In his society, it was a sin to dream.

While it was not against any written laws, it was the unspoken rule that everyone followed. Children were given real expectations in their success in life, and kids held no imagination to create magical futures for themselves. Adults led predictable and monotonous lives, and most of the elderly died without any significant events in their lifetime. But, this was the norm, and this was what was expected.

In his world, it was a sin to change your role.

Children were raised to wear certain clothing, play with certain toys, and act certain ways. Boys played in sports while girls played with dolls. Girls were feminine while boys were masculine. If they acted out of the role, they were looked at strangely. They were never normal. If they wanted to switch roles, they were out casted from society forever. This was the way life worked for many years.

In his universe, it was a sin to be unique.

People were shunned for being different, and no one had any pride in it. Strange-Lovers were looked down upon, Role-Switchers were thrown on the street, and Slow-Walkers were sent to homes and hospitals. No person who was unique was able to shine. Only the citizens who were normal could live a normal, monotonous life.

In his mind, he committed all of the sins.

He dreamt that he flew through the stars while the people down below looked up at him. He dreamt about standing out of the crowd as he wore the most noticeable clothing imaginable. He dreamt of being himself. He slept in a world where he had anything he desired and where he looked how he felt. Oh, yes. He did commit many sins at night.

It was not surprising when he started dreaming when he was awake. His internal hopes leaked out of his skin, and people around him stared at the oddity. He spoke about his imagined future for the world, but others tore those dreams apart saying that society shall never change. Yet, he still clung to his beliefs. He dared to dream.

But, why? Why would he continue to commit sins knowing that he would have a negative response to it? Why would a child put so much hatred in himself? These were the questions that his family, friends, and peers asked, but he would never give an answer. The reason behind his actions was quite simple, yet no one figured it out before the Great Revolution. The boy was part of the outcasts, and he dreamed of a world where he would not live in fear.

He felt fear when his little sister was sent to a hospital for being a Slow-Walker.  He knew it was not her fault for having a mental disability, and he knew that society would hurt him once they found out that he was a Strange-Lover. What scared him more was the terrifying reality that he would have to tell the world that he was also a Role-Switcher. It was almost certain that his parents would abandon him, and the school system would never take him back. It would be impossible for him to get an interview for a job much less get hired. This was the reality and the fear for the boy, and this was the norm for the rest of society.

"It hurts, " he muttered, "It hurts. "

He looked down at his chest seeing the cloth wrapped around the top half of his torso. The cloth compressed his skin and body, and his skin felt the edges of the fabric digging into his flesh. But, that was okay. He knew that this was just one of the many aspects of what he was. No, who he was.

"I know, Frith. But you can't go back to the bandages again. This is better, I promise," A voice from the computer on his desk said.

"You don't even know me. We met three days ago." he put a blue shirt on over the wrappings. "How would you know anything? "

"Because you designed me three days ago to search the web for ways for you to feel better," it stated in a condescending manner, "Did you know that the Walkers coexisted with the population of the 2000s?"

"No. "

"Did you know that the Lovers and the Switchers were viewed as individuals who had equal opportunities in society?"

"No. "

"Strange. Did you know that they protested? That hasn't happened in hundreds of years."

"This sounds made up. " the boy sat in his chair before opening a new tab on the computer. "I've never even heard of the word 'protested'. Hell, the history books never said any of the stuff you are saying."

"Pro·test. verb. To express an objection to what someone has said or done, declare (something) firmly and emphatically in the face of stated or implied doubt or in response to an accusation, or write or obtain a protest in regard to (a bill)."

Frith shook his head, "That sounds illegal. "

"It is. So was getting the information you needed. "

Most children would have froze in terror, but he just nodded. He knew that the details of his condition were hid under lock and key. The Supreme Regime tried to erase all mistakes from society. They tried to sweep the outcasts under the rug like discarded trash. People like Frith were always alone and clueless; any helpful information was lost in the pages of history unless you used illegal methods to gather it.

