Young Writers Society

Well, this is my first posting on YWS. The summary for this story is pretty long, so I shouldn't waste space here. It's on my YWS blog, though, so if you'd like to know where this story's heading, feel free to drop by the blog post.

This is the prologue, so it's pretty vague. Remember, people... constructive criticism!

My feet shuffle awkwardly against the bare earthen floor. The elderly man sits before me, his eyes appraising and a finger running over the rim of his mug. No doubt he has been interrogating a lot of children before me. He’s starting to get bored.

His eyes flit to the sheet of paper in his hand and he scans it for a while. “Bethany Ford, am I right?” he addresses me. I nod meekly, keeping my eyes fixed onto the cluttered table that separates the both of us.

“You are 9 years of age,” he says monotonously as he reads my details. Once again, I nod in response. His cold grey eyes bore sharply into me. “Well say something, child. You can’t stay mute forever,” he snaps.

I hesitate for a split second before clearing my throat. “Yes, sir,” I respond. My voice comes out all squeaky, which is only typical for a young child like me, but I know it’s because of the nerves. This quiet old man makes me exceedingly nervous.

Mother has told me not to cross him, though what this withering old man could possibly do to harm me, I can’t imagine in my wildest dreams. I do know, however, that he is a representative from the Council, the dictatorial Government that lives on the other side of the island. She says I can go places if I pass this interrogation with this man.

I’m still not quite sure what she means by that.

“Only one child has managed to pass my interrogation so far. That would be Laurence Holden,” he says. I process this in my mind, feeling a little queasy. I know Laurence Holden, whom I call Laurie. We’re neighbours and we tend to end up playing with each other a lot.

“Do you think you can pass the interrogation like him?” the old man continues. I pause before answering.

“Why should I want to? You could likely be carting me off to certain death,” I reply bitterly. This whole thing is starting to anger me.

Every year I watch these Government officials coming about for a round of interrogations, and then a few kids will disappear off with them, always the smart ones. The adults never tell us what it’s for, but I know that they know.

We suffer in near destitution, and middle-class at best here, while these Council members and wealthy people slip in and out without a second glance at us, pilfering off talented children.

Some are frantic and try to protect their children in case they’re taken, but some welcome the officials and tell their children to give it their best.

My mother falls somewhere in between. She’s not happy about it but she tells me that I will have a better life if I go with them. Under the current circumstances, I’m not sure if I trust her judgment about these people.

This man could kill me, for all she knows.

Something glints in his eyes, and I can tell he’s no longer disinterested in me. He considers me for a second, then he leans forward expectantly. “Do you feel different, Beth?” he asks.

Beth. The sound of my nickname in his mouth is revolting. Only my mother and friends ever call me that. This man is not my friend.

“Bethany,” I correct him in a steely voice. This doesn’t throw him, however. He remains quiet, waiting for me to answer his question. “Is there a reason I should feel different? Last I checked, I was like any other child,” I say.

“You certainly don’t speak like any other child,” he tells me, “- except for one.”

I wait, curious as to where he’s going to. “You speak quite like little Laurence Holden,” the man says. A chill runs up my spine at the implication behind that.

He’s going to take me away. But why? Just because I speak differently from other children? That doesn’t even make sense.

“Tell me, have you accidentally harmed someone before without meaning to?” he asks. I open my mouth to protest against this but I’m hit with a faded memory in the recent past.

The gigantic overbearing boy that tugged on my carefully braided hair, stole my dolls and threw them in the pond, tripped me up so that I fell flat on my face. That was a few years ago. He doesn’t bother me now. Not after I lost my temper and struck out at him.

He had to go to the local healer to mend his injuries. I had broken his arm and sprained his ankle. I never found out how I managed to injure someone who was easily 3 times my size.

But from then on, the adults always regarded me carefully, like they thought I was capable of attacking everyone in sight at any given moment.

I pull myself out of this memory, drawing in a deep breath to steady myself. “He provoked me,” I mutter, averting my eyes from the man’s.

“You could tell that Laurence was special, from the moment you met him. Different,” he continues, changing the subject. I suck in my breath sharply. How could he possibly know that? I remember the first time I met Laurie, the introduction still fresh in my mind.

I immediately sensed something different about Laurie than the other children. I don’t know how I knew that; I just did. There was this weird sixth sense thing bubbling up inside my brain. My subconscious, I should think.

It told me he was gifted.

“Both you and Laurence have this gift, Bethany,” the man says slowly, like he knows I’m not quite getting it. “You mature faster than any other child your age should.”

I start shaking my head. I don’t want to believe any of this. “No, no... no,” I say repeatedly.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of. It is a blessing, Bethany.” He leans forward and places his wrinkled hand on my shoulder, smiling what seems a concerned smile to me.

“We, the Council... we are here to train you. We want to recognize all your talent. We want to appreciate it.”

My heart leaps at his words. To be appreciated. How promising that sounds. I find myself warming to his words; such enticing words.

“And why would you want to recognize my talent, as you say?” I ask. But I have already made my decision. I just need to hear an affirmation from this man that is offering me the chance of a lifetime. A chance to fit in someplace. He smiles again as though anticipating my question.

“Because you’re special.”