A script that I wrote in English Lit and Language class.
Characters:
Mother
Father
Christina
Helen
Father Two
[It is a warm Sunday afternoon in Fall. The hands on the clock point towards the miniature four. A family of four sit on a garden bench with a black table cloth covering the large table set between the two benches of which the family of four have spread themselves out upon. The makeshift dinning table is set between two patios an the legs of the table have been hammered into the grass so that the table will not move when pressure is applied. There is a slight wind which makes the edges of the table cloth flutter and the little blades of grass collide with one another. The sky is an array of blues, yellows and reds all swirling together like an experiment on an artist's pallet. A soft rock album called No Sound Without Silence by The Script plays in the background. The older male in the family brings out a chicken and hands it to his wife to carve. She starts to carve as the two sister animatedly talk.]
Helen: I manage to secure my A in biology after all. You know how I was ever so worried about it. I needn't have worried one bit. A bit of worrying is good, I say; it shows that you care but there comes a line when you worry too much that you become ill. I know that I stepped over that line. I believe Mother was extremely worried.
Christina: Yeah, well I managed an A* in English, I am mega chuffed with myself on that one.
Helen: Oh? Well done you! Congrats Hun. So whilst one of us is going to become a pathologist the other is going to become an English teacher or journalist. Isn't that what you said to Father that you wanted to do?
[Christina shrugs]
Christina: Uh. Yeah. I did.I guess I could become either really. Watcha want to become a pathologist for anyway? Don't you have to take a degree in biology for that?
Helen: Yes you do and why? Well, I find it interesting.
Christina: Bloody disgusting. Get it? Bloody ....
[Christina laughs at her own joke but stops when she sees the look on her father's face]
Father: [Snaps] Don't you dare start dissing your sister like that!
Christina [Sheepishly] Sorry Dad, sorry Hel.
Father: Your sister's name is Helen not Hel. Do not shorten it, Chris.
[Christina and Helen exchange a knowing glance]
Mother: Come on darling sit down, I have your chicken right here.
[The Mother hands over the Father's plate loaded with chicken]
Father: Thank the Lord, about time.
[The Mother goes back to carving the chicken]
Father: So, well done to both of you on your results.
Helen: Oh! I also got a B+ in History, the highest in the class.
Christina: My friend said that you gotta make sure that the chicken is flavoured properly otherwise it's just going to taste like cardboard.
Mother: Why yes Christina that is why we flavour our chicken; to give it some flavour and add a bit of extravagance to our meals.
[The Father eyes Christina suspiciously and then diverts his attention to chasing a stranded pea around his plate.]
Christina: I know that Mum, I was only repeating what my mate said.
Mother: Very well Christina. Here is your chicken, darling angel.
[Christina takes her chicken and places her bright red plate upon the black table cloth. She looks to the sky and the sky has darkened somewhat. It looks like an artist is experimenting with different colours and is now mixing a darker blue among with the reds and blues. The cheerful yellow that was once in the sky has now been eradicated. The Mother hands Helen her food and sets the knife on the place mat next to the striped chicken corpse.]
Father: [To Christina] Eat your food Chris, you have English finals tomorrow and you need your strength.
Christina: Yes Daddy. [She starts to eat]
Father: [He spears a piece of chicken] Time is a ticking bomb.
[Everyone stares at him. The mother reaches out and touches his hand gently with her fingertips. He yanks his hand back with such ferocity that it seemed like her touch burnt him physically.]
Mother: What do you mean, honey?
Father: What I mean is that time will be the end of us all eventually and no one cares. There is no one there that can stop time from ticking away. We all have a set number of days, hours, minutes, seconds until our time is up. Then the time bomb detonates and destruction consumes us all. Until one stops breathing, a heart stops beating. Family and friends cry so so much that they can barely even see. They let the smoke, from infernos in their hearts, infect their minds. [He pauses and takes a swig of cider] They lose what will never return to them and they let those fires in their hearts burn away until there is nothing left. No one helps and no one cares, not one single person. There is no sparks, no hope. People lose their hearts over time bombs and at the end of the day ... what are we destined for hm?
[Everyone stares at the Father]
Father: Well?
Christina: [Timidly] What are we destined for, Daddy.
Father: [Bellowing] Dust you stupid girl!
Mother: Now now darling, even if that is what we are destined for, which we do not know, scientifically we do know something.
Father: What?
Mother: That the energy never dies. Our love will never die. Everywhere we go we leave little sentiments. Little particles of energy that will still be here until the sun swallows the Earth in fifty million years time. I have always said that if hate is the poison in this world then love is definitely the cure.
[The Father takes the Mother's hand in his and gently runs his thumb across her knuckles.]
Father: I never need to worry when I have you by my side. I would jump into the fire for you.
Mother: You are not alone darling. We are in this together.
[Christina still is not eating even though everyone else has started once more]
Father; [Sternly] Eat!
Christina: I'm not hungry.
[The Father springs up and strides over to Christina and flings her food across the garden. The red plate smashes and spreads amongst the grass blades]
Father; There! Now you don't have to eat it!
Mother: Honey, please calm down.
[She gets up and crosses the lawn to where the Father stands. She starts drawing patterns on the Father's arms and you could see him visibly calm down]
Mother: There you go, darling, you need to breathe and calm down.
Father: Sorry Christina, I flipped.
Helen: It happens to us all Dad, I wouldn't worry about it.
Christina: I didn't want it anyway. No offence Dad but your food and cooking suck. You don't ever flavour the chicken.
[The Father's face looks contorted, like he is trying to hold something back but is failing epically.]
Father: That is not a nice thing to say at all.
[His head snaps to one side]
Father Two: No it wasn't but what are you going to do about it? Me? I would punish her and punish her good.
[The Father's head snaps back]Father: Punish her ... but how?Father Two: Up to you.
Mother: [Whispers] Oh crap! Crap, crap, crap!
[Helen and Christina exchange worried glances]
Father: Oh I wonder...
Christina: I'm sorry, I was so worried about my English final tomorrow, I didn't wanna eat.
Father: Why are you worried, Chris?
Christina: I lied about my grades. ... I'm really getting E's and at my best D's.
Father: [Yells] ... You ... You ... WHAT??!!!
Father Two: PUNISH HER AND PUNISH HER NOW GO ON! DO IT! SHE DESERVES IT!!!
[The Father climbs across the table and transfers the knife, used to carve the chicken, from the mat to his hand. He hurtles himself at Christina, who lets out a strangled yell for help. Helen and the Mother are frozen to the spot. The Father raises the knife high in the air and with a flash he cuts through the air and buries the deep within Christina. The air is filled with Christina's cries full of: pain, anguish and late apologies. The Father raises the knife and lowers it again and again, until he had created a hole in his daughter's torso. Her blood seeps out of her body. The crimson fluid joins the shattered pieces of her red plate. Her blood creates a beautiful dot pattern amongst the green grass blades. To anyone else green and red swirled together creates a sickening feeling, but not to the Father. The sky had now turned purple and black. The artist is trying to make something of such dark colours]
Christina: [Whispers faintly] If I could turn back time and rewrite those lies then I would.
