A girl named Gwyneth sits next to me at my table. This is the grand banquet for the newly tagged. We will all get our silver cards after. The cards containing our new lives. All the proud parents sit at the other end of the room. The first thing Gwyneth says to me is, "Your eyes are so interesting. Like...I don't even know. Just...weird...anyway. I'm Gwyneth." I don't know what she means. My eyes are so average and plain.
I glare at her with envy. She has long, thick red hair, a clear, fair face, a tiny, curvy frame, and big green eyes. She also has a brand new, lavender, knee high dress that is properly fitted and has a suttle amount of sparkle.
My thin, below hip long, brown hair that is too long to be pretty, painfully bright, heavy dress, and much less stunning facial and bodily features leave me in an even deeper pit of black despair. There are other girls and boys. Around fifteen in all. They all choose their seats and the rumble of small talk begins. I examine each of their faces. All happy. All content.
Except for one. In the corner of the room. Her expression portrays that she does not want to be here. Not the slightest bit. I study her while Gwyneth chatters about... I don't even know. I notice her looking at the inside of her forearm allot.
And suddenly she looks up. Right at me. We hold each others gaze for who knows how long. I notice something strange about her eyes.
A dronesman calls everyone's attention. She brakes away from my eyes.
The dronesman's way too optimistic voice booms through the room. "Welcome. Welcome to your new and prosperous life. You have completed your life long mission in becoming an elect member of society. You should all be exceedingly proud of yourselves."
What is this guy talking about? I was just enslaved by an evil dictator. Why should I be proud of myself?
Waiters pour in with carts stacked high with all kinds of foods I've never seen before. We usually get meals pre-made in little plastic containers. Each one is specially designed for every persons dietary needs. It's not the best food but I really don't know any better.
A glass plate and silver utensils are placed before me and I can only stare at them. The waiters place platters of food in the middle of the tables. I can hardly contain myself as I reach for a small golden brown club close to me. It smells like the grilled chicken breasts I get on my birthday but looks a million times better.
My hand stops. What am I doing? This is all brain washing. I look to the girl again. She sits almost like a stubborn child who won't eat her vegetables. I'm ready to follow her example when a voice comes from behind.
"Is something wrong Ms Chades?" I see a dronesman behind the girl moving his lips. She answers and with one hand, almost cautiously reaches for a pitcher of water, and with the other hand, snatches a roll. I see the dronesman behind me in the shiny surface of the plate.
"No. I'ts just... so new." I lie.
"Let me help you." He turns to a waiter who places another plate on top of the first but this one occupied with food. I force a fake smile and say thank you through gritted teeth.
"Your welcome." He doesn't leave so I gently pick up the fork and dig in like I actually want to. He slowly walks away. Even though I don't want to admit it, the food is heavenly and I swallow each bite with mixed feelings. Do I care more about my freedom, or how good the chef is? I glance back to the girl who looks how I feel.
Trapped.
