sound of the train moving.

After about ten minutes, the train slows. We're at the test area now.

Over the intercom, a women's voice says: "Do not stand up till told to do so. You are to exit the train in an orderly fashion. Please wait in line, and do not speak unless spoken to. You will be given further direction later. You may now exit the train."

We all stand up in unity. The row across from us walks out the train, then our row follows.

Once we are outside, The train pulls away. A middle aged woman with black hair and a stern look walks to the front of then line. I can't see her, but I can hear her very well.

"Follow me! If you think of runnin' off, I'll whip ya' like a horse!"

As soon as she starts walking, we follow. I strain to see over all the tall people in front of me.

I can see the building in front of us. It's about ten stories tall, with no windows. It shines silver in the morning light.

As we walk towards the building, my heart pounds in my chest like horse hooves. I don't mind tests; I'm great at them. Pretty much like a review for me. But I'm deathly afraid of what the results will be.

Suddenly, the line stops. I'm about twenty feet from the entrance of the building. Two guards with armor stand at the doors. One has silver armor with a sword, while the other has simple protection with a gun. The one in armor is a girl about my age, while the other is a boy about twenty.

I feel the blood drain to my feet. The boy pulls out a scanner and scans the first person's ID bracelet. We wear them from birth to when we get the tattoo.

The first person goes through the door.

We move a little farther. It is about five minutes till another goes in, and we move a little.

With each step, my heart quickens. I was surprised it was still in my chest.

Soon, Khara was in front of the line. I saw sweat beading on the back of her neck.

"Wrist, please." The man asks. She hands it to him reluctantly.

He scans it. "Go ahead. Go through the first empty door you see." He says.

She takes a shaky breath, then goes inside.

I almost faint in that five painful minutes of waiting. When the man speaks, I jump.

"Wrist, please."

I almost say what, but I didn't. I give my wrist to him, trembling. He scans it, but I don't hear him tell me to go inside. I do, anyways.

I push the metal door open, then step into the dark hallway. It was time.

Be sure to check out the next chapter from my friend Warriorofdeath_percy. She'll interpret Khara's pov/journal