Father Two: It's too late you little scum bag. I have punished you for what you did. I do not tolerate liars, Chris.
Christina: It's Christina, not Chris, Father.
[The Father kicks his daughter as she takes her last shake-y breath.]
Mother: You ... You're a monster. You've just killed our daughter.
Father: [Claps] Oh well done Hun. Congrats for stating the obvious. You're so good at that.
Helen [Hesitantly] Dad? What's wrong with you?
Father: No! I will not kill the other child. I am so sorry darling. I should have told you earlier. I ... I ... I ...
Mother: Your Father has a split personality Helen, sweetie. A psychopath and his normal self. We had him on medication but it looks like he has not been taking it and because of that foolish behaviour you have lost a sister and I, a daughter and he has lost a daughter ... and a wife.
[The Mother grabs Helen and sprints into the house, The Father looks at the emptying corpse of his daughter and screams. The sky is now a shade of pure black like the artist has stopped swirling colours on his pallet, trying to make things bright and bold. The artist has given up completely and painted the whole canvas black, ignoring the impulse to brighten the painting by sprinkling white and yellow onto the canvas to create stars. There is no brightness in this painting. No hope. Christina's time bomb has detonated and she is in a world of darkness. There is no brightness ... not any more. The soft rock album finishes. Silence and darkness reigns supreme.]
Thursday, 16 October 2014
Tuesday, 14 October 2014
Book Recommendation
I would definitely ready The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak.
It is set in Nazi Germany and a young girl is learning how to read and more importantly - how to survive
It is set in Nazi Germany and a young girl is learning how to read and more importantly - how to survive
Market Atmosphere - Place
A piece of prose written on the theme of Place in class.
The atmosphere at a market during the winter is what you may expect. Frenzy. I walk with my Mother and Father down the narrow gravel path to enter the market. The pirate that is normally there to welcome all the small children has sailed away back to the tropics. The winter cold doesn't like him and the feeling is mutual.
Mother likes to stop at every stall, much to my Father's displeasure, and look at everything being sold. I think she likes to have an inside debate about whether or not to buy something and to determine whether or not Father would allow to bring the item back into the house.
Mother starts at a statue stall and I hang back with Father; many years of watching Doctor Who have taught me to be wary of statues of angels and not to go near them. Mother holds up an angel-like statue up to show us and Father shouts:
'No way!'
Whilst I train my eyes on the statue that Mother is holding. I will not blink. I will not allow her to be taken by this evil angel statue.
After coming away, empty handed, from the statue stall, Mother drags me over to a massive clothes stall. I give my Father an apologetic look as he mutters:
'Now come on!'
Mother insists that she buys me some item of clothing. Now, however much I protest and say:
'I will just have a pair of jeans thank you,'
She insists and tells me to close my eyes and for a split second I am enveloped in darkness with the harsh winter wind biting and chipping away at my face and arms. I shiver. I will surely have a deformed face after this. After that split second of darkness, crude images fill my mind of what my Mother could pick me to buy and worse make me wear. I still remember that pink tutu she bought me in year seven and made me wear it to school on a non-school uniform day. This time, when I shiver, it is not due to the cold. A tap on my shoulder brings me out of my dark reverie and I see Mother holding a bag. So she has already bought it. I look past her at Father and see he is biting an already short nail. Cautiously, I look into the bag ... revolted by what I see I snap the bag shut and push it into Mother's hands. Okay, I like purple ... but purple and LIME? In a swirling pattern? That dress is enough to make me sick and I know it already has a place at the back of my wardrobe.
"Thanks, it's lovely," I lie.
Mother grins and we head off to the next stall.
Next was the toy stall. We don't spend long at this stall but Mother likes to look at the toys and reminisce on how I used to use my toys as a boomerang. I must say Suzy, my 3ft bear never made that good of a boomerang. However one toy catches my eye. A panda. I love pandas and I used to have a panda toy. You heard that right. The keywords in that sentence was 'used to'. I won't go into the details. Lets just say add a panda, one sister who wants the panda, one sister who wants to keep the panda and a tug of panda war and what it equals to is a gory upsetting tale and one decapitated panda. I still have not forgiven her for her crimes. I snatch up the panda and plunge my hand into my coat pocket where I find a £2 coin. I hand it over and cuddle the panda into my chest. I am it's defender against the bitter wind.
Darkness
A poem about ... well see if you can figure it out.
Twisted slithers of silk,
Spreading out towards you.
As high as stilts,
blocking the view.
A pounding of the heart,
as loud as a beat on a snare drum.
It's only the start,
and you don't know where it came from.
You've heard the stories,
Of monsters under the bed.
Lets delve into the inventories
and listen to the terrors inside one's head.
Is someone behind you?
Or is it something?
Lets leave the fear to brew.
Hold on tight and cling.
How to explain the things,
that go bump?
It's hard to detain the fear,
hard to swallow the lump.
What was it that made that thing fall?
Was it a spirit, demon or clown?
How far can you crawl,
before you fall down?
Do you feel brave enough,
to sleep with one foot out?
Feel the ropes, nice and tough,
slither around and pull you about.
Drowning in darkness,
the whole room starts to tremble.
Your body as still as a carcass.
The fear cannot dissemble.
Fingers snapping.
Hands out reaching.
Arms wrapping.
Thought-provoking.
This small bedroom,
is an expansive black woods.
Fear in full bloom.
So who knows what should,
happen in the strange dark night?
You're stuck in a cage.
The cold metal bars sticking tight,
not caring about your young age.
Within these corridors,
lurk atrocious creatures.
There are no borders.
Now you're among the demons' features.
Shivering from the merciless cold.
It's a dim and dark world.
Children's screams are sold,
all becoming swirled.
A cold penetrating stare,
coming from a doll.
It's sat over there,
sucking your soul.
So close your eyes.
Someday you're going to die.
Death lies.
Death never asks why.
He glides over to you
and buries you in the darkness.
He steals you from everyone you knew.
Your little light fades into blackness.
Now open your eyes once more.
Hear the floorboard creak,
outside the door?
Death is out there, playing hide and seek.
Sweet dreams,
please don't scream.
Twisted slithers of silk,
Spreading out towards you.
As high as stilts,
blocking the view.
A pounding of the heart,
as loud as a beat on a snare drum.
It's only the start,
and you don't know where it came from.
You've heard the stories,
Of monsters under the bed.
Lets delve into the inventories
and listen to the terrors inside one's head.
Is someone behind you?
Or is it something?
Lets leave the fear to brew.
Hold on tight and cling.
How to explain the things,
that go bump?
It's hard to detain the fear,
hard to swallow the lump.
What was it that made that thing fall?
Was it a spirit, demon or clown?
How far can you crawl,
before you fall down?
Do you feel brave enough,
to sleep with one foot out?
