I walk to the bathroom down the hall. The nightmares change nightly, but they all have the same concept. I shiver as the light flicks on in the bathroom. The song, the wiperwhils, the boy. Everything seemed much more vivid and clear tonight though. Tonight, I saw his head.
     I splashed the cold water on my face and looked into the mirror. My reflection is a spitting image of my mother. I have her dark, angular eyes with thick lashes. My black hair, now wet from the water, is shiny and thin. It looks like a pool of oil that ends at my chin. I sigh and wave the mirror off. My mother used to tell me her family came from a country called Japan, but I always thought it absurd. I am still supposed to. I am an A. We are stupid enough to think that there is only one country. Now my beliefs are faltering.
     I cannot go back to sleep. If I do, I will have yet another nightmare. So I lay in bed, just asking myself, "What will it be next time?" I shake my head. I can't help it. A part of me doesn't want to think like that. That's the me that grew up as an A. But I don't want to be that me. That me is rude and ignorant.  Just like everyone else. I sigh and roll onto my side. In four months, I'll be fifteen. I can't n like this. I'm not an N. They are humble, and hard workers. They are content with their position. Content with their nightmares. I wish I could be like that, but I am an A.
     I hear my parents stir every now and then, but other than that silence. When I was younger, my mother wanted another child. I disliked the idea because that meant I would have to share my room. And of course, because our sector thrives on happiness, I never had a sibling. My parents wanted to keep me happy. Not just themselves. It's like living in sickly sweet syrup. I hate it.