Emma Zeenburg

My shoe laces were cold and stiff when I sprang through the house of my dwelling. My mother was making some sort of soup and a golden glow emanated from the kitchen. I pulled off my boots and shook out a puddle of wet snow and stripped off my soaking undergarments. I turned back to look out the window, watching as the needle-nosed plane whizzed out from behind a patch of trees. I called out my mom and she dried her hands then came running. We watched in fascination as it disappeared into the sky. My mom, who was only a Thirty-Six, paired unusually with my father who was much older, called to my little brother Kyle. He stepped out of his room, holding his small comfort object called a zebra. I have never heard of a zebra, but my father told me they are decorated in beautiful black stripes. Kyle rubbed the drowsiness out of his eyes and scratched his long dark hair. Kyle, only a Six, still had long hair. He climbed up onto a cushioned chair and peered out the window. I turned my attention back to the window where people had started to gather to watch the plane. I saw a boy, who's head was craned up to see the aircraft. I thought he was beautiful. He had short cropped dark hair and light eyes. I wondered about those eyes. They seemed to hold so much mystery and sorrow. I wanted to shake the sensation out of my head. I had already started to have weird feelings. My mother called them Stirrings. I told her and she gave me large white pills that supposedly made them disappear. Even though I knew my friend Fiona had started taking them, I almost liked the feelings. They were nice, nice to think that someone cared about me and that I cared about them. I am only an Eleven of course, and if I don't take the pills, people will start to wonder about me. What if I'm released for not taking them? I tried to push that to the back of my mind. I shoved open the door in front of me, releasing the warm air that was trapped in our small dwelling. Out of the entire town, our house might have been the smallest. It was old and shabby, with a tilted roof and broken shutters. I stepped outside allowing cold air to wash around me. I was about to talk to the boy when he tugged a little girl, probably a Seven or an Eight and ran into the crowded streets. I tried to bite back my disappointment and grabbed my bicycle. It was already time for my volunteer hours at the Nurturing Center. I loved watching the little Newchildren grow up before your very eyes. They were fun to play with of course, and I loved the little male called Gabe. He looked a lot like the boy in the crowd. With the same light and mysterious eyes and the ruffled dark hair. I zipped through the streets and turned a corner. There, I rested my bicycle on the bike port and jogged up the marble steps. Upon opening the door, I instantly heard the wailing of Newchildren, hungry, tired, or needing to be changed. I couldn't wait for my Ceremony of Twelve where I would no longer have to volunteer and I could get my real job. Taking care of the Newchildren was fun, indeed, but it was a long and tiring job. I wanted to be a Nurturer, like my father. Or a construction worker like my mom. She had rough hands though, from all of that hard work, whereas my father had soft gentle hands from working with the Newchildren. I peered inside Gabe's crib, and he lay sucking on a plastic stopper called a binkie? He was small for his age, almost too small. I reached under his soft chubby arms, and lifted him from the bed. He was surprisingly heavy for such a small Newchild. I took him to a shelf and changed him, patting the back of his head gently as I cleaned his backside. Ruby, my supervisor was standing in the doorway, watching me work. She was tall and sturdy with large hands and a muscular face. She was very gentle, though, tending every Newchild with care. She patted me on the back and told me I could go after I washed up. I cleaned and dried my hands, leaving Gabe sleeping soundly in his little bed. I left the Nurturing Center, and headed for the square. I hadn't thought about the plane much since this morning, but it buzzed in the air like a swarm if gossiping bees. I heard it everywhere, whispers of the pilot and his plane. Startling me, an announcement boomed over the loudspeaker. "Attention! Needless to say this pilot will be released." The words stood in the silence for what seemed like hours, until people resumed their usual work. The Ceremony of Twelve was tomorrow and I hadn't even though about what my job would be. Upon reaching my dwelling, I pushed open the door and headed straight for my room. It was neat and tidy, yet very cramped. Our small crooked house only provided us with small crooked rooms. I had just lay my coat in the bed, when Mother came in holding a cup of tea. She sat next to me and set down her cup. " I know scared you must be, considering your job will be picked tomorrow. Tell me how you feel," she said, almost like a robot. I hated the way people talked like they were required to say things, which they were. We talked about my feelings and the coming day. I couldn't explain the feelings, different from the stirrings, yet nothing I had ever felt before. I felt....anxious? I was waiting for the announcement of my name, the cry of my future. Mother gave me a robotic hug, patting me three times on the back. She told me," When I was given my job at The Ceremony of Twelve, I was nervous and excited just like you. It will all work out I promise."  My mother got up from the bed, the mattress making a noise that sounded like the the animal Father described as a toad, and left the room. She left me thinking about what tomorrow would bring, and what I would be given as a job. The thoughts swirled in my head as I gulped down the white pills, that I had finally decided to start taking, and the thoughts became dreams, and I drifted off to sleep.

The next day brought a warm sunshine and a chilly summer breeze. It was brisk outside, but very sunny. I pulled on my nice dress pants and then my white blouse. I threw on my coat and trotted downstairs. The sun shone through the dusty windows, creating dancing specks that streamed from the window panes and onto the wooden floor boards. I strode into the kitchen, looking as confident and grownup as possible for Mother and Father. Kyle was already at the table, dressed up in his buttoned coat and his hair combed straight. I sat down cautiously at the table, folded my napkin and began to eat my oatmeal. It had just brought the spoon to my mouth when Mother announced it was time to leave for The Ceremnoy of Twelve. I shoveled the rest of the oatmeal into my mouth and grabbed my jacket.  We pedaled hard and fast to the Ceremony, leaving our bicycles on the bike port. We hurried inside, searching for a seat. The young Fours had already become Fives, and the Fives had lined up. I found a seat near the back, behind the boy from the streets. He was shaking slightly and I found that I was shuddering, too, nervous and anticipating the moment I would get my job and become an adult.We sat through the Sixes, where Kyle became a Seven, and we clapped politely. Next, the Sevens, Eights, Nines, and Tens were called to the stage, and presented with their age's gifts. Finally the Elevens were called. The announcement was loud and it echoed through the building. Obediently, the Elevens sat in their chairs, restless. In alphabetical order, the names of all the Elevens were called, and of course, being a Z in the alphabet she was dead last. The others sat happily, for their jobs had been picked appropriately for them. She stepped up from her chair and gulped, surveying the audience, who peered expectantly at her. The man smiled at her, shook her hand and shouted,"Emma Zeenburg has been assigned as-" but before he could finish, an explosion shook through the building and everything blacked out.