Feel the ropes, nice and tough,
slither around and pull you about.
Drowning in darkness,
the whole room starts to tremble.
Your body as still as a carcass.
The fear cannot dissemble.
Fingers snapping.
Hands out reaching.
Arms wrapping.
Thought-provoking.
This small bedroom,
is an expansive black woods.
Fear in full bloom.
So who knows what should,
happen in the strange dark night?
You're stuck in a cage.
The cold metal bars sticking tight,
not caring about your young age.
Within these corridors,
lurk atrocious creatures.
There are no borders.
Now you're among the demons' features.
Shivering from the merciless cold.
It's a dim and dark world.
Children's screams are sold,
all becoming swirled.
A cold penetrating stare,
coming from a doll.
It's sat over there,
sucking your soul.
So close your eyes.
Someday you're going to die.
Death lies.
Death never asks why.
He glides over to you
and buries you in the darkness.
He steals you from everyone you knew.
Your little light fades into blackness.
Now open your eyes once more.
Hear the floorboard creak,
outside the door?
Death is out there, playing hide and seek.
Sweet dreams,
please don't scream.
Thursday, 18 September 2014
Chapter Three
Hello readers and/or classmates. This is a story I have been writing outside of class called Reincarnation. Enjoy folks.
Chapter Three:
Debates class was interesting, as usual. The teacher split us up into two teams and gave us a spontaneous topic to debate about. The topic was whether or not it would be a good idea to become a vegetarian. Now I, myself, am a massive carnivore and I love my meat. So when my teacher put me on the side that was pro-veggie, my heart plummeted a little into my meat filled stomach. However, when you are in debates class you must consider both sides to the story.
The anti veggie side came up with the fact that meat tastes too good to lose. I happen to agree with them. I would become veggie but then ... bacon would get me every single time. Have you ever tried a pancake with bacon on it accompanied with golden syrup? I tell you it is absolutely divine. I think that was all the anti veggie side could think of.
The pro veggie side wasn't doing too well either. Had we of had the chance to go home and actually research and properly plan out arguments and defences, I think we would all do better.
"Jessica Zel? You're up for pro-veggie," The teacher said and took a step away from the podium she was standing and gestured for me to take her place.
"Okay, so why are we eating meat that is no good for us? Meat has no nutritional goodness in it so what is the point of eating food that will just clog our arteries up with fatty residue?" I started.
I am sorry for all the cows and pigs I offend whilst making these arguments. I love you really!
What else? My group touched on the cruelty of killing hundred upon thousands of animals a year.
"How many animals do you think die in a year from slaughtering? I dread to think. All of these animals die painfully, alone and afraid. How would you like it?" I asked.
Someone from the anti-veggie side got up.
"Admittedly, I wouldn't like it but what you are missing out, Miss Zel, is that most of these animals are sedated before entering the slaughter house and they are killed whilst they are sedated. They do not feel a thing," He said.
Everything about him said New Soul.
"Does that make it ethically right?" I fired.
"Depends on the type of person you are. If you're a soppy do-gooder Reincarnation like yourself I guess not. You're type cares only about other's rights. Others that can't even communicate with us properly. If you're like the New Souls they see the bigger picture and can be open minded about the ethics of killing animals for food. Who do you want to be Miss Zel. Reincarnation or New Soul?" He asked.
"That is none of your business New Soul," I said.
We both crossed our arms in unison. The teacher stepped in.
"Zel. Jovanka. Back to the debate," She said.
"Ethics or not you cannot argue with this," I started.
The New Soul grinned as if to say 'Oh, you want to bet?'
"What about all of those poor, vulnerable animals who are kept in tight cages or enclosures? Battery farms are dreadful places. Yet we eat the produce that comes from there! Tight spaces means more waste pollution, not to mention noise pollution. Are these the kinds of conditions we should let animals live in? No!" I said.
The New Soul smirked. Here we go.
"Our government have done their best to rid our society of such farms. Are you saying that our government has not been working enough to please the citizens of the country? Even Reincarnations like yourself? The government works so hard to please you and you say this behind their backs," He said.
So that is why he smirked.
"Our government have worked tirelessly to provide an ideal state of living for us. For that I am grateful. However, I do believe that our society is not perfect and until it is, then our government's work is not done," I said carefully.
The teacher nodded, the class visibly relaxed and the New Soul scowled. I smiled at him.
"Avoiding meat is one of the best and simplest ways to cut down your fat consumption. Modern farm animals are deliberately fattened up to increase profits. Eating fatty meat increases your chances of having a heart attack or developing cancer," I said and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the New Soul smirk once more.
"Are you going to argue with science?" I challenged.
"No but you have already said this," The New Soul said and some of the others on the anti-veggie side nodded.
"No, Mr Jovanka, I feel like I must correct you. I touched on it. Now I have developed my point, I am going to move on, problem?" I asked.
I was getting slightly agitated. No one normally dared to fight me when I am in Debates class. They know that they would get shot down in flames if they tried. I grinned as another point came into my head.
"What you call 'meat' could include the head, tail, rectum or/and the spinal chord of an animal," I stated.
The New Soul held his hands up as if to say 'so what?'
"Meat is meat, is it not?" He said and he got a loud cheer in response.
"A sausage can contain ground intestines. How can you be sure that those intestines have been cleaned out properly before they go into the meat you eat. Do you really want to be eating the insides of an animal's intestine?" I asked.
The New Soul looked at me with determination on his face. I just wanted him to go away. I actually want this lesson to end right now so i never have to see this boy again.
"Our government controls food hygiene and food safety ... are you saying that our government would let us eat the contents of a pig's intestine? I think you are, Miss Zel?" The New Soul said.
What a government's pet!!
"Our government does control it yes, but do they oversee the cleaning process, no! So I ask once more, how can we be sure?" I fired.
That shut him up.
"Okay now to those to slim down a little. Did you know that it's much easier to become and stay slim if you are a veggie?" I asked.
Some girls started grinning. I stepped down from the podium and sat back down in my seat. Across the room i could see the New Soul giving giving me a glare.
The Debates class finished and the teacher put the scores up from last to first. I expected my name to be in the first place but it wasn't; it was in the second spot. 'Keenan Jovanka' was in the first place spot. My head whipped around to the New Soul and he grinned smugly at me before winking and then chatting to his other New Soul buddies. Ah the teacher probably has a crush on him anyway,
I walk down the corridor and angrily throw my jacket over my shoulder. I have never come second in Debates class before and the first time that i do come second, I lose to a New Soul. How unfair!
I meet my Mother outside the cafeteria and found that she was sipping a coffee. Her eyes were closed and she looks like she is in deep thought. I walk over to my Mother and tap on her shoulder. She jumps out of her reverie and spins to see who tapped her on the shoulder. She relaxes when she sees me.
"Ah. Hello darling, I thought you were someone else," Mother admits.
I look at her and see a glint in her eye. That glint that means a man is present.
