literature

Sync Chapter 1

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Chapter 1
Xander
I’d been at this orphanage for so long, the days had blurred together an eternity ago. I had never actually bothered to learn the name of this place, you know. Nothing ever happened here-- nothing worth remembering, at least. I knew that I’d be leaving soon; it’d be my fifteenth birthday and at fifteen, you aged out of the orphanage. Soon, I’d be in a labor camp someplace, working myself to death for the almighty State Church. What a beautiful world, I mused. Live to work to die, not really much to actually live for. I lay on my bed, motionless, staring at the water stains on the ceiling, wishing that they’d give me the answer that the state and its religion refused to give. Why am I even here? What’s my purpose? The ceiling didn’t answer, but I wasn’t really expecting much from it. The same ceiling had been staring down at me for years, unchanging and unfaltering, and it was starting to make me feel claustrophobic.
The orphanage where I “lived” was a State-run organization on Heron, a desolate wasteland planet in the Outer Ring. It had been servicing the planet since long before the Rebellion, either as a prison or asylum, I couldn’t tell which. The cinderblock walls and linoleum floors gave nothing away, and I wouldn’t have cared if they had. All I knew was that the orphanage was where I was staying for now, there’d be other places later, and I couldn’t be bothered to find out more.
Still, I’d miss the place. I’d gotten used to it. It had somehow been able to become somewhat like a home to me. Hah. Home. What a funny word for this place. This isn’t home. There hasn’t been one since...
No. Don’t go there. Of the many things I don’t want to think about, that’s one of the big ones. You don’t last long in this life if you dwell on that. I shook my head and got up off my graying sheets. I wonder what poor soul will get this room when I’m gone. Not really worth wondering about, here on the outer worlds-- our stories are all the same. Parents taken away for heresy, kids left behind to the tender mercies of the orphanages, and then the hard life of the labor camps. Just like all of the generations before us. Just like all of the generations to come.
I was going to enter the next phase of the cycle, the labor camps, in two days. Two days until my compatibility test to place me, and then I’d be off to the mines, or the oceans, or the oil refineries, or wherever they deemed my sync rate good enough for. I don’t really care-- they’d all end the same way for me, working all my life at some odd job for the state. We all knew that I wasn’t going to test well. No orphan ever had a good sync rate.
Don’t get me wrong-- it was better than prison. From the stories I hear, I’m just glad they didn’t throw me in with my parents. Once you end up in the Behavior Correction Unit, you don’t come out. At least, not with your mind intact. So far, my mind is the only thing they haven’t been able to get to. I’d rather keep it that way, if it’s all the same to everyone. Knowledge is power and all that crap.
The bell jolted me out of my thoughts, and I was up and running down the scuffed-tile halls. The Matron didn’t take kindly to stragglers, as I’d learned over the years, despite my winning personality. Heh. Winning personality. I joined the line of orphans shuffling towards the church house, the Matron watching over us with her stern gaze, if you could call the mechanical glare hers.
The Matron was a huge woman, with a consistently severe expression, a severe style of dress, and a severe tendency towards smacking orphans upside the head when we upset her. She was a very severe person like that.
The bright light of her bionic eyes glowed as they scanned over us, taking attendance, gauging alertness, and making sure we were all in our finest attire, which wasn’t all that fine, but still. Today was Church, after all.
We filed into the large chamber somberly, and I took one last good look around the place. It was the closest thing to a Terminal the orphanage could afford, which is to say it was nothing like a true Terminal. We didn’t have the sleek metal vestibule, the perfectly symmetrical chamber, or the tiny blinking lights of the real Terminals, but instead we had a largish room with a few rows of folding chairs. Not the best place to practice such a high-tech religion, but money was tight with the overload of orphans pouring in after the last revolution.
When we got inside, we sat and looked up at the Matron as she took her spot in front of the congregation. “We come here today to praise the Great Iron God, the Ideal! He lifted us up when we most needed him! He saved humanity from the folly of nature and its false gods! He brought us the gifts of knowledge, computers, and bionics! He lead us to victory against the heretics in the Rebellion Wars! He continues to give us power and knowledge beyond our wildest dreams!” Her giant voice filled the room, attempting to inspire fear and awe into the hearts of the forsaken-- me and my compatriots.