"What sites did you recover? " he whispered as the sounds of screams echoed outside his apartment window. He figured it was just another family being torn apart; Walkers were taken from their families more often than he would like to admit.

"They date back to the 2000s. Some 2024, some 2001. Most were chats or tips, but a few were about definitions and history. "

That peeked his interest, "History? Definitions? What do you mean? "

"They had different words for what we call Walkers, Lovers, and Switchers. That doesn't matter now, but it seems like an actual historical report. Pictures are everywhere, and all of the articles match up with information. The 2000s was truly a Golden Age of communication. "

Page after page appeared on the glowing screen, and the boy skimmed the treasure of information that was in his grasp. But, several words confused him. Pride.  What was this word? How could someone be proud to be themselves​? Diversity. Variety. Through context, he could understand that these words meant differences. But, how could people be diverse? Did society shun them for being different?

Freedom.

That was a strange word indeed. That word had a complex meaning that he could not comprehend. Did it mean doing what you wished? Or, did it mean feeling the way you do and not getting hurt because of it? He didn't know.

He hesitantly shut down his computer once his mother called for him. He yearned for more information. He craved it. He needed it, but he wouldn't be able to get it. Not yet. He started to wonder if he would ever receive all of the information, and he sighed. That was impossible. For what kind of person was he to think that he could change the way society thinks?

"Sweetie, someone's at the door for ya! She's from your school," his mother said.

"Why's she here? I didn't do a thing wrong," he yelled through his bedroom door,"Wrong. "

Silent mutters echoed in the air, "She says that she just wanted to talk to ya. To help ya with... roles?"

A sharp pain stabbed his throat. Fear clogged his esophagus with needles, and fangs pierced his tongue. She was here. If she was here, that meant they noticed him. They noticed that he was not fulfilling his role. His behavior was not normal.

"Ma'am, I don't think my child is... a Switcher. How dare ya think that...Yeah, that does happen, but that is perfectly normal. I don't care that your administrators want to speak... No...no. No, don't do that! Please...don't take away...Yeah, I understand. " his mother's voice trembled. "Honey, please hurry up! Don't be scared. Nothin's wrong. "

He opened his door, "That's a lie. I'm normal. Please leave. "

His bedroom was so close to the living area, but he knew that he and the woman would never be close. Her eyes were empty and without life, and it was entirely plausible that she was a machine built to take him to the Camp. He could imagine the dark, concrete walls of the building swallowing the unfortunate children who were thrown in there. They were sent there to be cured. To become normal. But, in reality, they were prisoners that had their childhood stolen away from them. He didn't want to walk out of Camp at eighteen just to live a false life. That place just creates more misery.

She would wrap chains around his tiny body and drag him there. That woman would starve him until he gave in. The thing in front of him would suck his identity of out his mind without a second thought. He stayed in the frame of his bedroom door waiting for her to speak.

"Miss. Bleu, I all want to do is talk. I will not harm-" her voice was devoid of life.

"Another lie," Frith said, speaking up, "Another lie. "

The woman smiled. If he didn't know why she was here, he would have undoubtedly fell for her ploy. Her face twisted into the most welcoming and kind-hearted look, but her eyes showed none of that. Her eyes were empty. Her eyes had no soul.

"I just want to ask some questions, look around, that sort of thing." she walked up to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. "We are not accusing you of anything. "

"You're lying again," he said.

He walked away from the woman and towards the open apartment door, "I refuse. I am normal. "

His mother put her heads on her head, clawing her scalp like a distressed animal, "Arwen! Please just listen to her. "

He looked at his mother with sad eyes, "I can't. I can't. "

When he left the apartment, he closed the door ignoring his mother's cries. He did, however, hear the monster speak the undeniable and frightening truth.

"Mrs. Bleu, I believe your daughter is a Role-Switcher. "