"I am guessing that that glint in your eyes is something to do with the man who bought you that coffee?" I ask.
She smiles warmly at me and that smile brightens her whole face. Actually scrap what I thought earlier. New Souls have four weapons. Intelligence. Beauty. Money. Perfect smiles.
I remember a bedtime story that my Father would tell me. He would tell me about how he met Mother.
"Her smile was the one thing you couldn't miss. It's the most deadly weapon that a New Soul has. A smile. Now everyone smiles but there was something about your Mother's smile that had to transfixed to the spot," He would tell me.
"But, Daddy, she is a New Soul, they don't look at us in that way, how did you win her over?" I would ask.
"Ah, my child, that is one of the many mysteries of this universe. I, myself, don't even know. I am only a Reincarnation. For once, I am glad that I am not U-"He started but stopped himself.
I shake my head and look at my Mother, she is still smiling away.
"A charming bloke offered to buy me a coffee the moment I walked into the cafeteria," She tells me.
I raise an eyebrow at her and her smile widens.
"Don't worry, I kindly refused as usual. However as I sat down he came over and sat with me and I could hardly get up and walk away could I? That would be such a stereotypical New Soul act. I do not want to be anything like them," Mother says. I smile sympathetically at her.
"You cannot deny who you are," I say and Mother nods in acceptance.
"So what was this guy like?" I ask.
"Well, he would not stop talking but he was talking about really quite interesting stuff about the government. I recall he said that his son is hoping to get into government as a work position. So he was telling me everything that his son has taught him. Did you know that on page 9327, line 37 in Government Phrases there is a short saying from his Great Grandfather in there which says: 'Do not dish out the starter if you cannot take the main course that comes after to it but look forward to the desert.' I think it means-" She started but I cut across.
"As interesting as this is you know that neither of us are interested in politics," I say.
"He made it interesting," Mother argues.
"New Soul was he?" I ask.
"No. He had too many pimples and ginger hair with black streaks," She says wrinkling her nose in disgust.
I cross my arms.
"Well, Mother, not everyone can be as beautiful as you are," I say.
Mother seems taken aback. Her sparkling blue eyes and thick wavy blond hair make her prettier than most. Me? I am plain Jessica. Brown hair, brown eyes and pale skin. Dull. Boring.
"That is true Jessica but I always rank intelligence over beauty and you know that," Mother argues.
I agree with her statement.
Mother places a hand on my back.
"Time to go," She says and we walk towards the future.
My future.
Chapter Three:
Debates class was interesting, as usual. The teacher split us up into two teams and gave us a spontaneous topic to debate about. The topic was whether or not it would be a good idea to become a vegetarian. Now I, myself, am a massive carnivore and I love my meat. So when my teacher put me on the side that was pro-veggie, my heart plummeted a little into my meat filled stomach. However, when you are in debates class you must consider both sides to the story.
The anti veggie side came up with the fact that meat tastes too good to lose. I happen to agree with them. I would become veggie but then ... bacon would get me every single time. Have you ever tried a pancake with bacon on it accompanied with golden syrup? I tell you it is absolutely divine. I think that was all the anti veggie side could think of.
The pro veggie side wasn't doing too well either. Had we of had the chance to go home and actually research and properly plan out arguments and defences, I think we would all do better.
"Jessica Zel? You're up for pro-veggie," The teacher said and took a step away from the podium she was standing and gestured for me to take her place.
"Okay, so why are we eating meat that is no good for us? Meat has no nutritional goodness in it so what is the point of eating food that will just clog our arteries up with fatty residue?" I started.
I am sorry for all the cows and pigs I offend whilst making these arguments. I love you really!
What else? My group touched on the cruelty of killing hundred upon thousands of animals a year.
"How many animals do you think die in a year from slaughtering? I dread to think. All of these animals die painfully, alone and afraid. How would you like it?" I asked.
Someone from the anti-veggie side got up.
"Admittedly, I wouldn't like it but what you are missing out, Miss Zel, is that most of these animals are sedated before entering the slaughter house and they are killed whilst they are sedated. They do not feel a thing," He said.
Everything about him said New Soul.
"Does that make it ethically right?" I fired.
"Depends on the type of person you are. If you're a soppy do-gooder Reincarnation like yourself I guess not. You're type cares only about other's rights. Others that can't even communicate with us properly. If you're like the New Souls they see the bigger picture and can be open minded about the ethics of killing animals for food. Who do you want to be Miss Zel. Reincarnation or New Soul?" He asked.
"That is none of your business New Soul," I said.
We both crossed our arms in unison. The teacher stepped in.
"Zel. Jovanka. Back to the debate," She said.
"Ethics or not you cannot argue with this," I started.
The New Soul grinned as if to say 'Oh, you want to bet?'
"What about all of those poor, vulnerable animals who are kept in tight cages or enclosures? Battery farms are dreadful places. Yet we eat the produce that comes from there! Tight spaces means more waste pollution, not to mention noise pollution. Are these the kinds of conditions we should let animals live in? No!" I said.
The New Soul smirked. Here we go.
"Our government have done their best to rid our society of such farms. Are you saying that our government has not been working enough to please the citizens of the country? Even Reincarnations like yourself? The government works so hard to please you and you say this behind their backs," He said.
So that is why he smirked.
"Our government have worked tirelessly to provide an ideal state of living for us. For that I am grateful. However, I do believe that our society is not perfect and until it is, then our government's work is not done," I said carefully.
The teacher nodded, the class visibly relaxed and the New Soul scowled. I smiled at him.
"Avoiding meat is one of the best and simplest ways to cut down your fat consumption. Modern farm animals are deliberately fattened up to increase profits. Eating fatty meat increases your chances of having a heart attack or developing cancer," I said and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the New Soul smirk once more.
"Are you going to argue with science?" I challenged.
"No but you have already said this," The New Soul said and some of the others on the anti-veggie side nodded.
"No, Mr Jovanka, I feel like I must correct you. I touched on it. Now I have developed my point, I am going to move on, problem?" I asked.
I was getting slightly agitated. No one normally dared to fight me when I am in Debates class. They know that they would get shot down in flames if they tried. I grinned as another point came into my head.
"What you call 'meat' could include the head, tail, rectum or/and the spinal chord of an animal," I stated.
The New Soul held his hands up as if to say 'so what?'
"Meat is meat, is it not?" He said and he got a loud cheer in response.
"A sausage can contain ground intestines. How can you be sure that those intestines have been cleaned out properly before they go into the meat you eat. Do you really want to be eating the insides of an animal's intestine?" I asked.
The New Soul looked at me with determination on his face. I just wanted him to go away. I actually want this lesson to end right now so i never have to see this boy again.
"Our government controls food hygiene and food safety ... are you saying that our government would let us eat the contents of a pig's intestine? I think you are, Miss Zel?" The New Soul said.
What a government's pet!!
"Our government does control it yes, but do they oversee the cleaning process, no! So I ask once more, how can we be sure?" I fired.
