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Individuality is Illegal; Academy of Uniformity & Conformity



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17 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 240
Reviews: 17
Sat Nov 23, 2013 8:22 pm
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EllaBliss says...



Academy of Uniformity & Conformity



How the teachers think of the school:
Spoiler! :
A.U.C. is a wonderful school for child education, especially since individuality has become illegal for children over age sixteen. A.U.C. is now one of the top schools in the world. We house children from ages four to sixteen.


How the students think of it:
Spoiler! :
Harsh, grueling, often very competitive set of exams which even the young have to participate in, to sadist teachers who like to single out individuals for ridicule and humiliation, openly mocks you in front of the rest of the class, and if it's a gym teacher, you'd better be ready for dodge-ball hell or worse. The one who tells you they want you to fail because you don't deserve to move up. They are as cruel as they can possibly be within the confines of their job, but because they're a teacher, anyone seeking justice for their sadistic behavior is likely to be summarily dismissed. And then there is... THE PRINCIPAL. The principal is a pompous and sour old killjoy who is opposed to the merest hint of fun. He believes that it cheapens the good name of the institution. However, don't expect this disdain to be evenly applied; he'll suck up shamelessly to wealthy parents. He favors the children of alumni and big donors. He has no problem with letting them get away with murder. He is quite blind to their obnoxiousness and malevolence. This is not the place to want be, but conformity is the law. Beware, future students. Beware, for your individuality could be stripped from you in just one day of being here. Do not let that happen. Individuality is a gift.
Oh, I'm such a fool! I can't be free!
No escape from the storm inside of me!
I can’t control the curse!
Please, you’ll only make it worse!
There’s so much fear! You’re not safe here!





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17 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 240
Reviews: 17
Sun Nov 24, 2013 3:49 am
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EllaBliss says...



Miko-tan

Spoiler! :
Miko-tan is a Japanese twelve year old possessed of an over-abundance of energy, such that she runs everywhere (often with arms waving wildly or outstretched like airplane wings), speaks quickly (sometimes unintelligibly so), and always does everything fast, fast, fast! She's filled with confidence and determination, regardless of whether she's competent or not. She is also very clumsy; Miko's clumsiness rarely does her serious harm, but can often set off domino-like chain reactions of disasters. She's never seriously injured, though, and she always pops back up with a good-natured, but rueful, smile. Miko is that one person who always looks like she is just about ready to cry. In fact, most of the time she probably is. One small incident and she is crying. It is possible for anything to cause her to cry, but it is most often a harsh insult directed at her. She is greatly embarrassed by her name, as -tan is a Japanese honorific; a small child's slurred mispronunciation of -chan, a general, informal term of endearment with overtones of intense cuteness, usually with little children. It can also be used as a derisive diminutive, depending upon context and tone. She does not refuse to be called by it though. Teachers usually refer to her as Miko-me, deeming her inferior.

-Tvtropes.com = Awesome. Credit to that website just saying
Oh, I'm such a fool! I can't be free!
No escape from the storm inside of me!
I can’t control the curse!
Please, you’ll only make it worse!
There’s so much fear! You’re not safe here!





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120 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 2520
Reviews: 120
Sat Jan 18, 2014 3:03 am
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ladcat13 says...



"To Riders Mirayah and Ash:
My grandmother told me about you when I was little. Her name was Irene Oswald; do you remember her? She said she met you and your 'partners' when she was a teenager. She told me the story about you a billion times over, whenever we where alone. I know you're out there somewhere, fighting the system. I hope you find this message, because I need your help. I risked life and limb to get this to the go-between, and that was only on a small chance you still checked it. Please listen to me, for my grandmother's sake if for nothing else.

Have you heard of AUC? That's short for the Academy of Uniformity & Conformity. You can tell by the name what kind of school it is, and if you do some research you'll find out a lot more quickly. My friend's parents transferred her there when we were in the sixth grade and I never saw her again. The letters she sent me chilled me to the bone, but she was never able to prove anything to the police before she had her "accident". Look her up; her name was Mandy Sparks. My parents are going to send me there because I love to draw. I'm mildly schizophrenic, but it's easily controlled with medication. All the same, I need to draw or I might just go crazy. My parents don't understand this, despite what my Grandmother says. They;re going to send me to AUC because they want to break me of the habit before I turn sixteen in three years. I fear for my life, because if they take away my one outlet to sanity I'll probably do something stupid and get myself killed. That's what they do to kids like me in that school, and the government turns a blind eye. Please don't let them kill me, Ash and Mirayah!

-Jennifer Oswald

P.S., My grandama says hello.


A woman in the customary gray government uniform walks carefully up the driveway to the gray-brick building. An iron-and-barb-wire fence encircles the property, and a the sign on the archway over the gate says "Acadamy of Uniformity and Conformity" in plain black letters, just like the script on any other sign in the country. The woman's lips move silently as she counts her strides; she could get in trouble if her pace becomes too fast. It is hard for her, because she is tall for a woman and has a naturally long stride. A lock of her long, jet-black hair pops out of the grey cap that everyone in the country is required to wear, and she tucks it back in as she walks. A slight smear of charcoal is left on her face, and she quickly wipes it away. She has to put the charcoal in her hair every morning to dull it, because she could get in trouble if it gets to shiny and lustrous.

