Let me get something straight-Jell-O is not his real name. That's just an inside joke between me and Jack, on behalf of his weight. I know, I know, it's mean. Cube me.

To be completely honest, I didn't know his real name... until he introduced himself.

"I'm Dick June. You seemed in need of assistance." He said.

I managed a slow nod, which I was surprised he saw considering my whole shaking with grief deal going on... It wasn't a good day for me. 

"Are you drunk, boy?" There it was. I figured he'd ask that sooner or later.

"N-no." I replied, much clearer than I had thought it would come out.

He nodded in understanding, "The rejection ceremony shook you up, huh? I understand."

I almost laughed. He understood? Yeah, right. Anyone that understood wouldn't be up on stage cracking jokes.

"No of-offense sir, but I don't th-think you do."

He shifted in his seat, looking a bit uncomfortable, "No, I suppose you're right."

There was silence for a moment. It was really nice, but all good things must come to an end.

"What's your name?" Dick asked.

"Dex." I replied, "Dex M-Marshall. I'd say nice t-to meet you, but it's not. Not under th-these circumstances." I cleared my throat, hoping next time I spoke I wouldn't stutter. At least I stopped shaking, and by the time I reached my dorm I'd be able to go one my own. Thank God.

"Yes, yes. Which was yours?" Dick asked, then shifted again. It was starting to get on my nerves. "Which reject, I mean."

"They're people." I said quietly. Though most people reffered to them as rejects [including myself, on various occasions], I wanted something to say, to maybe try and make him have sympathy. "My friend... Her name was Jack. Jacube, as you would know her."

He paused a moment, then nodded. "Jacube. Yeah, her last name was Sandy?"

"Sanderson." I corrected, a little annoyed.

Dick smiled sheepishly, "Of course. I didn't know her personally, simply spoke her name."

A spark of anger ignited my stomach at his words. I hated myself for how hostile I felt towards him, yet it seemed oddly fitting. I mean, if you couldn't be angry at the man who dropped your best friend into a hole she wouldn't return from, who could you be mad at?

"You know everything, right?" I asked a bit bitterly, "Where do the rejects go?"

"To the cubes. You know that." He replied. I noticed a flash of curiousity in his eyes, and his next question confirmed my suspicions, "Why do you ask?"

I turned away, "If your best friend was just sent off somewhere, wouldn't you want to know where they went?" I asked in response. "It's common sense, if you can manage to wrap your brain around it."

I felt him shift again, and I tugged at my hair in annoyance.

"I suppose. I understand you're going to Storm training?" He asked, and the change in subject both angered and calmed me. I don't really know how to explain it.

"Yeah, I am. Although I don't know why. Anyone who's anyone went straight to Haventown." I muttered, my hand falling down from my hair into my lap.

Dick paused a moment, "Yes, yes I guess you're right. Odd how the lazier people get the better bread."

I raised an eyebrow, "Didn't you go to Haventown, sir?"

"No, no," he said with almost a proud laugh, "I got on the very first train to the training center after I'd finished my test."

I was shocked, to say the least. I've never seen a former trainee so.... overweight.

I decided it was best not to comment on that. "Why are you a speaker, then? Shouldn't you be like... I don't know, security or something at least?"

Dick shook his head, "Well, I originally was. Up until they made our little planet known world-wide down on earth. There were too many new recruits, it seemed like everyone wanted to get their feet on this new world. So some of us were... pushed down to lower ranks," he said with a sigh, "I've been speaking for the past seventeen years."

I couldn't help but wonder why everyone so badly wanted to join this.. I mean sure, you'd be part of history, but now it's just everyday life. Maybe you're wondering if I was one of the fanatics that fought to the death to get up here?

Well, I'm not. That was my Mom's job.

I didn't ask to be sent up here. And I would've never let them take me had I known about the test before hand. The test that took Jack away.

The saddest thing is; Jack did. She wanted to go to training-she wanted to be here. And yet, she's the one who cant. The one who is flawed in some way. Yet she seemed so perfect.

"Is it that hard to believe?" Dick interrupted my thoughts. "I mean, overpopulation here on Storm is just a few years away. And the past years have just gone to prove how quickly it's approaching. It's not uncommon for people to be moved."

"Are you supposed to be telling me these things? You know, since you're so 'high up'?" I asked.

He shifted.

And the bus stopped.

"Well, I must be going.." He said, getting up from his seat.

He walked rather quickly out, and I just sat there a moment, until the bus was empty.

I stepped out of the open door, trying to bury my thoughts.

I walked up to the door leading into my section, which seemed to grow smaller by the moment. I shuddered, walking through.

Suddenly, I was screaming.

My legs gave out, and I clutched my sides, trying to escape the pain. The horrible pain...

My sides burned so badly, and my lungs felt as if they were shriveling from the heat...

But then it left. So quickly. But I couldn't get up-I didn't want to try.

