About the Author: Ella is in eighth grade and and this is her second time being featured on the website. When she is not writing she enjoys spending time outdoors and being with her family and friends.
Blurb: Zoya is just a normal girl. She lives in a society where art is not allowed, and where everyone looks the same. But when she begins getting art in her mailbox she finds herself running from the law and a pawn for the long-awaited change...The Reset.
Dear reader,
I am the information center. Here I am programmed to inform you of the next few facts. Kids control the world, the president or as some people call him the colonist, is 16 and has never grown. Adults are not present. Once a child reaches 17 they take a skills assessment to sorts, then get sorted into colonies, there is a farming colony, tech colony, and multiple others. In the colonies, you work. These colonies make the world run, producing tech, clothes food, necessities. You must know that if you pass the arts portion of the skills assessment you are sent to absorb. You sit in a room away from society just with other absorbers. If you have any more questions feel free to pop back into the information center. Enjoy the story.
The hover bus came to a smooth stop. My feet hit the floor, the glowing blue stairs invited me to exit. I walked for a short distance until I reached my house. My mind had been racing all day. About the mail and it takes every fiber in my body to keep me from breaking out into a sprint up the steps to my house. My house was a long two-story house almost pill shaped. It had a large glass window as did every other house in the city so the authorities could see in. In some rooms, the shades were closed and in others, they were opened letting the creamy butter-colored light melt into the rooms. My front door was on the side of the house the same beige as the exterior. My yard was covered in lush green vines and trees, it reminded me of the jungle. On the lawn, hundreds of flowers grew and bees buzzed about, drunk on the pollen. A perfect day I thought to myself. I walked slowly casually up to the mail pod hovering near my door, a blue glimmering stripe glistened in the sun, and the tin of the pod almost seemed to sparkle like silver. I eagerly open the mail pod to see a piece of paper, my hands reach out to unfold it. My pencil hungry eyes look at the paper and I try not to gasp I see the image of someone's hands holding a knife and plunging it into the presidents back. A look of horror painted on his twisted round face. This picture isn't too different from the ones I see normally I have gotten 4 total every Wednesday in the mail. By this point, I am used to the graphic images. But what I am not used to is that this image is in color. How could someone even get color, the city alarms would sound even if you touched the pencil box in the museum. I study the image closer and notice letters that look like a pair of initials AC.
Hello Reader,
It is apparent that you may be confused. Art is not allowed. No paintings no drawing. Only Solid colors, for shirts eyes and other items. But no color anywhere else, not even in books. Children are only allowed to learn about it in school. Oh, and the only known art materials are locked up in the city's museum. It is also that you are confused with the whole concept of absorption. You and the other absorbers enter a room once a day for an hour some suspect. I am only allowed to inform you that you become one of the city’s puppets, as the president puts it. “Absorbers say what I want them to say and do what I want them to do”. Your eye color is changed from green to yellow and you are sent to teach other children about art and that you should never do it. In your society, you would call an absorber and artist whether you're a painter or a drawer you absorb. Well, that's all for now bye!
I scurry into the house oh shi… I shove the paper into my pocket. I look up to see the new update on my house. I installed it yesterday. My walls are now white and the decor is modern. I also see that I have a new mom., I guess she came with the update.
“Hello, Zoya,”
an automated voice says
“Hi Mom”
I look up at her, she looks just like everyone else, tan skin wavy brown hair and green eyes she wears a grey apron with a blue shirt. She smiles at me,
“How about a cookie”
“Um no thanks I need to go to the bathroom”
I lay my backpack down and walk into the bathroom and lock the door. I pull the paper out of my pocket and look, where did someone get color. The idea stumped me. I tromped up the stairs and to my new room, which was white, Plants scattered the room and books with fancy titles lined my walls. I opened my closet, nothing new. I looked at the books, I decided to open one. I flipped through the pages, nothing all blank. Of course, like always. The books along with everything else in the world were for aesthetic effect. I walked across my room to my door and scanned my hand on the safe Pannell in front of me “NAME” the safe shouted at me. “ZOYA” I replied. “Finger” I pressed my finger down on the scanner, “Eye” I looked at the retinal scanner, “Tongue” I stuck my tongue out at the scanner. A small beep sounded and the safe popped open.
