I went to the neuro-correction class, or, as it literally was, the anti-creativity lecture. There was a video on a screen in front of a bunch of filled desks, repeating the same messages of how creativity and self-expression was bad and could lead to disturbing the peace. I sat down in the back, next to a woman who looked a bit younger than me. We both have similar light-brown hair with blond tints, however she was more pale, and had a burn on her cheek partially covered by a bandage. I assume there must've been a tattoo there once.
"You bored out of your mind yet?" The woman whispered to me five minutes into the lecture.
"Extremely... how long have you been in rehab?" I ask.
"A couple months now, they're finally letting me try to reform after five years in prison," She said. I stare at her in surprise. "Didn't mean to scare ya, typically it takes three to five days for the smart ones to admit defeat and get let back out," The woman said.
"Heh, you just didn't feel like complying, huh?" I ask. She shrugged.
"Didn't really see the point... It's easier here anyway, as long as I don't openly do anything too creative they let it slide," She said.
"What's the punishment if you do?" I ask. She chuckled.
"I'm assuming you aren't too creative if you don't know," She said.
"I guess, it is my first time in rehab. Just wanna know how far I can push it before it's real jail time," I say. The woman nodded.
"Depends on how bad it is... if you wanna find out, be my guest, as long as you're not a fan of all ten of your fingers," She said. I chuckle.
"You're joshin' me right now aren't ya?" I ask.
"Ohhh is that a slacked accent I hear? Maybe you're more creative than I thought. What's your name?" She asked.
"America," I say. She stared at me for a moment.
"Ok, hilarious, real name please," She said.
"The United States Of America, Washington District of Columbia, son of The United Kingdoms, Dr. Britain, more officially known as Dr. London Cardiff Edinburgh Belfast-,"
"Ok, ok, smart*ss... but it really is you, huh? Guess your family needed their ugly duckling at some point," The woman said. I roll my eyes, smiling.
"Am I not cool enough now because I have a smart family?" I ask. The woman chuckled.
"Depends... wanna do something fun?" the woman asked.
"Sure, might as well," I say.
Later during lunch, the woman instructed that I grabbed as many sauce packets and plastic cutlery as I could, and then to follow her out of the cafeteria and to a secluded hallway.
"Hey, did you know sauce used to be different colors? And there were like, millions of them?" The woman asked, as we painted a mural on the wall, using the ink-black sauce as paint.
"I figured, since sauce used to be made primarily of plants, and plants are usually green, that it must've been a similar color," I say, trying to paint the wall to the same skill as my new art accomplice, however I found I couldn't quite replicate her side of the mural. "Wow, you're really good," I say. She smiled.
"Thanks, I practiced a lot whenever I could. I don't really like sauce so I just used it to make pictures. I don't like most of the food the government gives," The woman said.
"Well, it's not about how good it tastes, it's about nutrition. I mean, imagine if food tasted really good, then people would just eat all day," I say.
"Ohhh there goes the shill I knew you had in you," The woman teased. "I found there is such a thing as delicious food, and you could make it yourself!"
"How? Where did you learn that?" I ask. The girl looked around cautiously, before pulling me closer and whispering to me. "I was doing community service and was cleaning up after a government book burning.... I found one page of a book, and it had a guide on it for something called 'banana bread'... It had a picture of it too! it looked super cool, and it wasn't gray or black, it was like, a brownish color. I tried to find a banana so I could try and make it, but I couldn't get a community service job in the farms... I knew a guy who could though, and he said that the plants he'd seen were amazing. He didn't know which one was a banana though, and I never got to speak with him long enough to be able to get anything from him though... and I think he probably could've got put in jail for stealing if he tried,"
"Community service...? Isn't that just for homeless people, orphans, and eccentric millionaires trying to relate to the lower classes?" I ask.
"Hah, yep, except the community service the millionaires do is just throwing lighters and gasoline onto art fires.... I kinda just woke up one day and I was a teen. I couldn't remember anything, and the hospital I was in said they couldn't find my parents and didn't know who I was. No identification, family, record of any fingerprints- which is the most odd to me because they collect a new print every year from every citizen.... It's like... I didn't exist... so I was just put into community service to make some money, and I eventually could afford my own house so I didn't have to live in the homeless quarters- although it didn't really matter because everything looks the same in this damn city- and I broke a bunch of creativity laws and got jailed a lot, and now were here," She said.
"Huh... Man... I...,"
"No need to be sorry, It's not like it's the worst life, and I'm having a decent experience compared to the laymen. I mean, you didn't even know about banana bread!" The woman exclaimed. I smile and nod.
"I guess so...," I say. Once we were done with our mural, we went back to the classroom for another five hours of lectures. However, in the middle of it, two nurses walked in the room.
"Who graffitied on the wall with sauce?" One said in an accusational tone, not even bothering for elaboration. Everyone who had been there longer than a day looked over at my accomplice, and even the nurses seemed to realize. The woman sighed, about to confess.
"I did it, I just had her watch for guards," I say. I know she was teasing me about the harsh punishments earlier, but I don't want her being sent back to jail for this.
"Really?" The nurse said, unconvinced.
"Well, I thought I might as well make a nice first impression and paint something for you," I say, smiling. The nurses sighed and shook their heads. They lead me to a private meeting room.
"You know why you're in rehab, correct?" A nurse asked.
"Mhm," I say.
"This is your first strike, three more and you go to jail," The other nurse said.
"Cool," I say. The nurses sighed.
"What would your father think...," One muttered. I smile, but feel my blood boil. I heard that from far too many people.
That night, the woman snuck into my room, which was slightly startling, however I didn't mind too much.
"How'd you slip past the nurses?" I ask.
"It's actually real easy, a lot of them think I'm stupid because of some dumb neurological deficiency I have or whatever. I just ham it up and they let me wander around as if I'm a moron. They pity me," She said. I nod.
"Well, unfortunately they made me clean up our work. That was nice though... hey, I don't think I ever caught your name," I say. The woman smiled, but it faded to a sigh.
"They assigned me the name 'Victoria' because I didn't have a lineage or birthing site to be named after... I don't quite like the name.... heh... I might be creative, but I've never been able to name something before...," She said.
"How about I call you Vicky?" I ask. She paused, a smile growing on her face.
"That is a lovely name,"
YOU ARE READING
Street Cred (CH MexAme Dystopian AU)
Fanfiction"You have absolutely zero street smarts and it SHOWS... don't expect me to baby you, because I could care less about you," "Don't you mean you could NOT care less about me?" "Ugh.... f*ckin nerd...," -------- Neuorolia, a place where the last surviv...
