I was thinking of the giver and then some animated dystopian video popped up on my YouTube recommended page so I put 2 & 2 together in the depths of my depressive state and did this instead of writing my analysis essay rough draft anyways it's Saturday have a good weekend thank u

Chapter 1

Do you ever get the feeling that something is wrong?

Not wrong as in the answer you selected was wrong. Not wrong as in testing the limits of the first rule is wrong. Wrong as in the thing you have done is bad. Wrong as in there is something in the picture that should not be there. Wrong as in being a bad person. The type of wrong that holds an extremely negative connotation.

I never noticed that something was wrong. I've been thinking about it for a long time but I haven't said anything about it. It is wrong to believe something is wrong. That is rule two. There are no exceptions for rule two like there are for rule one.

Wrong doesn't sound like a word anymore. I don't even know what "wrong" really means.

It's a Sunday night when I ask Brendon if he thinks something is wrong. I feel like I've never seen him before, but I know that I've known him forever. There's only one word that pops into my mind when I see him. Partner. Vaguely, my memory spits out the concept of assignment, cohesive personalities, and love, whatever that is. He doesn't give me the chance to explain what I mean when I state that something is wrong before he provides an answer.

"Never. I never get the feeling that something is wrong, Dallon." He says. "I don't like that you asked me that."

"It's a genuine question."

"It's a dumb question. Nothing is wrong and nothing will ever be wrong. You should know that."

It's not a dumb question. Something is wrong. I don't know what it is and I don't know when I'll find it, but something is wrong.

It's a Sunday night and I know something is wrong. I know this for sure and there is nothing that could convince me otherwise. The programs used to assure me that everything was okay, but I know better now. The programs are wrong. I know better now. At least, I think I know better.

"Why do you ask that?" Brendon mumbles. He glances over to me and frowns. He's scanning my expression for panic and anxiety, a sign of fear and weakness.

I can't tell him how long I've been thinking about it. He would inform one of the Bots. I can't risk a Bot knowing. A Bot would tell The Creator and nobody knows what happens next because nobody returns to tell. "I overheard it while I was walking home from school on Friday. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

He shakes his head. "You should have reported it immediately, not have kept it to yourself and thought about it. Those ideas are wrong." He turns back to stare ahead, down the row of pale grey street lamps lining the dark sidewalk. The soft grey glow of the moon illuminates the skyscraper standing tall in the center of the twisting roads of the city. The wires spreading from tower to tower are hidden by the night sky.

"I told you I just overheard it, it wasn't my own thought. I don't know who said it. It was days ago anyways, I don't even remember what I was wearing that day let alone all the people I passed by. Most of the people I walk by wear their masks anyways."

"You wore the overalls, a white shirt, and white shoes." He says. I used to say sneakers instead of shoes, but I was corrected until I changed my vocabulary. "Sneakers" holds negative connotations. You should not be sneaking around. "I wore a grey shirt, dark jeans, and white shoes."

"I remember now." I say. I don't remember. The only thing I do remember is the absence of the two birds sleeping in their nest in the neighbor's tree, beyond that is overwhelmingly blank. I liked seeing them for the few weeks they were there. I wonder if they moved or if one of the Bots scared them away. I hope they're safe.

"When are you scheduled to take the Assignment Test?" Brendon asks. One of the neighborhood Bots crosses under the street lamps. It pauses to look at us with its empty eyes, but moves on without a message. We have fifteen minutes to curfew. We live five minutes away. I'm sure we'll make it in time. We're almost nineteen.

"In two weeks, I think. I'll check the paper when I get home." I take it in two weeks, on Sunday afternoon. Two o'clock on the dot. "What about you?"

"Two days before you. On Friday night at six o'clock. Taylor's is an hour after mine."

"That's cool."

I am terrified to take the Assignment Test. I have never heard anything bad about it, and that is why it scares me. I know they stick pads on your forehead and they read your mind while you read a question booklet and fill out an answer sheet. Everybody does well on it. Nobody fails. However, somebody statistically has to fail. What happens to the failure? Do they break rule three and lie to their friends and family to assure them that they passed? Rule three should never be broken, but I fear I have already broken it. Nobody knows I did it, and nobody ever needs to.

