Name: Kim Crisci
Genre: Young Adult, Speculative Sci-fi
Title: Southpaw
Pitch:
Lydia lives in Southpaw, an underground city
used solely to maintain every left-handed citizen. She grows up learning about
Nevaeh, a surface paradise granted only to citizens the government considers
exemplary. For the ignorant, Nevaeh is a reward for years of hard work. For
others, it’s a symbol of genocide.
Lydia’s ignorance ends when she meets Seth, a
twenty-one-year-old engineer who leads her to a chambered room known as The
Box. She’s introduced to a group of Southpaws who reveal that left-handers are
born with supernatural abilities—facts the government knowingly suppresses.
When Lydia sets out to uncover why, she discovers Nevaeh isn’t paradise, but a
procedure where every Southpaw is killed for their abilities, which are then
given to the right-handed on the surface.
Lydia decides to join Seth’s group. But when her
friend, Sarai is chosen for Nevaeh, Lydia forces herself into battle, having
just twenty-four hours to save her. Knowing she can’t do it alone, Lydia must
convince Seth and his friends to help. If they agree, the group will have to
invade Southpaw’s most secure institution, a scenario that will test loyalties,
threaten a hundred thousand lives and ultimately challenge what it means to be
human.
Chapter One
There’s a strong, repetitive knock against the
bedroom door. My name, spoken in haste, carries loudly over several hallway
footfalls.
“Lydia! I know you’re in
there! Open the door!”
I hear desperation in the visitor’s voice, her
panicked words mingled into the rout of others running by. She wants me to go
with her, to join the others in celebration, and believe me, I want to go, but
at the moment, I’m a little busy tearing apart my room.
“Don’t do this, Lidie! Not today!” It’s
Sarai’s voice at my door. No surprise there. “She’s going to leave without us!”
What Sarai fails to mention is that they all
leave without us eventually. The chosen are sent to Nevaeh while the rest of us
stay behind and count our minutes to freedom on a clock we can’t see.
I am a Southpaw. My fellow citizens are
Southpaws. Together, we thrive in the underground city named after us. Our
parents are Southpaws too, but they don’t live here anymore. I don’t remember
them very well. The government says they were kind-hearted people, behaved
according to our laws, showed exemplary judgement and character. So they were
chosen to live above ground, in the paradise we call Nevaeh. Technically, I was
born in Nevaeh—every Southpaw is, and if we want to return, then we must prove
ourselves worthy. The government says all we have to do is be good—whatever
that means.
“Lydia!” Sarai pounds again. “Briseis is
leaving forever! We have to go!”
I know, Sarai. I hear you. Just give me a—
I scramble over my unmade bed in search of a
treasure, one I thought I kept in the tiny desk drawer. Last year, my neighbor
Briseis and I overheard a couple girls talking about friendship bracelets, and
we decided to make our own. She crafted hers with blue seeded beads, a tribute
to the Southpaws who serve as doctors. I made mine from yellow and ivory
pieces, colors that symbolize an indecision about my future.
And I can’t find the damn bracelet anywhere.
I yank the dresser drawers and rummage through
my weekly uniforms of white, white and white. Nothing. I pull out the side
tables, becoming more frantic as Sarai grows impatient. I rip apart my bed
sheets, tossing them into the corner. Where the hell is it? Then,
as I push the mattress aside, I see a sparkle of yellow nestled behind the
frame.
“That’s it!” Sarai shouts. “I’m giving you to
the count of five.”
Bracelet in hand, I strap the school bag over
my shoulder, opening my door just as Sarai reaches three.
“I’m ready,” I say. “Let’s go.”
Sarai eyes me carefully, disapprovingly. She
steps forward, blocking me from passing. “Um.” She then gestures to her cravat
bow, tied flawlessly around her neck. “You’re missing something.”
My hand reaches for the blouse collar and
right away, I feel the bow-less space. Proper physical appearance is important
to government officials. They say it shows maturity, an appreciation of the
rules.
Groaning, I snatch the white bow from its
hanger and rush out, letting my door lock behind me. I adjust the strap on my
messenger bag and join Sarai and the stampede of other young women from my
class, all in a mad rush to get the best spot downstairs for what many believe
is a miracle in the making.
Children of Southpaw live in the Delta
dormitory, a fifty-story building nestled in the curl of our residential
district. The elevators are always crowded. But since my class lives on the
fourth floor, it doesn’t matter.
I speed walk down the stairwell with Sarai,
mindlessly twisting the bow ends into a butterfly knot. I worry little about my
appearance. If something’s out of place, my best friend will tell me. A few
others pass us on their way up, but the majority of us are rushing down, the
chatter and zeal echoing like thunder across the walls.
“I didn’t sleep a wink last night,” Sarai
says, completely giddy. “This might be the second best farewell all year.”
“Second best? Are you expecting another divine
intervention?” I ask.
“Absolutely. One of our own was chosen for
Nevaeh. Don’t tell me the thought doesn’t encourage you?”
Of course it did. Residents under eighteen
were rarely considered viable candidates. According to the doctors, the brain
isn’t fully developed until our mid-twenties, so the government can’t be sure
who’s worthy of Nevaeh until then—or so I thought.
“I hear Nevaeh candidates can have anything
they want on their last day,” I say. “Anything.”
Sarai nods. “As they should. They earned it.
If a beautiful candidate asked to spend her last hours with me, I don’t think
I’d say no.”
“I know you wouldn’t say no.”
The dorm lobby is a river of students,
carefully divided by barriers which lead from one of the elevators to the glass
entrance. Everyone is standing behind them, bouncing on the heels, waiting for
the woman of the day to arrive and make that triumphant walk to the rest of her
life.
Sarai and I scramble to find a free space in
the front, a place that comes with a lot of crowd snaking. My eyes wander to a
few familiar faces but the rest are strangers to me. Everyone comes to say
goodbye, whether you know the candidate or not.
The middle elevator door dings, opening and
there, Briseis steps out to a roaring ovation. She’s flanked by two government
escorts, both wearing the all-intimidating black with gold trim uniform.
Briseis beams at the welcoming crowd, giving a wave before tightening her
yellow bow. She’s radiant, poised in her walk, charming with her smile. A young
boy offers his hand and she shakes it, thanking him for seeing her off.
She moves down the line, offering hugs and appreciation
for the kind words. Suddenly, the crowd pushes against us like a wave, hands
reaching beyond the barriers for the briefest touch, arms smacking me from all
sides. The air fills with pungent body odor, stifling my ability to breathe and
reminding me again why I hate farewells.
But then, Briseis and I make eye contact and
her smile blooms into a grin. She hugs Sarai first, the pair promising to see
each other again someday. When she leans in to hug me, I take her hand, coyly
sliding my bracelet onto her wrist before moving into her embrace. She laughs,
covering the bracelet with her sleeve.
“Don’t forget about us,” I say into her ear.
She pulls away and mouths one word: Never.
Briseis disappears into the residential
courtyard, a trail of applause following her wake. The lobby disperses for
breakfast and Sarai and I follow. There’s an unspoken sadness that lingers
between us. Briseis is gone and although we’re happy for her, she will be
missed.
We push open the entrance doors and step out
into the courtyard, suddenly greeted by a sweet-smelling wind. The holographic
sun hangs high over the dome, casting playful shadows across the ground. Today,
the government wants the city to be sunny until mid-evening, then it will rain
until midnight before clearing again. They advise women to wear pants instead
of our standard pencil skirts. I almost never wear the skirt. I hate the way my
legs chafe together.