That shut him up.
"Okay now to those to slim down a little. Did you know that it's much easier to become and stay slim if you are a veggie?" I asked.
Some girls started grinning. I stepped down from the podium and sat back down in my seat. Across the room i could see the New Soul giving giving me a glare.
The Debates class finished and the teacher put the scores up from last to first. I expected my name to be in the first place but it wasn't; it was in the second spot. 'Keenan Jovanka' was in the first place spot. My head whipped around to the New Soul and he grinned smugly at me before winking and then chatting to his other New Soul buddies. Ah the teacher probably has a crush on him anyway,
I walk down the corridor and angrily throw my jacket over my shoulder. I have never come second in Debates class before and the first time that i do come second, I lose to a New Soul. How unfair!
I meet my Mother outside the cafeteria and found that she was sipping a coffee. Her eyes were closed and she looks like she is in deep thought. I walk over to my Mother and tap on her shoulder. She jumps out of her reverie and spins to see who tapped her on the shoulder. She relaxes when she sees me.
"Ah. Hello darling, I thought you were someone else," Mother admits.
I look at her and see a glint in her eye. That glint that means a man is present.
"I am guessing that that glint in your eyes is something to do with the man who bought you that coffee?" I ask.
She smiles warmly at me and that smile brightens her whole face. Actually scrap what I thought earlier. New Souls have four weapons. Intelligence. Beauty. Money. Perfect smiles.
I remember a bedtime story that my Father would tell me. He would tell me about how he met Mother.
"Her smile was the one thing you couldn't miss. It's the most deadly weapon that a New Soul has. A smile. Now everyone smiles but there was something about your Mother's smile that had to transfixed to the spot," He would tell me.
"But, Daddy, she is a New Soul, they don't look at us in that way, how did you win her over?" I would ask.
"Ah, my child, that is one of the many mysteries of this universe. I, myself, don't even know. I am only a Reincarnation. For once, I am glad that I am not U-"He started but stopped himself.
I shake my head and look at my Mother, she is still smiling away.
"A charming bloke offered to buy me a coffee the moment I walked into the cafeteria," She tells me.
I raise an eyebrow at her and her smile widens.
"Don't worry, I kindly refused as usual. However as I sat down he came over and sat with me and I could hardly get up and walk away could I? That would be such a stereotypical New Soul act. I do not want to be anything like them," Mother says. I smile sympathetically at her.
"You cannot deny who you are," I say and Mother nods in acceptance.
"So what was this guy like?" I ask.
"Well, he would not stop talking but he was talking about really quite interesting stuff about the government. I recall he said that his son is hoping to get into government as a work position. So he was telling me everything that his son has taught him. Did you know that on page 9327, line 37 in Government Phrases there is a short saying from his Great Grandfather in there which says: 'Do not dish out the starter if you cannot take the main course that comes after to it but look forward to the desert.' I think it means-" She started but I cut across.
"As interesting as this is you know that neither of us are interested in politics," I say.
"He made it interesting," Mother argues.
"New Soul was he?" I ask.
"No. He had too many pimples and ginger hair with black streaks," She says wrinkling her nose in disgust.
I cross my arms.
"Well, Mother, not everyone can be as beautiful as you are," I say.
Mother seems taken aback. Her sparkling blue eyes and thick wavy blond hair make her prettier than most. Me? I am plain Jessica. Brown hair, brown eyes and pale skin. Dull. Boring.
"That is true Jessica but I always rank intelligence over beauty and you know that," Mother argues.
I agree with her statement.
Mother places a hand on my back.
"Time to go," She says and we walk towards the future.
My future.
Chapter Two
Hello all readers. This is a story I have been working on outside of college called Reincarnation. I hope you like it.
Chapter Two:
The bus slowly shudders to a halt. The swirling colours from the artist's pallet have transferred themselves from the pallet to canvas. The picture painted expertly on the canvas was that of my school.
My Mother gets up to leave and people stand aside for her. Mother always has men looking at her but the only one Mother ever looked at back was my Father. She gives the guy who let her walk down the bus aisle a gracious nod and the man tries to smile back but all of his muscles seem unable to move. All the muscles apart from his eyes which roam over Mother's face and down her perfectly formed body. One of the blokes behind him claps him on the shoulder.
"She's too good for you, mate. She's a New Soul and you're only a Reincarnation. New Souls would not be seen dead with one of us," He says and pushes the other lad after my mother.
They are wrong about my Mother. She would be seen dead with a Reincarnation like Father. They are going by other New Souls' attitude towards the Reincarnations. Other New Souls think that they are better than us because they do not have any factors 'poisoning' their blood. They are pure. They have money. They have beauty. They have intelligence. Everything we hope for they have without lifting a delicate finger.
Reincarnations are heavily discriminated against. Sometimes, I hope that I am a New Soul, only because I do not want to live in a world that discriminates me for who I am and what I like. If I were a New Soul, I would not get discriminated against and singled out. However, another part of me would not like to join them. I do not like their snobby, judgemental, critical air around them. The way they think that they are above everyone else. I tell you, the day we get a Reincarnation as Prime Minister instead of a New Soul would probably be the best day of my life. It would definitely shake the system up a little.
Today I find out whether I am a New Soul or a Reincarnation. Although I think I already know the answer.
Mother waits for me to pick my way through the crowd, bringing my elbows in to avoid bashing people. I meet my Mother outside the school door. We exchange a look. In our society we spend eleven years in the same school. From the age of five to the age of sixteen.
We walk in through the school doors. Mother's heeled shoes make clicking noises as we walk through the corridors. Her clicking shoes grab people's attention and when they look up they are awed by her beauty. Mother wears a black body con dress which shows off every curve in her body. I sigh. Even though Mother shows off her beauty I know deep down that if there was anyone who wanted to be a Reincarnation, it was my Mother.
We pass through the school's plain corridors. Our school is plain and boring but that is because our school believes that art happens inside the classroom and should not be transferred to the outside. It may look gloomy but that gloominess is sort of comforting, in a way. Instead of spending our time creating work for the corridor walls, we spend our time creating work to be assessed and to get targets to do better next time.
This is the last time I will walk these corridors. The information that I will get today will determine where I will work. The work system is fairly easy to understand. If your past life worked in retail then you will most likely be asked to work in the factories. When Global Warming was still about the government passed a law saying that produce had to be genetically engineered in factories. Farms had to be close to these factories so that meat and fresher produce, such as eggs and milk, could be delivered to the factories and cause much less pollution. To cut down emissions even further the factories do not deliver to the shops. All shops were converted into factories. We send a file across the logs saying what we want and we get it delivered straight to our door. So even though the threat of global warming has been thoroughly dismissed, the process was effective and so we have kept it.