Brendon checks his watch. There are ten minutes until nine o'clock. "We should probably start heading home. I don't want to be late."

I nod and stand alongside him. "Me neither. I'll see you in class tomorrow. Ten in the morning."

"Yes, and I will see you. Good night, Dallon."

"Good night, Brendon."

He gives me a smile before he sets off down the sidewalk back to his home. I go in the opposite direction. A Bot will be knocking at the door to do a routine check soon. Under special circumstances will I be allowed to return outside, but that has only happened once. I had to walk with my mother to the doctor's office when the table beside the couch lost a leg and the glass lamp toppled over on my foot. I can't run very fast, but I'm thankful I'm not classified as defective. Nobody is defective.

By the time I reach the doorstep, the Bots have started their rounds early. They're at the end of the road, checking up on the McHale's household. I have roughly twenty minutes to tidy up and look presentable.

My parents nod in greeting when I enter and shut the front door quietly behind me. The television is on, playing their favorite cooking program at half volume.

"How's the weather?" My mother asks. The lighter greys on the television cast gentle shadows across her plastic smile and eyes carved to display the same emotion, same with my father. I wish I knew what they looked like without those stupid masks on. They abide by the first rule very closely. I don't think I could ever live my life seeing the world through crescent moons for eyes.

"A little cold, but it's bearable. The Bots will be here soon. You should put on a jacket." I say. She turns to her husband and he goes to fetch her one of his sweaters.

"Now remember," the chef on screen says through her own mask, "do not place any extravagant garnishes atop the cake unless your guest is doing the same. It is wrong to outperform your friends and family..."

I can't hear the program when my door is shut, so it stays shut. I can't stand to listen to it anymore. It's still my mother's favorite after she gained access to it twenty years ago. She is a lovely person but she likes her routines and I am sick and tired of them. It's a mean thing to say that I would never want her to hear, but it's the truth. I wonder if my father is as tired of it as I am, but I doubt he is.

I stare at myself in the mirror hung from my closet door. Dark hair, lighter eyes, black sweatshirt, grey sweatpants, white shoes. No shoes on the carpet. I kick them off and nudge them next to my dresser. Grey socks. Those are fine. Socks are acceptable.

I pull off my sweatshirt and exchange it for a sleek white button-up shirt. I choose pressed black pants over sweatpants. When I was younger, I was allowed to wear pajamas when the Bots would visit. Now that I'm older and almost ready to start a life on my own, appearing presentable to others is important. I leave the neckties in the closet. I don't feel like wrestling with those tonight.

I know the Bots stay in the front room, but I tuck in the grey covers to my bed anyways. I smudge the mirror a bit because vanity is wrong. Mirrors should only be used to ensure you are presentable. I straighten the paintings on the wall adjacent to my bed. They're my own work from courses a few years ago meant to strengthen the artistic ability. I'm not particularly proud of them, but I am glad I was able to take the time to learn about the skill. Brendon had a difficult time with the paints. He didn't have as much fun as I did.

That's it. That's everything in my room. My closet stays shut, my dresser full of monochrome clothes, my bed, and my paintings. I refuse to keep a lamp anywhere near me. Yep. That's it.

I check my clothes in the mirror before I return to the front room. There are a few wrinkles in the sleeves so I roll them up to my elbows and pray nobody notices why. My parents are still watching the cooking program when there's a knock at the door. My mother reaches for the remote and turns the television off. My father takes her hand and they both stand beside me in front of the Bot standing in the doorway.

I never liked the Bot design. They're tall and constructed out of metal, running on wheels for legs. Their chests are large and designed to hold defense systems, but I've never known what they're defending us against. The creepiest feature is the set of eyes that sit above a mouth created to resemble blocky teeth. Small metal sheets contract and expand to give the illusion of eyelids to display emotion, but I always say them as empty eyes recording our every move. Children carry toys modeled after them to ease the fear as they grow, but most people my age didn't have those.

"Good evening," it says, "how are we feeling today?"

"Just fine," I reply, "we're all doing just fine today. It has been a wonderful day."

"A wonderful day indeed." The metal lids blink and the mouth tilts into a pleasant smile. "I admire your intent to remain presentable. Do you have any concerns you would like to report?"

