4/9/2012

Callie spun back and forth in her Daddy's desk chair, bored to death. Rightfully, she was not even supposed to be in his office, but she there she was - unafraid of punishment and what would await if she found was found out. The year was 2152, and so far, she did not see how it was much better than the long drowning doldrums of 2151. The wind howled outside, and for a bare moment, Cal thought about peeking outside the window to see what was going on. However, the fancy quickly wore of as she could imagine the very situation in her head. It was the exact same every day. Her city was spotless of dirt, and silenced of the noises of people, but no one could deny the sound of the howling wind outside the generator wall that kept it that way. No matter how many lights flashed, and sound makers clamored, nothing could shut out the outside from the hearts of the people. Secretly, Callie wondered if people were afraid of the outside, and that was what kept them all locked away in their private and unsullied apartments. No one had any friends, no one had jobs, no one had lives. Everyone simply sat behind walls, and watched messages from their leaders flash before their narrow eyes on small screens that were attached to an arm, or wrist.
On her twelfth birthday, Callie had begged her Daddy to not have the surgery. She'd cried, and screamed, and poured her little tiny heart out to the old man. She'd always been different, and she'd known she'd rather stay that way than be wired to a screen that told her how to live for the rest of her life. "Please, Dad," Cal had said. "You know you love me. You know you do!" There had been a risk, taking a step forwards to defend her right to live as an individual, of course there had. People that weren't controlled by the government couldn't trusted. All children at the age of twelve were wired. This had been fed to every child as they grew up, like a weaning process. She hadn't won without a fight; no one ever wins without standing up for who they are. Callie had been plugged, and wired, and she fought with every little ounce of fire she had in her one hundred pound body. It might have ripped the skin, but she tore the wires out when they were sewn in, and by the time she was thirteen, her father knew that his little firecracker couldn't be tamed that easily. The next three years of Callie's life were spent in an asylum, locked up, as an experiment. No one, in the past one hundred-fifty years of earth's history had stood up to the authorities. What was it that made her different? No one could tell. Callie had a history, and the scars on her arms, neck, and back proved it.
Battling with thoughts of suicide, murder, and being a misfit, loser, and freak, Callie spent the next months in that asylum dreaming of a way to escape her life. She was too valuable to be cast to the outsiders. She knew that; everyone knew that. A freak of nature, it was practically branded on her forehead. The young woman held her ground, even as many different approaches were tried to get into her brain, and her heart. She was pampered and petted by day, showered with attention to public, but spent the nights in a cold cell with electronic chains binding her feet together. "Tell me the truth!" Her heart screamed. "Tell me why!" She'd been betrayed by those she thought she loved, and that was what hurt most, as she spun in circles, alone, in that desk chair.