If you were a soldier in your past life then you would most probably be a sports coach or a specialist PE teacher. If you were a teacher then you would be asked to teach once more or you could become a councillor. If you were a scientist of any sort then you could teach science to children or even be a researcher for the government. Even though the government like to think they have all the information they need, they do not. They are constantly after more information so they hire researchers to do that job for them. However, the government only hire past scientists if they were like that natural philosopher. Newton I think he was called. Although nowadays the government call him a physicist . If your past life was a PA or worked in an office then you would probably be working as a journalist, just like my Father. All those New Souls who work in government and then reincarnate mainly become teachers or researchers. The list goes on and it is fairly is easy to guess your job once you know what your past life's profession was.
Mother decided that she will go to the café whilst I am in Debates class. Debates class is my favourite class. I feel strongest when I am debating; I feel like I can say what I like, to a certain point.
"I am going to buy myself a coffee. You get yourself to your debates class," Mother orders.
I almost laugh at her comment. She could try to buy her own coffee but it won't work. She will walk into the cafeteria and within a minute a guy will come up to her and offer to buy her a cup of coffee. Her looks, body and overall confidence makes her an easy target for guys looking for a girlfriend or potential wife.
New Souls do not have to work very hard to get what they want or where they want to be. Most have a natural ability for a lot of subjects, if not most then all of the subjects. If they do not have a natural flair then they use money to get where they want. Some who have neither just use their stunning looks to get where they want. Believe me, whatever method they use, they will get what they want eventually. Beauty, money, intelligence. Three of the best weapons this world has to offer and God has created people who have all three. I know that my Mother is a New Soul, but even she used money to get what she wanted. The rest of the us who are Reincarnations have to work extremely hard to get where we want to be and what they want. So whilst I am debating my way to the top of the class, my Mother will be charming her way to a steamy hot cup of coffee.
How fair is that?
Chapter Two:
The bus slowly shudders to a halt. The swirling colours from the artist's pallet have transferred themselves from the pallet to canvas. The picture painted expertly on the canvas was that of my school.
My Mother gets up to leave and people stand aside for her. Mother always has men looking at her but the only one Mother ever looked at back was my Father. She gives the guy who let her walk down the bus aisle a gracious nod and the man tries to smile back but all of his muscles seem unable to move. All the muscles apart from his eyes which roam over Mother's face and down her perfectly formed body. One of the blokes behind him claps him on the shoulder.
"She's too good for you, mate. She's a New Soul and you're only a Reincarnation. New Souls would not be seen dead with one of us," He says and pushes the other lad after my mother.
They are wrong about my Mother. She would be seen dead with a Reincarnation like Father. They are going by other New Souls' attitude towards the Reincarnations. Other New Souls think that they are better than us because they do not have any factors 'poisoning' their blood. They are pure. They have money. They have beauty. They have intelligence. Everything we hope for they have without lifting a delicate finger.
Reincarnations are heavily discriminated against. Sometimes, I hope that I am a New Soul, only because I do not want to live in a world that discriminates me for who I am and what I like. If I were a New Soul, I would not get discriminated against and singled out. However, another part of me would not like to join them. I do not like their snobby, judgemental, critical air around them. The way they think that they are above everyone else. I tell you, the day we get a Reincarnation as Prime Minister instead of a New Soul would probably be the best day of my life. It would definitely shake the system up a little.
Today I find out whether I am a New Soul or a Reincarnation. Although I think I already know the answer.
Mother waits for me to pick my way through the crowd, bringing my elbows in to avoid bashing people. I meet my Mother outside the school door. We exchange a look. In our society we spend eleven years in the same school. From the age of five to the age of sixteen.
We walk in through the school doors. Mother's heeled shoes make clicking noises as we walk through the corridors. Her clicking shoes grab people's attention and when they look up they are awed by her beauty. Mother wears a black body con dress which shows off every curve in her body. I sigh. Even though Mother shows off her beauty I know deep down that if there was anyone who wanted to be a Reincarnation, it was my Mother.
We pass through the school's plain corridors. Our school is plain and boring but that is because our school believes that art happens inside the classroom and should not be transferred to the outside. It may look gloomy but that gloominess is sort of comforting, in a way. Instead of spending our time creating work for the corridor walls, we spend our time creating work to be assessed and to get targets to do better next time.
This is the last time I will walk these corridors. The information that I will get today will determine where I will work. The work system is fairly easy to understand. If your past life worked in retail then you will most likely be asked to work in the factories. When Global Warming was still about the government passed a law saying that produce had to be genetically engineered in factories. Farms had to be close to these factories so that meat and fresher produce, such as eggs and milk, could be delivered to the factories and cause much less pollution. To cut down emissions even further the factories do not deliver to the shops. All shops were converted into factories. We send a file across the logs saying what we want and we get it delivered straight to our door. So even though the threat of global warming has been thoroughly dismissed, the process was effective and so we have kept it.
If you were a soldier in your past life then you would most probably be a sports coach or a specialist PE teacher. If you were a teacher then you would be asked to teach once more or you could become a councillor. If you were a scientist of any sort then you could teach science to children or even be a researcher for the government. Even though the government like to think they have all the information they need, they do not. They are constantly after more information so they hire researchers to do that job for them. However, the government only hire past scientists if they were like that natural philosopher. Newton I think he was called. Although nowadays the government call him a physicist . If your past life was a PA or worked in an office then you would probably be working as a journalist, just like my Father. All those New Souls who work in government and then reincarnate mainly become teachers or researchers. The list goes on and it is fairly is easy to guess your job once you know what your past life's profession was.
Mother decided that she will go to the café whilst I am in Debates class. Debates class is my favourite class. I feel strongest when I am debating; I feel like I can say what I like, to a certain point.
"I am going to buy myself a coffee. You get yourself to your debates class," Mother orders.
I almost laugh at her comment. She could try to buy her own coffee but it won't work. She will walk into the cafeteria and within a minute a guy will come up to her and offer to buy her a cup of coffee. Her looks, body and overall confidence makes her an easy target for guys looking for a girlfriend or potential wife.
New Souls do not have to work very hard to get what they want or where they want to be. Most have a natural ability for a lot of subjects, if not most then all of the subjects. If they do not have a natural flair then they use money to get where they want. Some who have neither just use their stunning looks to get where they want. Believe me, whatever method they use, they will get what they want eventually. Beauty, money, intelligence. Three of the best weapons this world has to offer and God has created people who have all three. I know that my Mother is a New Soul, but even she used money to get what she wanted. The rest of the us who are Reincarnations have to work extremely hard to get where we want to be and what they want. So whilst I am debating my way to the top of the class, my Mother will be charming her way to a steamy hot cup of coffee.
How fair is that?
Tuesday, 16 September 2014
Chapter One
Have you ever wondered whether you are a New Soul or whether you are in a long chain of incarnations? In our world that can be answered for us. Well, it has to be answered; it is part of the rules.
