Chapter 2

AFTER FINDING A VIDEO that captured Lizzy explaining that she will be dead in a matter of days because she found a way to mutate her DNA and change her eye color from brown to purple. This is why she died.

In less than two hours after watching the video that explained my sister's death, I dyed the end portion of my hair a blood red. A color that not only represented my sister but the blood spilt because of disagreeing opinions. I had spent the good portion of my evening sitting in my adjustment session, or Cal calls it so. It is meant to perfect my look before entering the public area but I find that it makes a decent reflective seating.

That being said, I sit in the cushioned grey seat to look at myself in the mirror. My simple two braids hold the light blonde locks of hair up and out of my sight. If I showed up to a public area with hair in my face, I would be publicly shamed and then hanged or burned. My hair, therefore, stays in two braids or a simple twist bun at all times.

My blonde hair is light enough that any dirt is easily spotted. I wash my hair every night with the controlled amount of shampoo and conditioner given to me while in the shower.
"Jayden, please proceed to get dressed for the Protocol. You have exactly ten minutes before transportation arrive."

I stand from the colorless stool and walk to the door, it opening effortlessly before I strip of the simple black cotton shirt and white shorts. I slide on the expensive dress that hangs from my closet and pull the elastics from my hair before ridding my hair of two tight braids.

I run a shaky hand through honey colored hair and lift my chin to see my reflection. The white dress holds my curves and has a line of mesh down in a line meeting in the middle of my chest and one right under my breasts.

The material is thick and smooth and goes almost down to the floor but keeps it's form. The overall look is pleasing and should look good for such a stressful event. Even more so than I am, Cal is nervous so I have convinced myself that no matter my personal feelings I must be strong. I walk swiftly and barefooted to Cal's room to request an opening. Once the door opens, I walk in the room meeting Cal in a black dress.

She turns around at the sound of the door. Her eyes are red and rimmed with tears. Cal sits at the edge of her bed and somewhat collapses into the cushion. I rush to her side in a hope to calm her before the ceremony starts. She falls into my side as her sobs rack her body. She sheds many tears before she is able to utter a word.

"What if one of us gets picked?"

I cannot say that I didn't think about the possibility of Cal getting picked because it may single handedly ruin my life but I would wish that she would have better luck.  I am left numbly staring at the floor as Cal cries into my shoulder. I was never good at satisfying those who were sad nor was I ever understanding when it came to bawling your eyes out.

Lizzy was much better at such things. I was my father's daughter with little light into why people cried over things they did not know about.
Father waits for us at the door and he looks nothing close to tears but I can see the possibility in his eyes.

It's painful to watch; watching such a strong man be so vulnerable. My heart refuses to move with me as I walk past my father and into the train that waits for me. My heart watches me leave with Cal through the window of my old house because of what I know I might do.

Leaving makes things easier but my thoughts are nowhere near clear while I sit next to Cal on the bus. The regret in her eyes are evident but I come back empty while trying to find an answer for why it's there. Her hair is in a simple Dutch braid that Lizzy taught her to do and mine is in a bun at the top of my head, a grey scarf covering my hair. The red is not visible in the twist but I would like to keep it that way.

"Cal, can I steal Jay for minute?"

My head snaps up and my eyebrows raise in surprise at one of my best friend's name. He moves into the empty space next to me and I look to Cal. Her facial expression seems indecisive but she eventually smirks and slides out of the booth.

"Of course. Wouldn't want to interrupt your time with loverboy."
I roll my eyes at the long over-used nickname. I turn my head to meet Leo and am surprised again when I find him already looking at me.
"You nervous?" He asks me quietly.
"No," I answer truthfully.

His tongue glides over his teeth as he leans back in his seat, "Right. Jayden is never nervous about anything."

I roll my again, "You know, if you keep rolling your eyes, they might just be stuck that way. And then you'd look like this," his eyes cross and his nose scrunched up in an unnatural way. I laugh at his pure ability to lighten the mood. Out of this friendship, I am the more serious one. When his face still doesn't fall and he begins to mock me in a high-pitched voice that I certainly do not use, I smack his forehead.

His face drops as he runs his head, giving me one of his sour looks. I stick my tongue out at him. The bus comes to a stop and our bodies jolt forward from the sudden stop.

The doors open and the warm air from mother nature suddenly lures me into her trap. I look behind me, suddenly unaware I had stood. Leo looks lost in thought, staring ahead at the opposite chair. I grab his hand and ruffle his raven hair, making him scowl. I pull him towards me and we he finally gets up to walk outside with me, I find myself not letting go of his hand. It doesn't matter much now; life is changing and I might not ever get the chance to do it again.

The fresh air feels nice. I haven't felt warm, free air circulate in my lungs for nearly a year. We aren't allowed in the outside world. I have no idea why. It's amazing out here. Colors. I see colors. Green grass. Blue skies. Diversity for once. It's a miracle I even know all the names of the colors.

Leo keeps mumbling to himself. I wonder if he's nervous? Leo gets worked up easily, though. His green eyes look tired. The illusion of baggy eyes giving away his predicament. He can't be picked. Leo is too much of a good soul; too nice.
This dress feels weird with a breeze. The thin edges of it, flips up when the wind picks up. I want to take off my scarf to cover myself better, even to make myself feel more secure, but I know it would mean the end if I did.

As we round the corner of the tall lifeless building, lines of people come into view. The lines are moving fast, girls and boys dressed in beautiful but lifeless clothing. The most desirable and expensive materials to impress their peers and Gem. I don't understand it. I would have worn a shirt and pants had Lizzie not made me this for me. It would be a sin not to cherish something she used love to make you.

I walk into the shortest line with Leo. We keep our hands glued together as we brace ourselves for the worse. When we get to the front of the line, the old lady with a bland dress on and heels, burns a hole through our hands with her stare. After she clears her throat for the second time I ask, "Do you have a problem?"

She glares at me and instead of answering, grabs my hand and makes an annoyed gesture towards my other hand. Reluctantly, I release Leo's hand. She takes both of my hands and places them, palm-down, on the screen built into the counter. After a loud beep noise, she grabs a small pin from behind the counter and precedes to prick each one of my fingers. After she gets blood from each, she places all of my fingers back on the screen, staining it red with blood. A long number comes up on the screen with a label in red, reading, no major diseases. Well, thanks. I didn't think so either.

She checks both of my eyes before moving to Leo. The screen moves down, into the counter before another slide across, on top of the old one. Fascinating. I watch Leo intently, determined to memorize every detail of his face while I can. He squints his eyes some when they prick his fingers. He has freckles; I love them. They suit him and the rest of his features.

They aren't heavy freckles, more light. Like if a freckle fairy lightly painted them on his face.
Leo is a piece of artwork. A piece of work so admirable that one would be devastated if destroyed. Something so precious, in a way you worship it. I wish to never lose this piece of artwork because it has painted my heart different colors and if I were to lose it, I fear my heart would turn grey like our society. I live for the colors my loved ones paint my heart; after all, who wants a heart the color of stone?