At the front desk of the school, the secretary looks up as the woman enters and frowns. The woman sidles up to the desk with her eyes cast down and presents the secretary with a file. The secretary takes it from her, careful not to touch her hand, and begins to flip through it. His frown grows deeper and he looks over his plain, wire-rimmed spectacles at her. He clears his throat before beginning to speak.

"When we requested new janitors, we weren't expecting someone so... different," The secretary drawled. The woman stiffened at the word "janitor", since the proper word was "caretaker". She could sense that the secretary was needling her, but she couldn't afford to utter the stinging retort she had on her lips because she was different. Her skin was a rich tone of coffee that indicated mixed race. Most people with darker skin chose to wear lightening makeup, though it wasn't technically required. The woman refused to conform to such a racist rule, for she was proud of her heritage. Over her dead body would she hide that much about herself. She was also striking, though she didn't quite fit the definition of pretty. It was hard to hide her height, her natural grace or her strong features. She did her best to dull her lustrous hair and to keep her eyes turned downward, but when she turned them up it was hard not to notice her. Her eyes were strange because they were stormy grey, and though out-of-place, they were beautiful.

The secretary continued; "Your name is... Samantha Black, yes? Can I see some I.D.? Yes, that's good. The pictures are hard to mistake. Well, your credentials all seem to be in order. The principal's office is that way, you'll want to report and have one of the other janitors take you around. Here's your file, and welcome to the Academy of Uniformity and Conformity."

As the woman turned in the direction of the principal's office she didn't feel very welcome.


The Principal Sanders looked up from his paperwork at the polite knock on the door he sneered. Trash day. Of course.

"Come in already," he called. The sandy-haired janitor shuffled in, eyes cast downward, and began to empty out the recycling bin by the door. Sanders had just returned to his papers when another knock intruded. "Oh now what is it..." he muttered in annoyance before yelling "Yes, come in,". A strange-looking woman he had never seen before entered the room with what looked like a personnel file in her hand. "Who are you?" Sanders questioned her.

"Samantha Black, I'm one the new caretaker that was requested." She answered in a quite tone, obviously trying to disguise her lyrical voice. Sanders eyed her with a snort.

"You are to refer to me as 'sir' at all times, understood? Here, let me see your orders. Some I.D? Yes, very good. You there, Andrew, or whatever your name is. You'll show her around? Good, good. Now if that is all, I have a school to run. Thank you, yes, yes, goodbye." The door clicked shut and the principal turned back to his desk.

Outside, the two caretakers walked quietly down the hallways past columns of silent, marching students with stern-faced teachers at their heads. "Andrew" turned at a t-section in the hallway and "Samantha" followed him to a janitor's closet.

"This is the supply room where we caretakers keep all our stuff. Students aren't allowed in here, just so you know." No one else in the hallway noticed the tiny, almost imperceptible wink that passed from the man to the woman. "I'll show you your space" he continued as he fumbled for the right key on his key ring. He unlocked the door and the two passed through, the lock clicking behind them.

In the small, dimly lit room, the two closed their eyes and listened carefully to see if there was anyone else in the room. After a moment, they opened their eyes and smiled, knowing they were alone. The woman suddenly threw her arms around his neck and he embraced her right back, both clinging fiercely like they would never let go.

"God, I missed you so much, Mirayah! This place is mind-numbing, even if only for a month!" He gasped into her ear.

"And I you, Ash. And I you. Where is Birul hiding during the day? Limok is outside the city but she is aching to know where we are going to be based." Mirayah asked as they separated somewhat.

"He's in the old warehouse by the river, the one by the boatyard that we scouted out two months ago?" Ash replied. Mirayah frowned.

"I thought we agreed it was too risky for the first month? That we would have to set a watch if we bunked there?" She queried.

"I know," Ash sighed, "But we couldn't find anywhere better. Birul has barely gotten a wink of sleep because he can't afford to drop off. I spell him out as much as I can on the weekends but it's been hard on him. We'll be better now that you two are here, eh?" He smiled playfully. Mirayah gave a hint of a smile back, and kissed him gently. Their bodies fit together perfectly, with he only the tiniest bit taller than she. As they came back up for air she studied his face, as if to make sure there had been no change in the month they'd been separated. Nope, it was still the same cheerful blue eyes and tousled blonde hair, the same raffish good looks and the same crooked, boyish smile that never seemed to leave. She didn't like that stupid grey cap, though, so she took it off. He in his turn took off hers, and she shook her long, dark hair loose.

"Oh, it's nice to break the law sometimes." Mirayah sighed.

Millions of miles from home
In the darkness before the dawn
In the swirling of this storm
When I'm rolling with the thunder
But bleed from thorns
Leave a light, a light on.








Defeat has its lessons as well as victory.
— Pat Buchanan