Defective (update 6/5)

4
Dax: On a Mission


We needed food. The meager paycheck that usually got us through the month hadn’t come this time. Dad was late to work one day, the day Mom had lain in bed with high, high fever. She couldn’t eat anything. She barely had the strength to lift her head. Although she kept insisting she was fine, Dad wouldn’t leave her side for a moment. It was a long, anxious night and a horrible morning, but finally the color began to creep back into her pasty cheeks, and she could drink a little lemon soda without vomiting. So Dad went to work, four hours late, and gave me strict instructions to call if Mom got worse.

He came home late that night, his clothes still reeking of the sewers. He looked upset. “Mr. Reginald is angry,” was all he would say. My stomach knotted. Mr. Reginald was Dad’s boss, a fat man with a purply complexion and a breath that reeked of smoke and beer. He’d hired my father reluctantly and had instantly put him on probation, hoping to find some reason to get rid of him quickly. But Dad never gave him a reason. He never shirked his work, never forgot anything, never took sick leaves. Despite Mr. Reginald’s hatred of him, he could find no fault in my dad.

Until now. The very first offense. And it lost him his pay.

Which means we were hungry. Very hungry.

Mom had started making soups out of discarded meat in the dumpsters, but before long the stove ran out of gas. Then we made do with a fire in the alley behind our house. But soon the firewood was gone as well. Mom and Dad kept working. I begged on the street and sifted through dumpsters and traded what I could for food. I looked for a job of my own, but I was continually turned away. I was too young, too small, too dirty. My eyes were strange, my hair thin, my features irregular, my complexion splattered with freckles…

I had no pedigree and so I didn’t deserve to live. They expected me and my family to lie down and die, to make way for the gods and goddesses that were being born each day – the worthy ones. The ones who would live and thrive and create more gods and goddesses, the ones that would further human evolution and make our race perfect, sacred.

To them, my family wasn’t human. We were accidents. Zits on the face of mankind. No one cared that we were starving to death. They wanted us to starve to death, so they could go on with their perfect lives and not have to think about ugly brown birthmarks or crooked teeth or big noses.

I had to do something.

I’m not known for my good sense. Dad says I’m impulsive. Mom says I’m thickheaded and mulish. But I wanted to live. In spite of the stupid world I’d grown up in, I wanted to live.

So I dressed myself in my black canvas pants, a black turtleneck that was two sizes too small, and old black sneakers. I pulled a glove onto my ungloved hand and yanked a black ski mask over my face.

I moved in front of the polished copper disk that served as our mirror and stared at myself, breathing hard and feeling adrenaline pump through my veins. I looked like a specter of death. No one would recognize me. No one would have anything to say if the cops were called. “Oh, Officer, I’m so glad you’re here, there was someone…dressed in black…didn’t see their face….no, I don’t know what color hair…uh, I don’t know – Judith, was it a man or a woman?”

This was so illegal. So incredibly rash and stupid and all those things I’m not supposed to be. But I felt oddly at ease. I was finally doing something. I was on a mission like some hero in an old suspense novel. And if it worked, my family would survive.

I slipped out of the house and headed for Olympus Street.

Oh, okay that makes sense thanks.

sorry. i'm trying to explain without explaining, if that makes sense. in this world marriages so often end in divorce that they just made a law where marriages expired in one year, and if you chose to you could renew them but otherwise a husband and wife relationship wasn't for life, it was just for a year.

Wow,
That was really good. It looks to be a book I would buy for myself and pssibly for my science fiction obsessed uncle too.

There was only one thing I had a question about...

Her fiancée stood behind her, politely smiling and standing very stiff and still. He was a new acquisition; his dark good looks and crisp navy uniform were obviously what had appealed to Liseli. I felt a pang of pity for the young man, and hoped for his sake he would last at least until the marriage legally expired in a year.

3
Serenity: Gods and Goddesses


Everything in a girl’s life leads up to her Reception Ball. There are hundreds of dancing lessons for years before her sixteenth. There are tons of oils and spices and herbs meant to enhance her natural beauty. There are frantic guardians attending parties and banquets in order to connect with families of political influence and superior breeding. There are lessons in grace and poise and charm and how to flirt like a lady, coy but not timid, confident but not brazen.

