Fate of the Future, Chapter 1

**This is the first Chapter of a story I’ve wanted to write for a while called Fate of the Future. 

I have lived on this waterlogged city all my life. The Oceanic Indoor Town of Science – Organics & Neurology, or as I prefer to call it OITSON. I find it rather amusing that a research facility would have such a competitive acronym, but I suppose it’s fitting.

A little info, my father is the head of the facility and everyone respects him, or fears him. Everyone here looks the same except me. I have pale blue-gray hair, gray eyes and freckled skin. My father makes me wear a wig, contacts, and enough makeup to suffocate me. Everyone has dark hair and blue, green, or hazel eyes.

Since I am a student, I have not been subjected to the experiments yet. After I turn 19, which is anytime now, I am to take a test that will forever determine my fate. Just. One. Test.

I have never failed a test before, but those are tests of right or wrong, black and white. This test has no right answer, just the answer that is right for you, gray. This answer doesn’t have to be one you like, though some have found their results satisfying, but I am afraid of mine. Afraid isn’t the right word…. dreading, no…. apprehensive….  gah, the right word isn’t important. Just like a lot of things that I would be pleased to have.

This facility has very little color. Colors are only for the use of coding documents and experiments. Otherwise, we are always in gray uniforms. An interesting thought, I guess I can’t say that the facility is colorless. Gray, white, and black are all colors, be them neutral and bland, but colors nonetheless. What no single soul knows, is that in my closet is a sketchbook. Just a regular textbook to the naked eye, but it contains my imagination on paper. It’s interesting, the human mind can draw things it’s never seen in reality. Though it has seen them within its own depths.

“Daughter,” Unfortunately, my lovely thought time draws to a close, I turn around to see the revered, if not dreadful, overlord of this cage himself, “it seems your time has come.”

I had been staring  out the window into the dark blue waters churning below me. Now, as I turn to face him, my hands rest on the windowsill of the permanently closed window, and my shoulders roll back in a position that would make me appear taller and more confident. I don’t dare make eye contact, but stare just above him. “I suppose you are referring to my age count. I am one year older now?”

“Yes, indeed.” He says in a neutral tone.

Neutral is the word to describe his appearance. He has the fitting dark hair combed in the proper way so that his bangs were halfway down his forehead, reminding me of the optimism test, a glass halfway full and empty at the same time. I like to call it the paradox glass, though that is probably incorrect in some way. He has dark brown eyes that remind me of the manure I see in the gardening department when I sometimes walk around during a stormy day. His skin, like mine, is a pale milky white. I am slightly darker, but that is due to the light from the window.

“My test is later today, during normal school periods?” I ask, now looking around. He smiled wryly at my question and only nods in confirmation. My eyes reclaim focus on my alarm clock, Thursday, July 23, 34XX, 2:14 am, I found my birth time and date rather interesting.

“You know, I believe you will be put in a good position by this test.” He steps closer, “But if you don’t,” He grabs my chin and forces me to stare him in the eye, then spat his next words like venom, “you know what will happen?”

I shake his hand off me, not breaking eye contact, “Of course, you can expect no less.” He laughs dryly and leaves me in peace. I’ve told him, or should I say asked, not to say things of that nature, but he doesn’t seem to care.

I am supposed to be awake so that I will know the exact moment I come of age and no longer have the protection that blissfully ignorant and naive children receive at birth. Now that I have been notified, I can return back to bed and sleep slightly later than usual, since I no longer have class and the test is shorter than the first six hour period. However, my thoughts are racing. Father has expectations for me that reach higher than the lightning rod upon the central spire. I know I am capable, but he is a demanding sort that I have never been able to please. What will he do to me this time if he is unsatisfied? Fear overtakes my throat suddenly like a hand trying to crush the life from me. It is one of few familiar feelings.

— Sarah Guynn