Hello, it's me, the Information, I must inform you that the safe held only a few things, well that is before it got searched, but that's for later. The safe held A skimpy friendship bracelet from Zoya's best friend Lucia, A currency card with 300 points of currency uploaded on it. Oh, you must also know that there is only one kind of money, no Euros or Dollars. Just currency. The safe also contained four drawings. The first was of sushi, It was in pencil. It was crumpled and had a coffee stain on it. The sushi was wrapped in seaweed and for the side, there was a squirming squid next to it. The thought of sushi grossed Zoya out. The second was in pencil, it was smudged and torn and had stains of water on it. It was a picture of someone's eyes, just the eyes in an expression of pure and utter shock. The third was of the Authorities (the president personal team) running down the street. Zoya did not know what or where this street was. The next drawing was someone's shoes the shoes that were worn and in front of them was the president's tower. Zoya did not know whos shoes these were. After all, everyone has the same shoes and the same skin color so the ankles did not help out much. The fourth image was of the Hands plunging a knife into the president's back. Each image was titled with a fraction on the bottom, the first was 1/4 second 2/4 and so on. Zoya was just waiting for the fourth and final image. But what she didn't know is that it would come sooner than she thought. Well, thanks for visiting, see you next time!
I gently placed the papers in the safe and closed it, as I walked downstairs I could hear the safe clicking and locking.
“Dinners Ready.” Mom chimed.
I trudged down the stairs and was taken aback by the wretched smell. The stench was of rotting fish. I sat down at the dinner table. I looked to my plate and to my surprise it was something different this time, it was sushi, wrapped in seaweed. It was completed with what looked like fish and some green vegetables in the center. I couldn't focus much attention on the sushi because of the moving creature on my plate. It just sat there, it's tentacled moving. My stomach moved like the swirling sea that that squid used to live in.
“Mom?” I asked
“Yes” “Did you make this”
“No sweetie I just clicked the random button on dinner tonight.”
“Oh,” I replied.
“Shall I turn on the news”
“Yeah sure mom”
a thin clear television rose from the table top.
“News,” I asked the television politely.
“Breaking News art materials have been stolen from the museum, fingerprints were not found, but the authorities are tracking the suspect down.” I felt my brows furrow.
Hello, It's me again the information center. Let me just say that Zoya's. Brows furrowed her eyes tensed up into an expression that could only be described as a pure and utter shock. Odd right, considering that's what the picture described. Ok well, I will leave you to ponder the rest Zoya's obligatory fate.
I pushed myself up from the dinner table,
“Going so soon?” Asked mom in her always cheery on the brink of annoying tone.
“Yeah I am um, not hungry I guess”
I pushed myself off of the chair and trudged up the stairs. I entered my room and shut the door,
“Lock” I commanded the room.
“Lock system engaged.”
I went through the procedures of opening my safe, I could hear the gears grinding away it opened. I pulled out my papers feeling the smooth feeling of the drawings in my hand.
“Turn on the news,” I commanded
“News on.” Replied the room.
A screen popped out of the floor and hovered in the center of the room.
The news reporters voice filled the air
“Breaking news, the museum has reported that they are materials locked inside the case are in fact fake security guards have not been able to identify the suspect yet but the investigation is in process. If these materials were used to make art the possessor of these items will immediately be arrested. ”
My heart was pounding, as an intimidating thought slashed its way through my brain. Whoever was sending me these pictures, had the art materials. I can be traced back to these materials. My brain started to go into panic mode. My small river of thoughts in my mind just had turned into an ocean of panic. Just as I was about to spiral, an automated voice trumpeted over the sound system.
“You have mail, You have Mail, You have mail.”
I jogged down the stairs, through the living room, and to the door. I snatched the mail pod like a small child on Christmas, giddy with the thought of gifts. I opened it and I saw a picture. On it was a fraction 4/4.
“The final Image” I muttered under my breath.
It was a big blue button with the words reset society printed on it. Just as I was about to shove it into my pocket I felt hands on my shoulders. And one of them was holding fur images, the ones from my room.
“What are these darling?” My mother questioned
“Um, nothing that I don't even know where they came from!”
“Are you lying to me?”
“No.”
“Do you know what happens to liars?” she asked, approaching me
Hello again sorry to disturb, I know right in the heat of the moment, right as things were about to become a little spicy, flavorful I dare say. Anyways I must tell you, that there are very few rules in this society, The one and the only rule is no lying. To quote the president “This rule is the glue that holds our world together. This is the golden rule.” after the president says this you can expect a more than generous applause of children whooping and cheering. Now I must clear up one thing. You're probably wondering why is there a robot mom if children live in this children's utopia. Well, mom serves one purpose and one only. Making sure the golden rule stays in place, and as you can construe Zoya was not following the golden rule at the moment. Well, farewell.