And then there were days and days of shopping and there were ribbons and pins and curlers for my hair. And there were yards and yards of fabrics – silks and satin and velvet and furs – all in shades of green to match my eyes. There were black pearl earrings and a matching necklace. There were black heels and black stockings and one big diamond ring and lots of perfume.

And all the shopping and the lessons and the days spent in the beauty parlor culminated on the day of my sixteenth birthday, when I was to be presented to society as…well, a member of society. Or, to be more specific, an eligible young woman legally permitted to marry, have children, foster children, attend university, or seek employment at a C level job or higher.

But truthfully, none of those options really appealed to me. I had all the papers to prove I could marry, the IQ to send me to Harvard or Yale, and the home economics skills to adopt a little girl of my own. I just didn’t want any of it. My girlfriends had been chattering about boys and college and babies for years, readying themselves for their sixteenths, but somehow I had never been able to understand their excitement.

But I was excited for my ball. There were more advantages to the Reception than just marriage. There were special privileges; exclusive clubs, fancy restaurants, discounts, banquets, exotic trips, status. I was thrilled at the prospect of such a bright future.

On the eve of my sixteenth birthday my guardians and my foster brother escorted me to Beaumont Hall on Olympus Street. The chill November wind nipped at my arms and legs through curtains of silk and velvet, but I barely felt it. My blood was hot with the thrill of anticipation. Kaden squeezed my shoulder and gave me a proud smile, and I felt warm inside. He was four years older than I and had always seemed much more grown up and sophisticated. But tonight I was to become his equal.

Eron ushered me through the door into the grand hall. The high vaulted ceiling glittered with chandeliers and gilded images of cherubs and flowers. The click of my heels on the white marble floor was magnified a thousand times as the huge room echoed a welcome. My gloved hand rested lightly on the mahogany table which held the feast – meat and cheeses and bread and pies and trays of vegetables and a few entrees that I didn’t recognize. And it was all for me.



“Ooooooh, Ren, you look gorgeous!” Liseli squealed, flitting around me and examining my hair and dress and shoes from all angles. I waited with a patient grin until she stopped with her scrutiny and finally gave me a big hug. Her fiancée stood behind her, politely smiling and standing very stiff and still. He was a new acquisition; his dark good looks and crisp navy uniform were obviously what had appealed to Liseli. I felt a pang of pity for the young man, and hoped for his sake he would last at least until the marriage legally expired in a year. Lis found it hard committing to small pets, let alone relationships – but the long line of cast-off beaus attested to the fact that she was still searching for Mr. Right.

My friend released me and flashed another dazzling grin – the kind that automatically turned the heads of every male within a twelve yard radius. “I can’t believe how you’re growing up. You’re so beautiful, Serenity! Now come on, we have to find you someone to dance with.”

I found several someones to dance with, as a matter of fact, and I flirted and floated and simpered with the best of them. All for show, of course, but fun nonetheless. I lost count after my fifth partner, either because I was getting tired as it neared midnight or because someone had spiked the punch and I could no longer keep anything straight.

I vaguely remember everyone cheering and toasting my good health as the clock struck midnight – the first minute of my sixteenth year. I remember my tipsy giggle as I gulped down the last of the punch. I remember another man asking me for a dance and for a few other things that I wasn’t sober enough to refuse. I remember collapsing onto a couch with Lis and listening to her to tell the story of her Reception Ball a year and a half earlier. I remember watching her slip away with her fiancée and disappear for the remainder of the night. And then I must have fallen asleep, because I could remember no more.

Until he showed up.

lol. hey before_umbrellas. you seem somewhat familiar. have we met? but anyway, thanks for the comments, guys. it gets less depressing Adam...but it's gonna take a while.

Wow, I really enjoyed it. I love the details, it was a different type of writing, but unique in itself. Nice job.

That was really good. Depressing like kill myself depressing but ever so good.

I liked that you refered to the two men as Macho-man and henchmen. a very nice wy to describe the minor characters without creating a name.

