Young Writers Society

(Author's Note: Looking for strict reviewing, guys. I want to get this to it's full potential. *Of course, you can compliment if you want*)

I am in a flock of sheep, being herded forward by men whose guns are their sheepdogs. A few of the sheep are panicking, wanting to run and flee, but they see the guns pointing in their direction and they move away from them. Ahead of the flock are two doors, and beyond that, I feel, our final destination. This is where they slaughter the flock.

I shake my head furiously. It's bad enough I can't move out of the crowd - they are sweeping me down the corridor with them, I have no choice other than to go in the same direction - but I'm now using my Argar education to create grim metaphors for my surroundings. I guess it's my way of distracting myself. At least the part about the men with guns is right. In fact, it's the only thing I can keep in my head. I know the Test is a big deal, but why on Earth are they threatening us? Isn't the Government meant to protect us? I glance around me. Everyone seems tense, on edge. Am I meant to be on edge, too? I can't help but think I'm the only one that's relatively calm right now. The guards are watching me closely behind their helmet visors. I shudder. Maybe I'm acting too calm right now. Maybe they're expecting everyone to panic. Either way, I just want them to look at something, anything, other than me. A few kids reach the double doors and tentatively push them open. Even though there are so many similarities between us - we're all sixteen, for example - I can't feel more different from them. Taking a shaky breath, I follow the flock of kids through the doors into the main halls. There are six long tables, with benches along them for seats. Six sectors. Six tables. Are we meant to sit in our sectors? There is nothing to suggest so. Like, I can't see the Argar seal anywhere, or those of the other sectors. Luckily, it seems a lot of the others are having the same trouble as me. They hang around the tables, looking at everyone else. Some of them are shouting names. Most likely the names of their siblings, or friends from their sectors. A few sit down, but scattered along the table. If they were in the same sector, wouldn't they sit together? I decide to just take the nearest seat. It's my safest bet, anyway. People are taking the examples of others and sit down. It's only when my vision isn't blocked by everyone that I notice doors along the walls on my left and on my right. And it's only then I notice a man striding through the double doors on the opposite side to the ones we entered in. He is dressed in a blue pinstripe suit, with glasses and slicked back hair. He's from the Government, my mind tells me. I don't need telling. I know a politician when I see one.

"Quiet!" a guard shouts.

I focus my attention on him. Instead of black like the rest of the guards, he wears grey. Possibly a sign that he's a leader. The murmurings die down a little, but not a lot. The guards glance at each other.

"Silence! I want you in and out of the Test as quickly as possible! We have no time to be messing around!"

Now the room's silent. With a satisfied nod, the guard turned towards the politician. He coughs and adjusts his tie, before standing up onto a table. The kids around him edge down the bench. No wonder. Everyone dislikes the Government.

"Ahem. Thank you, erm, Captain Newlan. Now, right. As you all should know, the Test determines which, ah, Sector you are must suited to. This is extremely important because, well, um, because unsuited workers decreases the productivity of that Sector."

There is a murmur of annoyance. We're told that changing Sectors is only to keep us happy and at peace, not to make sure that we are working as hard as we can. Typical of the Government to drop this on us now.

"You shall, er, be called forward when it is your, ah, turn. So, well -" Get on with it. "Yes, just sit tight and wait for your name to be, um, called."

He turns on his heel and steps down from the table. I notice that he can't get out of the room quick enough. Thank God. I was starting to wonder if he'd hang around. The guards shift their grips on their guns as people start to emerge from the rooms along the walls. To my complete and utter surprise, they call me straightaway. I stand up, trembling, and walk with my hands behind my back over to the rooms. A women gestures for me to follow her. I obey without a second thought. The quicker this is over, the quicker I can take the cart back home to Argar. To pack or to stay, I don't know yet.

"You have nothing to worry about," she says, "I promise."

"Huh. Then why are there people with guns?" I answer, glancing over my shoulder.

The woman smiles sweetly, but ignores me until we enter the room. There is a chair that looks like one from the old photos of dentists, and a bright circular light on the ceiling. A weird headset thing rests next to the chair.

"The guards are for your own safety, and to keep you in an orderly fashion. We don't want any riots on our hands, now, do we?"

Her voice is dripping with honey, and her smile is very decidedly fake. Immediately, I dislike her. Never judge a book by its cover, Mum would say. But what if the cover tells you everything? She points at the chair, then turns to a computer in the corner. I stay standing.

"Should I, er, sit down, then?" I say.

She absently waves a yes. I pull myself onto the chair and sit back. I can feel springs jarring into my spine. Spinning around on her heels, the woman gives yet another sickening smile and picks up the headset.

"Now, you just put this on. And before you ask, on your head. You Argar produce can be awfully lacking in the intellect sometimes."

She laughs. To be honest, cackle might be a better word for it. I take the headset from her hands. It's got binocular-type lenses, and a web of straps. For my own dignity, I try to be quick as I can, but the straps are difficult to position. I pull one under my chin and fumble for it's partner. The woman sighs and grabs the straps, clipping them together with fingers of lightning. I can be really poetic sometimes.

"I am going to turn on the images. It puts you in a dream-like state. You just do whatever it asks."

Her voice fades from my mind as I see her tap something on the computer through my binoculars. Everything goes dark.