1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Roberts

Name: Danielle Roberts
Genre: Young Adult XXX
Grade: 12
Title: Without





There was something beautiful and terrifying about sleep all at once. The beautiful part was that for a while, you couldn’t worry or be afraid or think. It was like a veil—covering the difficulties faced once you opened your eyes. Sleep was a beautiful illusion of escape and darkness and peace. Only when that darkness was broken by consciousness did the terrifying reality begin. That was what sleep was like for me, and it was like that now as I opened my eyes to the white ceiling of my bedroom. The sounds of morning made their way through my open window and seeped beneath my door. Birds chirping, a pan sizzling, the loud voices of my parents, laughing about something that probably wasn’t even funny. I sat up and stretched, already preparing myself for the day to come. It was the same as always: Wake up. Act as if the serum worked. Go to sleep.

I got out of bed, not bothering to spread the blue sheets, and crossed the small space to my closet. I needed to buy a new journal today since I’d filled up my previous one the night before, cramming the last of my thoughts into the corner of the page. The thing about being a Resister was that I couldn't talk to anyone about it. Ever. I couldn't talk about how I felt like I was suffocating in a world of fake smiles and vacant eyes, how tiring it was pretending to be like them.

I had to keep it all in—all to myself, or else the AE's would haul me away in a second. So, a year ago I decided to start writing down how I felt. Keeping my emotions under a tight lid of fear for two years had begun to take its toll, and I'd go to bed every night wanting to scream into my pillow. Sometimes, when I was sure my parents were asleep and couldn't hear me, I did. But writing down the way I felt—how badly I wanted to punch something when I was angry, or cry when I was sad—lifted the lid of fear just a little, letting out some steam. It kept me sane. Or, as sane as one could be in this world. I tugged off my plain white t-shirt and pulled a green tank top over my head before changing into a pair of jeans.

I looked up at my clock to check the time before remembering that it was broken. The minute and hour hand were stuck on 4, jerking in one place. I glanced out my window instead. The sun was up and shining brilliantly, and I guessed that it was after nine. I stuffed the clothes I’d slept in beneath my purple pillow and headed to the bathroom. The red oak wood floor creaked beneath my feet as I stepped out into the hall and shut the bathroom door.I flicked on the light, illuminating the yellow shower curtain and peach towels and detangler spray bottles cluttered around the sink.I had the most difficult hair to deal with in my family. My dad’s great grandfather was from Scotland, and my mom’s grandmother was from southwestern Europe. Somehow, I ended up with curly roots and unruly wavy tips that came down past my back. Our old radio in the kitchen was on, spitting and sputtering out today’s latest news. I tried to block it out as I leaned over the bathroom sink and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face.

The capture of two Resisters has taken place right outside of Berwyn this morning. AE’s who caught them were Jeffery Dole and Andrew Brown. We’re thankful to these two for helping make the world a better place. And we’re thankful for all of you as well! Keep sending in your tips and calling the AE hotline if you see or know a potential Resister. Remember, they disrupt the peace.

I shut off the faucet and looked up into the mirror, water dripping down my tanned face. Dad’s cheery voice carried down the hall. “Wow, the world is getting safer every day with these captures. Good thing, too.”

“Yes, good thing,” I muttered bitterly. My tired eyes stared back at me. They were the shiny caramel of a candy apple, but there was nothing sweet about them. I knew that in a few minutes I’d have to make them brighter. Awake. Happy.

I dried my face with a towel and brushed my teeth, all the while running through the mental list in my head as I did each morning for the past four years. No frowning, no faltering in my footsteps, no getting visibly angry or sad. Always have a faint smile lingering on my lips. I rinsed out my mouth and smiled at my reflection—the synthetic smile I’d perfected. I could hold it for a full five minutes without my cheeks burning. My eyes lit up, the exhaustion draining from them instantly. Good, I thought. I looked like one of them now. I stepped out of the bathroom, flicking off the light. On my way to the kitchen, I passed by the 20×30 picture of Simon Hugh Wells that hung on our white wall, and the black engraved letters that ran along the bottom half of the frame: “My goal was never to have a perfect world, but a peaceful one.”

His picture was beside the one of me as a three-year old toddler in our backyard. Wet grass stuck to my pink shorts, and my mud-stained hands waved to the camera. Many times, I thought about moving my picture so that it would be nowhere near that golden frame that displayed Simon’s round, smug face. His white-blond hair was slicked back, smooth like the surface of a lake, and those pale gray eyes seemed to follow my every move. My family wasn’t the only one with his face on our wall. Simon’s picture was hung up in almost every household and library I’d ever stepped foot in.

He was a hero, after all. “The scientist who cured the world.” It was what everyone said, what everyone believed. I used to think he was a hero. I used to get excited whenever I had to write a paper on him in school, eager to learn more about the inventor of Alacrisotium—the miracle serum that made you happy. I was eager to learn about the way it worked, how it slightly numbed the hypothalamus of your brain after being injected into the limbic system. It was exciting learning that the serum rapidly produced the neurochemicals GABA, Serotonin, and Oxycotin so that it was all anyone could feel. No more pain, no more anger, no more sadness.

And of course, I was intrigued at how Simon came up with the name. It was brilliant, after all. He took the Latin word for happiness—Alcris, and peace—Otium, and put them together. Genius. My opinion of Simon began to shift after I realized the serum hadn’t worked on me. After, at twelve years old, I had to train myself to act as if Alcrisotium had worked. Obsessively studying the behavior of those around me, pinching myself each time my smile slipped, terrified each time I stepped out of my room because I thought my parents would know.