I enjoyed it a great deal. I didn't see any grammar or punctuation errors so a double plus

Very good and I look forward to more.

Adam

hello. here's chapter two. just so you know, the chapters alternate between two different narrators. the name next to the chapter title is the name of the person speaking. this kid's a guy and his name is Dax.


2
Dax: The Culling

I was born with it. On my left hand. A dark brown mark that covers most of my palm and spreads across my knuckles. It’s shaped like an angel’s wing, with the tips of the feathers fading into my skin. When I was little Mom used to tell me that it was heaven’s mark, that God gave it to me to show the world how special I was.

I think she may have got it backwards. I think a demon was playing a sick joke.

I started wearing the glove just after my fourth birthday. Just after the Culling in September. It was the second one of the year. That’s the way it works. One on New Year’s Day, one on the autumnal equinox. I don’t know why that is. Maybe they’re sacred days to them, sacred days to offer a blood sacrifice to the great goddess Perfection. Either way, this is how it works: the Ms (short for bio-monitors) visit the homes that have had children born to them in the past three years. The children are thoroughly inspected for any impurities – from strange-colored eyes to deformities to a low IQ. If the kids pass, they live. If they don’t pass, they are branded with a D (“defective”) and sent to the House. Short for SlaughterHouse.

It’s one test you definitely don’t want to flunk.

But my little brother did flunk. He was born with a birthmark too, a brown splotch edging his jaw line like a splatter of mud on his face. I always made fun of him for it, not trying to be mean, just playing around like all little kids do. I regretted it later.

We didn’t hide that day. Usually when the Culling came around Mom locked us up in a little room under the floorboards of her pallet. Just a precaution, she said. The Ms passed us by almost every year, since we weren’t a registered family. But we hid, just the same.

Except that year. That year the autumnal equinox and the Culling and the first snow of the season all happened to fall on the same day, and Matty and I were outside having a snowball fight. I can still feel the man’s hand on my shoulder, can still hear his voice – deep and macho, more macho than it should have been, as if he had to impress two little kids with his manliness. “Afternoon, boys,” he said. His mouth was smiling but his eyes glittered with hatred and disgust like we were sewer rats. It was a wet, muddy day, and Matty and I were dripping dirt, but the man and his creepy henchman were pristine and perfect in their white leather suits.

“Are your guardians at home, boys?” macho-man asked us.

“Mom’s inside,” I replied warily, pointing to our two-bedroom shack. “Dad’s working.” The frown-lines deepened around his eyes and mouth, and the two men went inside.

Ten minutes later they were back, but this time Mom was following them. Crying. I had never seen my mother cry. It scared me.

Macho-man grabbed Matty by the arm and roughly hoisted him into the air. “Age?” the man snapped. Mom just shook her head, covering her face with her hands. Macho guy pinched Matty’s cheek with his gloved hand and pulled it away from his teeth. “Three years, at the most,” he announced, examining my brother’s molars. Henchman made a mark on his clipboard. My little brother wailed.

“Weight, approximately twenty kilograms.” Another mark, another grimace. Another wail from Matty.

“Eye color: mud-brown. Flecks of yellow and green.”

“They’re hazel,” my mother protested tearfully. “Like his father’s.”

“Quiet, woman!” Henchman barked.

They saw the birthmark next. “Defect on the right side of the jaw. Dark brown. Oval-shaped.”

“It’s not a defect!” Mom screamed hysterically. “It’s how he was born! It’s who he is!”

Matty was crying so hard that he couldn’t count to ten or recite the alphabet when they asked him. His IQ was recorded as below average.

“He’s bright!” Mom sobbed. “He’s so, so smart! He was talking at a year and half!”

“Mark him,” Macho-man said carelessly, dropping Matty like a hot rock into the arms of his partner.

Henchman pulled a short, thick iron rod from his belt. On the end of the rod was a wide metal square, and on the square was a raised letter “D”, like a stamp. Mom screamed.

“Please, don’t! I’ll do anything! Please leave him alone!”