Before I knew it my hands were around my arm, my arm felt like a towel being wrung out.
“Ow Mom stop!” I exclaimed
“You will stay in your room for the rest of the week no talking and as for theme revolting images when the week is up and you are allowed to speak you shall incinerate them and watch them burn.” My mom said in with a sour tinge on her voice.
I was marched up the stairs. My mother shoved me into my room and flung the papers in with me. And with that, she slammed the door closed. I watched as the papers noisily made their way to the ground fluttering like noisy rain the colors and pencil blending together as they gently touched the ground. As I stared at the picture afraid that my mom would tell someone, she was going to because she's a robot but I'm just a kid they won't arrest me. Right? I laid out the papers on the ground I looked at the sushi studying the slimy surface, As I studied the image I realized something that was the exact sushi I had ate for dinner. I looked at the next image. Those eyes looked exactly like mine. A chilling thought made my brain turn to ice. If those images are what happened to me then the next image is what is going to happen to me. The president's personal guards are going to come running down the street. But that was just a silly thought, Right? I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and neatly stacked the papers into a pile. I sat for a while, almost an hour doing nothing I took a nap I tried on an outfit for fun, just as I was pulling the striped top over my curly mousy brown hair I looked out the window. The president's personal team was running down my street in a line. Just like the image’s had predicted. I had to go and soon. They were knocking on doors, they probably had an image of me on the Mail pod security cam. I had to leave soon because If I didn't my face would be all over the city. I grabbed the drawings and shoved them into an old backpack in my closet. I flung the door open and sprinted down the stairs.
“Where do you think you're going” A sly voice taunted
“Mom, I'm leaving” I replied
“Not if I am here” she snapped, a salty twang to her voice.
Suddenly I sprinted to the door like a cheetah, the house seemed to whir past me as I fought off the dread growing on me like vines. I opened the door and ran out of the back of my house. Just peeled around the corner of my house to see the marching up to the front door. The leader dressed in black with a bulletproof vest laying on top of his buff chest. Slicked back hair with one out of place that he kept trying to smooth back. The only indication of a bad day. The rest of his troops looked like newbies standing there jittery, lifting the heavy vests off to catch a decent breath of air. He inspected the house with sunglassed eyes, then commanded his troops up the steps. I held my breath, trying to compress myself against the wooden wall.
“Hello, we are looking for this girl” I heard the man say.
“Yes, yes that looks like my daughter” My mother replied a sneaky tone in her voice.
“She's right around the back”
I felt my Heart drop to my toes my body now had a different controller other than myself; adrenaline. I took off running.
….
I couldn't hear them behind me anymore. All I could hear was my feet hitting the pavement. My body led me to a dark alleyway, with a stench that could kill. It stunk of something piquant and mephitic like spoiled food mixed with animal waste. There was no street art. No graffiti. That had all been covered up by brick. I guess this would have to do for the night. I sat there for hours, contemplating my choices. I had come up with two. I could go around knocking on doors but I don't think the people of San Francisco would want to take in a fugitive whose face was displayed on the news. Or I could sit here and wait, which in my opinion was rather putrid because I would have to go searching for some food at some point tonight and I knew for sure I was not going to eat whatever odious food was in that dumpster. So I decided to cut my losses and started searching for the city. I picked up my back and began trekking down the sidewalk not knowing where I was going not knowing if I was going to be found. I just kept my head down and kept walking
….
Dear reader, I find that now is a good time to tell you why there is not art allowed in the world. During the great global war, which if you are reading right now have not experienced yet, freedom of speech was revoked and all the nations gave up power to a kid, a 16-year-old kid. Tales are he drugged them, but most common folk like us think he just straight out convinced them. All the world leaders had gone mad trying to come up with a solution and they just couldn't. The world was in a state of havoc and all the world leaders gave up after almost 10 years of attempting to solve this. You see, the child president was crazed with the idea of power no one knows why. But soon no one could speak out against him. Vocal monitors were put up everywhere, trees, houses, even trails in the middle of nowhere all around the world. There was not one unmarked spot of land without them. The global war was due to lack of trade issues but we will talk about that another time. With these new monitors, there was no sharing information no secrets no nothing they could always hear a voice. The government then realized that people could still do things silently. That is when the bots come in, bots are robots who look like humans and can easily be disguised in public. That's where I enter. I am one of the 9 billion bots that the government had. Nowadays I am just used to inform you. The bots looked like everyone in society, tan skin green eyes, and wavy mousy brown hair. The bots made it almost impossible for people to whisper or do things silently, so people started making bold art statement pieces of art, speaking out on the government, without words. This continued on for about 7 months until the president banned all forms of art. This ban had been held for 5 years. And this brings us to where we are now. So let me leave you where you are.