I turn to my parents. They shake their heads and then turn to me. I can't see their eyes but I know they expect a truthful answer. The Bot chirps as it reads the silence.

Something is wrong. Something about this is wrong and I can't put my finger on it. I can't voice my concern and risk my life by questioning the rules of the flawless society we live in. Something is wrong but there is nothing wrong, and nothing will ever be wrong if there is something wrong.

My words catch in my throat. There is no truth. There is nothing wrong. "Nothing to report tonight."

The Bot nods in acknowledgement. Its head turns as it scans through the house, searching for items that are programmed as wrong in its systems. I don't know what items are considered to be wrong, but I don't own anybody, and I have never known somebody that has.

"Your home is lovely and well-kept. It's something you should be very proud of." It says. There's a slight ding and the eyes flash green. Green is good. "Have a pleasant night and a wonderful Monday morning. I hope you enjoy the remainder of your evening."

I smile and we wave goodbye as it backs out of the front room and shuts the door quietly. It rolls down the driveway and sidewalk up to the next house.

I slide my hands in my pockets. My parents sit back down on the sofa and return to the cooking program, their favorite, leaving me to stand and stare at the doorway by myself. I stand alone in the middle of the room, in my black and white clothes, and something is wrong.

Something is wrong. I don't think my life should be like this. I don't even know what my parents look like. I have never left this town and I never plan on it. Everything I have ever done has been done with the intention to further my life and perfect my skills. I will start a family and plan to raise a child to follow the exact same path that I went down. In two weeks, I will take a test to assign the rest of my life to me, and that is the end of it. That is it. That is the perfect life, and there is no reason for me to doubt that. The test is never wrong. The Bots are never wrong. The rules are never wrong. The Creator is never wrong, and The Creator will never be wrong. My life will be perfect.

There is no reason for me to doubt that.





Chapter 2

When I wake up I realize I had passed out in the clothes I had worn when the Bot stopped by for its evening checkup. Warm grey light cascades into my room through the slants shielding the window. I have thirty minutes until my courses for the day begin.

My black backpack is already packed with supplies. I don't need to prepare any food because I'll be finished by lunchtime. It's a nice day so I don't need to take my bike.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and take a glance in the mirror. I haven't brushed out my hair yet, my sleeves are still wrinkled and need to be rolled up again, and my pants look just fine.

Both of my parents are gone. I don't know where my dad works, but I know my mother is out gathering the ingredients for dinner this week. They usually get delivered by a Bot first thing in the morning, but the ordering system malfunctioned and grocery shopping is up to the families for now. That's the second time it's happened in my eighteen years of living.

I grab my keys from the hooks beside the door and lock it behind me. Brendon is waiting on the sidewalk for me, wearing grey, black, and more grey. He has the same backpack I do.

"You look nice today." He says. I yank on the adjustable strap to his backpack and he struggles to fix it and keep up.

"So do you."

"Are we walking or taking public transportation?"

Just as he asks, the transport for our neighborhood speeds by and turns the corner. "We'll get some good exercise in this morning."

He nods and we set off down the street together. I vaguely remember the path to our destination, but Brendon has always been consistent with directions. He'll know where to go.

"Do you think Taylor is taking public transportation today?" He frowns and wraps his hands around the backpack straps. The sun is shining and there isn't a cloud in the sky, but he's wearing dark grey jeans and a light grey t-shirt with a long sleeve white shirt underneath. That's a cold weather outfit. I wonder if something is wrong.

"She may have taken her bike. She doesn't like to walk everywhere. For all we know, she left already."

He sighs. "You're right. We can walk by and see. If she isn't, we'll continue. If she is, we'll ask if she'd care to join us."

"That sounds wonderful." I say.

Neither of us say say anything of importance for a while. Most of the comments we make compliment the weather or clear concerns from our courses. This is our last year of lessons, we can't risk failure now. The Assignment Test would not provide the most enjoyable results if that were to be the case. Perhaps it's the constant reminder of possible failure that has been looming over me. Maybe that's what's wrong.

We round the corner of the neighborhood and catch sight of Taylor. She's sitting on the curb outside of her house, wearing an outfit similar to mine but more refined and sleek. Her bicycle sits on its side next to her with a flat tire. When she sees us, she waves and abandons her transportation to walk over to us.