So I got out my phone and called the only person that I could think of. Seth.

Yeah, maybe it would've been more smart to call the Auxilium Center, but I wasn't thinking straight.

"Dex...?" Came his response.

I cleared my throat, "I n-need help. I'm just i-inside section two."

There was a paused.

"...I'm on my way." He replied, sounding quite unsure. Not that I could blame him.

One of your friends treat you like crap, then they ask for help without explaining? Yeah, I'd be real enthusiastic.

Seth did come. It was a good five minutes, and he looked like someone had just pulled him out of bed, but he came.

He immediately helped me to my feet, and told me that I needed to go to the Auxilium Center.

Not that I had much say in the matter anyway, as he was tapping the back of his wrist twice, alerting the Auxilium Center the moment after he'd said it.

I hate the Auxilium Center.

You'd think they'd have a better response than 'Oh, it's nothing, it's very common to have episodes after your test.'

Oh really? I'm sure I would've heard. I looked up practically everything about the test a month ago to prepare... I shuddered. I had found some... pretty scarring stuff.

The closest thing I had found to this, was back pain. But I doubt anyone would pass out over it.

Oh, I forgot to mention that? Yeah. I blacked out the moment I was picked up by the ambulance. I would really like to know what was really going on with me. I was worried, to say the least. Was I a.. rejected reject, or something? And that's why my eyes didn't burn?

The doctors had assured me that I was not in fact, a reject. But I couldn't stop my mind from wandering.

Seth had walked me up to my dorm in complete silence. It made my gut twist out of frustration. I was miserable. I had to break the silence, "Thanks.. for all of that."

Seth nodded, "Yeah. Sure. Anytime." He said unenthusiastically.

My eyes closed, and my lips opened before I could stop them; "Hey, I'm sorry. I'm leaving soon and I really don't want to leave on bad terms with you.."

"Who's on bad terms?" Seth mumbled, "I understand, okay? Losing people.. It sucks. It can change you into terrible things. Make you say things you'll regret. But sometimes, it can help truth come up. You're right, Dex. I'm not even close to being your friend.. or Jack's. You haven't known me anywhere long enough." He fidgeted with the rim of his shirt, "I um.. I should get back home. My roomate'll kill me for being out so late." He turned and began to walk back to the gate.

I wanted to say something, but I didn't think I'd do a justice to how I was feeling. I turned away, and we walked our seperate ways, both of us defeated.

                                                                                    *           *           *

The train was smaller than I expected.

Maybe a twenty-four passenger, tops. Of course, the trains up here are significantly different from the ones on Earth... I assume, anyway. I never actually rode a train when I lived there.

It travels at around roughly 900 miles per hour, about a quarter mile per second. It's glorious. I never quite understood why Storm didn't share her technological advances with Earth, and I probably never will. We've had these trains for eleven or so years. Yet Earth is stuck with the slow, rickety trains that she's always had.

There was a few familiar faces, but none I could put names to. The seats on either side of me were empty. I couldn't help but feel like I was being avoided, but deep down I knew that wasn't the case. I was just being paranoid. When am I not? I scooted over to the window seat, but we were moving too quickly to see anything worth seeing anyway.

Or at least, so I thought.

We went through a very long, lit tunnel. I stared out the window and I noticed something. Graffiti on the wall of the tunnel, was a story. It moved along with us as we sped past. It reminded me of those ancient flip book things.. where there's a sketch on every page. You know, how they made cartoons way back when.

The art was stunning. Faded, but stunning. The story appeared to start out with a child, standing atop some sort of cliff. He jumped off, and the transitioning was spot on. The child landed on his feet, and he began running, growing in size and shape a little as he did. He moved into a room, and he was rolling out blueprints all of a sudden. A girl joined him. She seemed eager about the plans. Then suddenly, it showed a clock, ticking away. It seemed to almost.. zoom out on the picture, showing the same room from before, but the girl was there alone. She was in work clothes, and she was staring at the clock. But the boy never showed up.

The whole scene changed. It was a graveyard, and the girl stood beside a grave, her hand resting on the headstone. The boy had died, that much was obvious.

I watched, suddenly very intrigued. This paint began looking newer and more vibrant with each second. This had obviously been made over the course of quite a few years..

Something came out of the girl's head. It confused me at first, but I soon realized it was a thought bubble.. It showed the boy, much older. He was instructing a team, handing out blueprints.. But the thought disappeared, and the girl fell to her knees and wept.

The image was gone, replaced by words. It appeared letter by letter, 'WE ARE NOT YOUR LEFTOVERS. WE ARE NOT MISTAKES. WE CAN DO MORE THAN YOU COULD EVER IMAGINE. WE WILL NOT STAND FOR THE TEST.'

I stared out the window in awe as the train then sped out of the tunnel.

This was indirectly a story of a reject. And a girl who knew what might have been.