“Shut up!” Henchman roared. And then he slapped her. The sound echoed across the streets like a crack of thunder and people stopped and stared and whispered to each other. But they didn’t do anything. My mother fell to the ground and wept.

Then Matty screamed, and the stench of burning skin and hair stung my nose. The end of the rod glowed red as the D sunk into my brother’s tender flesh, branding him just above his tiny wrist. My eyes were watering and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was crying or because the smell was so horrible or because Matty’s screaming was breaking my heart. I ran to hug my brother.

“Get back!” Henchman snapped. Then he cocked his arm and backhanded me with enough strength to throw me backwards into the snow. I cried. I was only four years old. The steel band he wore on his finger had cut into my lip and it was bleeding. And people on the streets stopped and stared and whispered.

Matty’s screams finally died into pitiful whimpers. Macho-man turned his cold obsidian eyes on me.

“Age,” he snapped.

Mom didn’t answer. She couldn’t stop crying.

Henchman grabbed me. He forced rough gloved hands into my mouth. They tasted like antiseptic and ammonia – something harsh and bitter. His thumb ran along my molars, examining them as he had examined Matty. “Age four,” the man muttered, and he sounded disappointed.

Macho-man looked me over like I was horseflesh. He looked at my eyes and the shape of my nose and my undersized body and my hair. He stared long and hard at the angel wing on my hand. I felt even smaller than usual.

“Too old,” he said emotionlessly. “Let him be.” My mother gathered me in her arms and held me against her chest, sobbing into my shoulder.

I watched them take Matty away. The crowd followed at a distance. They whispered to each other. They stared. And some of them laughed.

That’s when I started wearing the glove. Because I wasn’t special anymore. I was just a Defect.

I miss my brother.

Samara, I thought that this story was very good, short, but good.

Plese fix the spacing. It makes it terrible to read. I suggest putting a line space between each paragraph.

Although there were some lapses in the organization of the peice, it was well written and intruiging.

I felt that most of the names were ok, but change Jewel. It's startlingly different.

Overall, a very good peice.

Although this isn't science fiction, I'll let it go for the time being, as there is more chapters to be posted, but if the other chapters
are like this, they'll have to be moved

I enjoyed it . . looking forward to reading more! I liked the style you used from the 'acceptance' point of view (that it's entirely natural and therefore, not a bad thing), rather than a moderator.

hey, good thought. that was a little bit disjointed. thank you .

Hello.

You might one to try double spacing your stories (putting a blank line inbetween each paragraph, like this post). It makes your stories easier to read, although the short length of this means it isn't too bad.


I still remember the first day I saw one of them. I was six. The boy was maybe four or five. He didn’t look like me. I noticed that first thing.

- These sentences here are all really simple and short, and the repeated structure gets repetitive. I’d suggest connecting a couple of them together, to avoid this problem.


Not a lot else to comment on really.

thank you guys! i appreciate the input.
let me explain just a few things:
Eron and jewel are supposed to be cutesy names. you'll see .
yes, i realize it could be cliche. i'm working on not making it cliche. after i post another chapter or so would you help me figure out ways to keep that from happening?
thank you!

Weird stuff... not that weird is bad! Weird is good! Just a couple of points I could think of...

The boy was maybe four or five. He didn’t look like me.

I couldn’t stop staring at him, so fascinated was I by his strange appearance.

Hm. I wasn't a huge fan of the beginning. I thought you could perhaps set the scene a bit more before describing the boy. I have this tendency to dislike description of people, especially at the beginnings of stories.

The garden metaphor was interesting. The names "Jewel" and "Eron" are kind of iffy. They're too cute in my opinion.

The whole Defects concept is something I have yet to make up my mind about, because done right, it could be powerful. Done wrong, and it would be a bit of a cliche. Take a new approach and you'll steer clear of the wrong way.

thank you! actually, the style of this story is that all of the chapters are pretty short, because it switches back and forth between two character's perspectives.

I really liked this, actually! I thought it was well written and you really gave a good setting description about the world the story is in without info dumping or anything. Other than the fact is was a little short, I thought it was a great piece.

-Tony