Untitled Short Story {Part 1}

Well. For some reason I got this interesting idea in my head last night. Hopefully, the end result is interesting. I've never written fiction just for fun, but here goes. It's actually kind of Science Fiction--NO, that does not mean I have aliens and strange planets--just it's set when things are a bit different in the world. Also, I haven't finished it yet. This is a page and a half. I've written two pages, and I expect it shouldn't be much longer than three pages in all. I've read through it once and edited it a bit, but I made need to change/add more depending on what I write later. Also, please let me know of any contradictions--I already found one. ;]

*Insert Interesting Title Here*

The receptionist looked up. “Number 1-8-8-2.” I stepped forward, crossing the yellow waiting line almost completely obscured by black scuffmarks. Her phone was ringing, but she ignored it. “Here you go. Take this and this, and move onto the room marked ‘Fitting,’” she said, handing me a small, disheveled stack of papers and the Thing I had only seen on television up to now. It fit neatly in the palm of my hand. They were right; it was virtually weightless. And icy cold. I followed her direction and headed toward the room.

~

Honestly, I don’t remember precisely when I came to the realization—it just occurred to me once that I understood, and that I didn’t want to be part of the System, whether it is beneficial or not. What emotion or reasoning drove that desire, I do not know. Which side was I on, I could not say—for or against?

People say they love what is happening, but at the same time people worry so much nowadays—what with all those children’s courts where teachers are sued for attempting to repress Expression. It was just two weeks ago my rich classmate took our English teacher to court for incorrectly Registering. Mrs. Clemine told him it was an “Excellent answer.” However, she had been thinking, “And I’ll bet you cheated on that, too. You lousy excuse for an eighth grader.” We have a new teacher now because she lost her job as well as her ability to work without a Register, or even outside the System.

But that doesn’t mean much . . . at least according to what I’ve been hearing on the news, and they can’t lie. You can’t actually see their Registers, but off-camera every broadcast is monitored. Still, I wonder. If they report something that someone else researched for them, and they don’t know it is wrong, then it’s right isn’t it? According the their standards it is, because they broadcast it in all honesty. They would be honestly mistaken. But back to what they have been reporting. They have been reporting that slowly and surely occupations are joining the System. Polls are showing that the general population prefers businesses that “value honesty.” Riots and strikes are also on the new now, though, and in alarming frequency.

~

I’d been waiting a good ten minutes outside the door the pre-occupied receptionist had mentioned, when another out of breath receptionist decided to tell me—and the restless line forming behind me—that there had been a mistake. Evidently, they managed to miss the phone call letting them know the doctors were on lunch break. She hoped it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience for me to wait for them to return? I told her I would wait the remaining fifteen minutes or so. Behind me a middle-aged man swore. Only minutes before he had been complaining, in loud tones, to a nervous young man several people behind himself. “Sure, they’re doing this for our benefit. It benefits everyone when I’m late for work and the costumers pile up. It will benefit everyone when I’m uncomfortable and can’t keep focus because of this,” he suppressed obscenities, “idiotic little contraption.” The young man just made an attempt at nodding understandingly, unsure if that was the correct response, but it didn’t matter. Mr. Grumpy had been interrupted by the receptionist and had already found another ear to complain to, this time about the Anti-Hate and Slander phone surveillance policy. As head of the local Women’s Bowling League, the Ear was sympathetic. “It tried again and again, I did, to explain to the surveillance man on duty that it wasn’t gossip. I had no intention of persuading Louise to drop her partner, really. And then he threatened to turn me in to some society or other. I think he’s just a bigot.”

Although the group of people here with me today have been called in by their address, I thankfully don’t recognize any of these bothersome people. That may be the only upside to living in a crowded apartment. Close proximity tends to breed a desire for anonymity, so I only know a few of our neighbors, only one of them being a fellow eighth grader.

Try as I might, I couldn’t seem to focus on the information packet I had been handled, and the absence of a staple made it difficult to leaf through. So, I turned my attention to the little Thing in my hand. Which, somehow, had managed to sweat profusely, though the silver surface seemed to absorb heat. Dull and charcoal colored, the blank screen stared back at me. I wondered what it would look like when activated. Still, I knew it wouldn’t make a difference. It would never show red for me.