I sit next to my Mother on the bus to school. I watch as the world speeds past us. Colours blend into one another. Greens blend into blues. I often think of it like an artist's pallet. Swirling colours together and trying to make something new. Sometimes it works and other times it does not. That is what art is: an experiment. I think our society is a little like an artist's pallet. You take a colour and mix it with another just the same as you take a law and mix it with another law and pray that it works. If it doesn't then you quickly add another colour or another law, but you can never take that law or colour away once it has been added. It seems as if it is trial and error, or as they like to think of it ... Trial and improvement. My Mother scolds me for thinking and saying such things. I can't help it. I like to think I can have my say, even though I cannot.
Mother says it is dangerous to think such thoughts and say such things. She says I should think before I open my mouth and speak, one of our government's many phrases. My Mother reminds me of such phrases so much that I swear she has memorized the government's book of phrases and commandments. I am sure I see my Mother visibly relax when she comes home and finds that I am not surrounded by guards and my wrists are not accessorized with handcuffs.
Something to that effect happened last week during out Historical Figures And Times class. One boy in my year, who had always been very cheeky and open, blurted out exactly what he thought about our government. The room had gone silent. Mr Jones had taught us what happened way back in the past, when our society was a democracy. Admittedly things seemed so much nicer back then. Not just one leader, but a whole group of people, all talking, arguing and reaching decisions together. It seemed like a great place, a much better place than this one that we currently live in. Not that I would dare admit that in front of anyone apart from my Mother and even then I get such a look of condemnation from her. I wonder if there is a place like that outside our city walls? I guess it was because of the arguing and shouting that our government took over. Apparently no one could reach decisions without starting wars and causing even more arguments.
Mr Jones stared at the boy who had said exactly what was on his mind. Mr Jones had always been a soft hearted person, he taught us what we wanted and needed to know and he nurtured us. I think it was due to the fact that Mr Jones was ever so kind that the boy thought he could say what he wanted to say. However, when that boy broke the law he had no choice, but to call up the emergency line. The boy begged him not to and he apologised so much but Mr Jones was forced to do his duty. So when the police carried the poor boy away to his parents in handcuffs, Mr Jones said:
'Let that be a lesson to you all, ladies and gentlemen, we all have a duty in this world and those who disobey the rules set must be punished. Class dismissed.'
As I walked out of that classroom, I shivered, the look of horror on that boy's face still painted freshly in my mind. His askew hair from shaking his head wildly in protest. His normally rosey cheeks had turned crimson with embarrassment and his sleepy eyes were wide and panicked.
He was lucky he was only fifteen; had he have been sixteen he would have been taken away and shot. In our society we become adult at the age of sixteen. There was one girl who did the same as the boy in my year the day before she turned sixteen, two years ago. She was one day away from becoming an adult and because of this the government decided to shoot her. They broke their own laws and yet no one got prosecuted but when we break their laws we get shot! How is that fair? Answer: It isn't.
I wonder where the lad is now? Probably in the Young Offenders Institue, where all the law breakers under the age sixteen are sent for three years. Those who are sixteen or older get thrown into prison for a couple of weeks or so before they are brought to a room and shot.
I look away from the artist's pallet and look at my Mother. You could easily tell that she was a New Soul. They are the most prettiest out of all of us. They are perfect in every way. In looks most specifically. You can spot them a mile off. The girls have long wavy hair and perfect cheek bones, whereas the boys have perfect locks and spare upper lips. They do not have a favourite subject and they do average in every single lesson.
Depending on what your past life did depends on what your favourite subjects are and what you do well in. It also depends what profession you choose. Your past life's profession would probably be very simular to your own. For example, my Father's past life worked in an office and loved ICT and English. My Father, in turn, loved the same subjects and became a journalist.
My Mother found that she was a New Soul, which didn't surprise her very much at all. Most New Souls are asked if they would like to work in government; because they are so good in every subject. Most take up that offer. Those who are not New Souls tend to stay clear from the government side of things as we are not wanted there, unless they are requested to go to the Prime Minister's palace and get a personal job set by the goveners. However, this rarely happens. My Mother did not want to work in government, although she was offered a place, and this was her first and only defiance of today's society. Instead of becoming a politician she decided to set up her own beauty salon, the only one in the city and it is very popular to this day.
My Mother turns her head towards me; she could obviously tell that someone was looking at her. She should be used to it though, what with the amount of blokes she gets staring at her. She studies me for a while before saying:
'You could be a New Soul, you know, Jessica?'
I laugh at her comment.
"No, I cannot, one: I am not pretty enough and two: I love Historical Figures And Times, PE, English and Debates class far too much," I explain.
It was true. I absolutely love English and I am the top of my Debates class every single time. I don't exactly like Historical Figures And Times class but I excell in that class far too much for me to hate it. So either I am actually good at the subject or Mr Jones has a crush on me. I mentally laugh at that bizzare thought. Had I have been a New Soul, the story may have been different.
PE is a good subject too. I enjoy both practical and theory. Maybe that is because I do not mind a bit of mud. The other girls, whether they are New Souls or girls trying to emulate their beauty, will not do something if they are at risk of dirtying themselves or breaking a perfectly sculpted nail.
Mother looks at me disapprovingly.
"You are pretty enough to be a New Soul, darling, and who cares about your preference of subjects? They aren't always right, you know?" She asks.
Now it is my turn to look disapprovingly at my Mother.
"Don't say stuff like that, Mother!" I scold.
Mother smiles ever so slightly. Ever since that boy was taken away in handcuffs last week, I have refrained from speaking my mind. I only think the thoughts that I should not dare to now. However I do not speak them, something I think Mother is greatly pleased about.
In payment for following the law, the government have something unique to give us. Information. From the age of sixteen we can be called up to recieve the information that will change out lives. To find out whether we were someone before we are who we are today or if we are a New Soul. Once you have that information, you leave school and go to one of the selected workspaces available to you.
I thought about my Father. Did he know what he wanted to become? A journalist?
"Mother, what happened to Father?" I ask.
Father disappeared ten years ago, when I was six. I barely remember my Father as a man. I only remember who he used to be and that one day when I was six. The last day I ever saw my Father. I remember that Mother was quite anxious that day. Normally, I would be able to get away with not making my bed, however that day my Mother told me off for it. I remember running to my room and immediately making my bed. I heard a knock on the door and I remember looking out of the window and seeing people dressed in black. I could not see their faces as they had their hoods up and masks on. My Father went with these people but I still do not understand why. Mother says she will tell me when I am old enough. She does not know what I witnessed that day, that secret has remained soley with me for the last decade.
I look at Mother for an answer. Her eyes go wide, she licks her lips, sorts her hair out and lets her arms fall limply to her side. I sigh. This has been the same routine for the last decade. I know I will not be getting any answers today.
"When you are old enough, I'll tell you," She says as she has for the last ten years.
I nod, my suspicions are correct. Is sixteen not old enough? I am an adult in the eyes of society, but not in the eyes of my Mother.
I sigh once more before turning my attention back to the swirling colours outside. My own unique artist's pallet.