The night had come and painted the world black. I walked down the street after street. I heard a scuffling to my right. I was wandering through the suburbs, the houses painted green and tightly packed. I was in between two houses when I hear something.
“Hey over here,” the unknown voice whispered
“Who are you?” I asked
“I can't say right now, were being recorded.” The figure pointed at the camera in the corner between the roof and the house.
“Just come with me.”
“Um Ok,” I replied
What did I have to lose I thought. The figure I followed was tall, about five foot nine. Wearing all black, all I could see were his glimmering green eyes. We walked for what seemed like forever in five minutes. We turned corners ducked and finally up by a light post another suburban neighborhood. The mystery kid unrolled his hood. He had short wavy hair parted to the side. He looked like a model that you would see advertised on the news. He looked almost perfect except for the large dark circles under his eyes and the way he stretched his body, which indicated signs of him crushing in the suburbs for a long time. He yawned fighting sleep. He then made direct eye contact with me. Smiling he flashed a row of perfect bright white teeth finished with dimples.
“Hi you must be Zoya, I'm Allen.” He stated,
As if this weird night time meeting was something completely normal.
“Hi,” I replied shocked
“How exactly do you know my name?” I asked
“You're Zoya, you live on 133 brown street, you might know me as AC.”
I gasped.
“You're the picture guy!” I exclaimed a little louder than I wanted to.
“Let me tell you more in a more um, private place.”
Allen proceeded to knock on the light post three times. A digital screen appeared on the post, just big enough for someone standing close to see.
“Welcome Allen” an AI voice replied.
“Grab on” Allen directed me
I followed him in grasping on to one of the light posts handles on the that had suddenly appeared. They were red and cold and felt like gripping on ice. We began to descend down, down, down.
Before I knew it we were in some kind of dark control room, all I could see were blinking and dinging buttons.
“Welcome to the control room!” Allen announced,
with outstretched arms like he was showing me a new discovery.
“WOW” I exclaimed sarcastically
“Welcome to the rebellion Zoya.” He sounded almost like this was a movie.
It felt like one. I gave myself a hard pinch on the arm to see if this was even real. It was and the pinch felt like a small animal biting my skin.
“We are a group of artists, not absorbers. If you follow me this way I will show you the common room.”
“Um, where are we exactly?”
“You're in the headquarters of the rebellion.”
“Yeah, I got that, but where are we?”
“Oh we're in a series on underground tunnels, these used to be the old bot charging pods back in the great war but they're mostly just abandoned now, so we use them,” Allen stated as he continued to lead me through the winding passageways.
“You must be very good at directions,” I stated.
Allen glanced behind him, casting me a very judgmental look. Staring at me for a split second. I wanted to make this clear to him that this was not my weird attempt to flirt with him this was a genuine statement.
“Yeah, you get pretty used to it after a while.”
After a few turns, he led me into a large room, about the size of a living room. It was furnished like one too. A large brown couch as a centerpiece. And a large carpet on the floor. But what was the most astonishing thing to me was the large frame with a painting inside of it. It was of a woman, dressed in black robes, she had a quite simple face and brown hair stretched over her oval head. But there was something about the simplicity of the painting that seemed to be beautiful. As I walked across the room her eyes seemed to be following me.
“I see you have met Mona,” Allen said a questioning tone lingered in his voice.
“I'm sorry, who?” I asked
“Ah yes, you don't know. This is the Mona Lisa one of the most famous paintings in the world”
I held my breath all of a sudden afraid it would rip, tear or somehow defect this portrait of perfection, It didn't.
“This is one of the few paintings we stole before they burned them all,” Allen explained
“Whos they?” I questioned
“They are the president's personal team. You know?”
“Yeah” I replied,
this was getting freaky now and the adrenalin that had worn off and my senses were starting to tell me something was up. Something not too good.
“So why am I here exactly?” I inquired
“You'd, Better sit, this may be a while,” Allen replied,
pointing to the leather couch.