I’d heard this same sermon a million times-- the Matron didn’t have much variation in her preaching. Hopefully, the religious leader at the work camp would have more variation to their preaching. “Xander!” I looked up and saw that everyone was standing except for me. Oops... time for that winning personality to do its job... “Would you like to inform us what is so important that you neglected to stand and pray?”
“I’m sorry Ma'am, I wasn’t paying attention,” I said quietly, trying to look contrite. I got the feeling it wasn’t working when the orphans around me started to snicker. Crap.
“Well, you had better hope the Ideal is paying attention when you go to the work camp! Bad things happen to those who don't have faith!” She was starting to turn red, and it looked like she was going to go into another rant about the amazingness of the Ideal, our God, when I cut her off.
“I’m sorry Ma’am. It won’t happen again. I promise.” I stood up, bowing my head and trying to look holy. I was hoping against logic that a little beam of light would enter through a nonexistent window and give me a halo, but logic clearly didn’t feel like being defied today, so I just looked stupid. Ah, well. Maybe next time.
“It had better not. Now let us pray to the great Ideal!” She returned to her sermon, and I breathed a sigh of relief. No real punishment this time.
I stood with the rest of them and recited the Iron Prayer with the rest of the orphans, “We praise you, great Ideal, let your all encompassing knowledge guide our lives, and let us strive to reach your perfection!” All of my life’s questions answered. Right there. Totally.
The rest of the service went passably, with more prayers muttered by disbelieving orphans and more lectures by the Matron. When we were finally released, I half-walked, half-sprinted along the hall to my room, desperate to get away from the people in the hall-- crowds had never been my thing. Right before I turned the corner into my room, a shrill voice stopped me. “Xander! Wait for me!” Here we go again. My “friend” Peter ran up behind me.
Peter was somewhere between eleven and twelve, fairly short, with a curly mass of blonde hair and bright brown eyes. He could talk the hind leg off of a donkey. By accident.
“I can’t believe the Matron let you off so easily, I mean she didn’t even hit you! That never happens!”  He was rushing all of his sentences together in such a way that even I was having trouble keeping up with him, and I’d been decoding his speech for close to three years now.
“Yeah, well. I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re leaving soon! She must feel sorry for you!”
“Sure, Peter. And there is a forest left on Earth.” The Matron didn’t believe in empathy or compassion; her sync rate was too high. Or maybe she was in a constant state of PMS. It was just so hard to tell most days.
"Hey, I'm just trying to understand why the meanest person we know just let you off the hook!”
I walked on not answering. He has a point... normally, she’d have cuffed me. Maybe she does feel sorry for me. I decided not to dwell on it, and instead to focus on the meal ahead. I got into the long line of orphans that stretched out of the cafeteria. It was a crumbling old building, arguably the worst one in the whole orphanage, filled with benches and  tables, none of which were in good condition. I got my pile of vaguely greenish slop, and, with Peter in tow, went to the seat closest to the exit. Peter continued to talk non stop as we ate-- as always, rambling on about everything and nothing at the same time. This particular day, he was thinking about the future. Not a very safe thing to do if you’re in our situation, Peter.
“Man, I’ll miss you so much when you’re gone, you’re just the best person.” I wish he would just come out and say he likes me. I’d been waiting for him to confess for years. There’s no other reason why he’d put up with me for so long. No one else did.
“I really hope in three years I'll go to the same camp as you!” Sorry Peter, there’s no time for relationships in the place where we're going.
“Don’t you?”
“Don’t I what?”
“Don’t you want to be in the same camp as me?”
“Yeah, yeah totally.” Suuure.
“Good!” He smiled and went on rambling happily as only Peter could in a place like this. I guess in a way Peter was remarkable-- surrounded by all this boredom and abandonment, he still managed to find a way to be happy. I wish life was as simple as he makes it out to be... Wouldn't it be easier...
Just a story I've been writing
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
© 2014 - 2024 Metro567
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