I sit next to my Mother on the bus to school. I watch as the world speeds past us. Colours blend into one another. Greens blend into blues. I often think of it like an artist's pallet. Swirling colours together and trying to make something new. Sometimes it works and other times it does not. That is what art is: an experiment. I think our society is a little like an artist's pallet. You take a colour and mix it with another just the same as you take a law and mix it with another law and pray that it works. If it doesn't then you quickly add another colour or another law, but you can never take that law or colour away once it has been added. It seems as if it is trial and error, or as they like to think of it ... Trial and improvement. My Mother scolds me for thinking and saying such things. I can't help it. I like to think I can have my say, even though I cannot.
Mother says it is dangerous to think such thoughts and say such things. She says I should think before I open my mouth and speak, one of our government's many phrases. My Mother reminds me of such phrases so much that I swear she has memorized the government's book of phrases and commandments. I am sure I see my Mother visibly relax when she comes home and finds that I am not surrounded by guards and my wrists are not accessorized with handcuffs.
Something to that effect happened last week during out Historical Figures And Times class. One boy in my year, who had always been very cheeky and open, blurted out exactly what he thought about our government. The room had gone silent. Mr Jones had taught us what happened way back in the past, when our society was a democracy. Admittedly things seemed so much nicer back then. Not just one leader, but a whole group of people, all talking, arguing and reaching decisions together. It seemed like a great place, a much better place than this one that we currently live in. Not that I would dare admit that in front of anyone apart from my Mother and even then I get such a look of condemnation from her. I wonder if there is a place like that outside our city walls? I guess it was because of the arguing and shouting that our government took over. Apparently no one could reach decisions without starting wars and causing even more arguments.
Mr Jones stared at the boy who had said exactly what was on his mind. Mr Jones had always been a soft hearted person, he taught us what we wanted and needed to know and he nurtured us. I think it was due to the fact that Mr Jones was ever so kind that the boy thought he could say what he wanted to say. However, when that boy broke the law he had no choice, but to call up the emergency line. The boy begged him not to and he apologised so much but Mr Jones was forced to do his duty. So when the police carried the poor boy away to his parents in handcuffs, Mr Jones said:
'Let that be a lesson to you all, ladies and gentlemen, we all have a duty in this world and those who disobey the rules set must be punished. Class dismissed.'
As I walked out of that classroom, I shivered, the look of horror on that boy's face still painted freshly in my mind. His askew hair from shaking his head wildly in protest. His normally rosey cheeks had turned crimson with embarrassment and his sleepy eyes were wide and panicked.
He was lucky he was only fifteen; had he have been sixteen he would have been taken away and shot. In our society we become adult at the age of sixteen. There was one girl who did the same as the boy in my year the day before she turned sixteen, two years ago. She was one day away from becoming an adult and because of this the government decided to shoot her. They broke their own laws and yet no one got prosecuted but when we break their laws we get shot! How is that fair? Answer: It isn't.
I wonder where the lad is now? Probably in the Young Offenders Institue, where all the law breakers under the age sixteen are sent for three years. Those who are sixteen or older get thrown into prison for a couple of weeks or so before they are brought to a room and shot.
I look away from the artist's pallet and look at my Mother. You could easily tell that she was a New Soul. They are the most prettiest out of all of us. They are perfect in every way. In looks most specifically. You can spot them a mile off. The girls have long wavy hair and perfect cheek bones, whereas the boys have perfect locks and spare upper lips. They do not have a favourite subject and they do average in every single lesson.
Depending on what your past life did depends on what your favourite subjects are and what you do well in. It also depends what profession you choose. Your past life's profession would probably be very simular to your own. For example, my Father's past life worked in an office and loved ICT and English. My Father, in turn, loved the same subjects and became a journalist.
My Mother found that she was a New Soul, which didn't surprise her very much at all. Most New Souls are asked if they would like to work in government; because they are so good in every subject. Most take up that offer. Those who are not New Souls tend to stay clear from the government side of things as we are not wanted there, unless they are requested to go to the Prime Minister's palace and get a personal job set by the goveners. However, this rarely happens. My Mother did not want to work in government, although she was offered a place, and this was her first and only defiance of today's society. Instead of becoming a politician she decided to set up her own beauty salon, the only one in the city and it is very popular to this day.
My Mother turns her head towards me; she could obviously tell that someone was looking at her. She should be used to it though, what with the amount of blokes she gets staring at her. She studies me for a while before saying:
'You could be a New Soul, you know, Jessica?'
I laugh at her comment.
"No, I cannot, one: I am not pretty enough and two: I love Historical Figures And Times, PE, English and Debates class far too much," I explain.
It was true. I absolutely love English and I am the top of my Debates class every single time. I don't exactly like Historical Figures And Times class but I excell in that class far too much for me to hate it. So either I am actually good at the subject or Mr Jones has a crush on me. I mentally laugh at that bizzare thought. Had I have been a New Soul, the story may have been different.
PE is a good subject too. I enjoy both practical and theory. Maybe that is because I do not mind a bit of mud. The other girls, whether they are New Souls or girls trying to emulate their beauty, will not do something if they are at risk of dirtying themselves or breaking a perfectly sculpted nail.
Mother looks at me disapprovingly.
"You are pretty enough to be a New Soul, darling, and who cares about your preference of subjects? They aren't always right, you know?" She asks.
Now it is my turn to look disapprovingly at my Mother.
"Don't say stuff like that, Mother!" I scold.
Mother smiles ever so slightly. Ever since that boy was taken away in handcuffs last week, I have refrained from speaking my mind. I only think the thoughts that I should not dare to now. However I do not speak them, something I think Mother is greatly pleased about.
In payment for following the law, the government have something unique to give us. Information. From the age of sixteen we can be called up to recieve the information that will change out lives. To find out whether we were someone before we are who we are today or if we are a New Soul. Once you have that information, you leave school and go to one of the selected workspaces available to you.
I thought about my Father. Did he know what he wanted to become? A journalist?
"Mother, what happened to Father?" I ask.
Father disappeared ten years ago, when I was six. I barely remember my Father as a man. I only remember who he used to be and that one day when I was six. The last day I ever saw my Father. I remember that Mother was quite anxious that day. Normally, I would be able to get away with not making my bed, however that day my Mother told me off for it. I remember running to my room and immediately making my bed. I heard a knock on the door and I remember looking out of the window and seeing people dressed in black. I could not see their faces as they had their hoods up and masks on. My Father went with these people but I still do not understand why. Mother says she will tell me when I am old enough. She does not know what I witnessed that day, that secret has remained soley with me for the last decade.
I look at Mother for an answer. Her eyes go wide, she licks her lips, sorts her hair out and lets her arms fall limply to her side. I sigh. This has been the same routine for the last decade. I know I will not be getting any answers today.
"When you are old enough, I'll tell you," She says as she has for the last ten years.
I nod, my suspicions are correct. Is sixteen not old enough? I am an adult in the eyes of society, but not in the eyes of my Mother.
I sigh once more before turning my attention back to the swirling colours outside. My own unique artist's pallet.
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