People used to say that it is a good thing to be different. Not anymore, different is a crime. People get hurt for being different. Little did I know I was going to become different. It happened on the day of my initiation. I was finally going to get my chip, the Nation was finally accepting me into the group. In my room clothes were strewn across the floor while I sat in the center with a look of confusion planted on my face. I was trying to decide which uniform was fitting enough for my initiation. All consisted of the same colors. Gray and white.
"Evelyn! Hurry the initiates are leaving in an hour!" my mother yelled from downstairs.
Tired of searching I chose the gray skirt and white long sleeved blouse. Running down the stairs in a hurry I called to my mom.
"MOTHER! Please do my hair."
My mother turned the corner and merely smiled at me gently,
"Of course sweetie just sit down in the restroom,"
I walked down the hall into our restroom. My family is the typical unit. One child, with two parents. My mother is one of the members of the development unit at the National Servants Building; my father is the head of her development unit. Together they believe in working for the Nation. Walking in the restroom with a brush in hand, my mom smiled;
"Ready to look like a lovely Nationalist?"
"Of course! I am so excited about getting my chip! Did it hurt when you got yours?"
"Not a single bit, Evelyn, I just felt a little sting. But after that little sting all of the sad thoughts I used to have just vanished."
"What do you mean, vanished?" I asked.
After she said that I realized that my mother never frowned, she always had that smile on her face. She was always happy.
"I don't know; they just went away, I never had a negative thought again. That's one of the best things about being a Nationalist,"
My mother's long fingers gently pulled my hair away from my face. Only a single strand was left; it was meant to frame my face.
"There! All done." My mom smiled, "You look absolutely lovely, my darling."
I looked into the bathroom mirror shocked at how easily my mother was able to tame my frizzy curls. It was pulled into a pretty low bun that sat on the nape of my neck. I looked different without my insane curls, I looked elegant. In only one hour I would no longer be a goofy 16 year old girl, I will be a nationalist. The Nationalists are finally allowing me to enter their world.