Pure - The Broken Society

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ever since the outcry of rebellion, men and women everywhere have been focusing on nothing except the preparations for a certain war they predict will happen between the two civilizations. People from all over the Sectors speak of this fight, and it only makes my blood run cold.

I've heard rumors of the plan in just about every aspect. People arguing over how the plan will actually work.

"No! They are sending the defectors back!"

"No, all of the army is going!"

Some have resulted in fights in the dining hall, to which I am expected to clean up after them with another worker, Tinsley, a petite little thing. She's about twenty years older than me, but has a personality of a teenager, bubbly and sweet.

"I don't understand why they get so worked up over this," Tinsley says as she gets on her hands and knees with an old wash rag. She scrubs back and forth at the spilt beverage on the floor.

"I don't understand either," I say, crouching right next to her to pick up broken pieces of glass with my bare hands.

"I just wish they would say what the damn plan is already, like what are they waiting for?!" She laughs, her jet black hair pulled back in a tight bun, hiding her newly forming wrinkles on her beautiful penny brown skin.

I laugh a little too, "Maybe they're still finalizing it," I say, trying to seem optimistic and interested in the chosen topic of conversation.

I've tried so hard just to ignore it, but everywhere I walk there's a group of training men running in perfect formation down the pathways of the chasm. I hear that they have their meetings in Capital Pier, led and instructed by "General Torres". I can't help but continually roll my eyes at that, one second he's drunk at a bar and the next he's playing army.

And I couldn't help but feel angry with the way things have fallen into place, everyone seemingly okay with risking their lives just because Tate said so with his perfect idea of storming the city. But at the end of the day, I always find myself feeling sorry for him and for the way things have happened in his life. I feel bad for him, but not enough to put my own life and my friends' lives at risk, hell, he has been nothing but rude to me. And I don't believe what Gage said about Tate and his suspicious ways of attraction, how could I?

I'm brought out of my inner argument to the sound of Tinsley's voice, "Oh my, look who it is," she says, jabbing me in the arm lightly with her skinny wrist. I look up to see who she means, and I instantly heave a sigh of annoyance.

Tate walks in with three other men, men who I've never seen before, Malcolm slowly trailing behind them, his once fiery red hair now dyed a dark black.

Everywhere he walks now, he's a celebrity. People cheer him on and raise their glasses to him every time he walks into the dining hall, and a part of me can't help but wonder if he's going to let this power go to his head. Or if he's doing it for attention, just the consternation and sudden urgency to have a rebellion doesn't sit well with me.