“So, why you, why you?” Allen talked as he paced back and forth.
“My friend who also is part of the rebellion is part of our tech portion of the project hacked into your school cameras. We saw that whenever art was brought up your hand shot up. You were always interested. More so than the other kids. We have been contemplating a rise to art again and to reset society to go back to the prosperous place it was before the great war. Where all people looked different, where all people could express themselves, and you were the perfect one to help us out.” Allen told.
“But I didn't agree to this?” I yelled
“Well, what are you going to do, run around with a bunch of art in your backpack with the authorities chasing you.”
I felt a disappointed look flash over my face, Allen smiled. Knowing he had caught me, cornered me.
“Anyways,” Allen continued
“It was all a domino effect from the images.”
“But how did you get the art materials and how did you predict the future with the images,” I asked.
“Well, were able to forge some materials a few years back before the big burn or all the art materials so that how I used color. It's also quite easy to predict with the images.” Allen stated sounding too matter of fact for my liking.
“After a bit of research, I found out the mail pods have cameras in them. They only detect color through. So by sending you colored images on the last few images alerts the president.”
“What?” I questioned still confused,
“But how did you know my facial expression and what food I was having during dinner?”
“Easy, we hacked your mom to give you the sushi and turn on the news. The image we sent you that day was in color so the press and the president found out. When you saw the news a goodie goodie like yourself would only be shocked, because you know you possess what everyone is looking for. Then naturally the authorities would come storming down your street and everything would trickle down to where is now.”
“Oh,” I replied stumped.
…
After a while of Allen explaining what had happened to the world and what the ‘old society’ was like I agreed to become part of their plan. I had always thought people should be able to express themselves but never with this much passion as before. I got up from the couch.
“You will go to the fitting room to get your camera clothes on” Allen explained
I had only heard of camera clothes in movies, they were high tech clothes that allowed you to appear invisible to a camera so I could slip through the halls of the presidents' tower. Allen led me through a series of passageways, left and right. The tunnels were completely dark. Depriving my sense of sight. He then led me to a very bright room. With what looked like a small fitting curtain. And a bench behind the curtain.
“Go ahead, try it on” Allen commanded.
“I pulled the black suit over my head, it was itchier than I expected and felt like a wool blanket on my skin”
“You ready?” Allen asked this as if it was a question
“Yeah,” I replied in full confidence.
The plan was for Allen to make a scene, the security guards to go and tend to him while I slipped into the doors. I would then ride the elevator the forty-fourth floor, enter the president's personal quarters, get one of his knives and kill him with it. I remembered Allen saying,
“A good stab to the center of the back will do.”
Then Allen would take it from there.
One I pulled the pants of the suit over my hips, Allen led me to the tower. As we reached the street light, the sun shone brightly in my eyes and the breeze smelled fresh. I wondered what it was going to be like in the new society
….
As soon as Allen's shrieks hit the air I knew it was my cue. I pulled the camera proof mask over my head and walked in, straight past the security guards. Who were too busy dealing with Allen to even notice me. I beelined to the elevator and waited for forty-four floors up. The elevator had a floral smell to it, but to me, it was the smell of lies and with every ding of the elevator the smell got stronger. It felt like I was suffocating. Within the stench of this non-expressive non-opinionated society. I was done. Finally, the 44th floor dinged.
“Arriving at floor 44 presidential floor.” The elevator chimed
I walked quickly to the kitchen and grabbed a knife feeling the cold feeling to steel in my hand. I sauntered to the presidents' room, it was modern and decorated with lavish colors and pictures, of course, he had art. He was the freaking president I thought. I quietly ambled up to him, adrenaline pumping through my blood again. I felt my hand instinctively touch his shoulder tapping the smooth cotton of his suit. And without thinking plunged the knife directly into his back. He stretched his neck around, his expression was no longer content like the Mona Lisa’s It was more like the scream. Terrified and in pain, screaming.
“No” the president croaked falling to his knees
Dear reader, Missed me? Thought so. You thought this was the end. NO. Haha. Just keep reading.
I smiled feeling accomplish sprinkled with adrenalin. Just as I turned my back to leave through the wide glass doors I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It was the president. Crawling rather fast over to a blue button. He looked at me with a twisted look in his eyes blood spilling from his back and out of his mouth”
“This is not the end” He gargled.
With blood brimmed lips he slammed the big blue button labeled Reset.
I gasped feeling a light puff of air flow from my lungs. And everything went black.