"I was waiting for a Bot to arrive and take my bike to the handymen," she doesn't hesitate to join us on our walk immediately, "I didn't want to walk to my courses all alone."

Brendon squints at it as we draw closer. "What happened?"

"My cat."

I wish I had a cat, even a dog would do. They're rarely allowed in a household. It's an extensive process to confirm the adoption of a pet, but her parents have a past working with domestic animals so they have a simplistic procedure in comparison.

"That's inconvenient." I say. "I'm sorry."

She shrugs and gives one last glance over her shoulder as we pass by her front yard. "It's a simple fix. The Bots will take care of it."

Of course they will. The Bots take care of everything. There isn't a single thing that couldn't be done by them. That hits me all at once. I guess I never really thought about it before.

Every time we cross an intersection, Bots standing at the corners motion us when it's safe to go, despite the vehicles being run by Bots and therefore are nothing to be concerned about. They don't need to be there, but they are. They're stationed for a reason.

I can't help but wonder what the sensors and cameras in their eyes pick up, if they're actually artificial intelligence or if someone is standing by and directly watching us through them. They're always there. Always watching.

I don't remember a time when they haven't been watching. They were at the playground, overseeing the slides and sandbox. At primary courses, examining the scissor blades before we were allowed to use them. Secondary courses, when studying became a mandatory habit in and out of sessions. Course Completion celebrations, to ensure the desserts were decorated according to the programs. Every single night, they make their rounds to every single house in the city.

Always watching. Always.

Brendon yanks on the strap of my backpack. All three of us are standing outside of the main building, alone. Courses haven't begun yet. I don't know how I got here. I don't remember walking so far.

I catch a Bot moving out of the corner of my eye. It glances over Taylor's shoulder and stares at us, it stares at me. The eyes twitch and focus in on me. I can't believe I never noticed nor recognized their permanent presence before.

Taylor turns around with wild eyes to see what I'm locked on, but as soon as she makes the connection, she sighs in relief. "It's just a Bot. One of the new security ones."

That's not what I'm thinking about. How quickly can they connect to the database to profiles of every person they have ever come in contact with? How quickly can they realize that I know something is wrong? Nothing was wrong last week, but something was wrong yesterday. Something is wrong right now, and the Bots know what it is and how to tell if anybody else knows. Where did this anxiety and fear come from?

I'm being paranoid for no reason.

"I'm sorry. I had an unprecedented moment of disassociation."

Taylor frowns but shrugs it off. She wasn't there when I vaguely accused the city's system of being flawed. Brendon was there, however, and my comment does not appear to sit with him well.

He glances at the Bot, then at me, then at the main building. He's clearly uncomfortable. "We should take a walk."

That catches Taylor's attention. She points to the main building behind her. "We have courses beginning in a few minutes. There isn't time for sidetracking activities."

"We'll call in absence later and apologize," he grabs my wrist and begins to lead me away, "neither of us have missed a day before."

"Ever." I say. The Bots start to gather in my peripheral vision. They're watching me. They know that I know something is wrong. I have to get out of here. Why have I never noticed?

Taylor crosses her arms and debates convincing us to either let her tag along, or hang up the act and attend courses.

"Whatever," she sighs after an eternity, "I'll see you both later. I express my gratitude for walking with me to courses this morning."

"You're welcome. I hope your bicycle gets repaired as soon as possible." Brendon says. I nod and wave goodbye over my shoulder as I get dragged away.

We march together in silence as we pass by Bots and through intersections, past my home and into the empty field behind the neighborhood. It stretches on as far as the eye can see, and even further. I've lived so close to it, but never dared to set foot past the watch towers off in the distance. Nobody knows what's out there.

"What has gotten into you?" Brendon snaps, grabbing on to my shirt and shaking the life out of me. "Are you trying to betray our Creator? Are you trying to question everything we know?"

I stare at the cold shadows we cast on the ground. Perhaps I'm beginning to sweat from the accusations of early insanity, or the grey sun casting warmth over the field. "No, I am not."

"Then what are you doing?! What has gotten into you, Dallon?"

I don't know. I don't know what has gotten into me. I don't know what neutral and unquestioning state I should be returning to because I don't remember anything vague past yesterday. I know my name, how I look, the two primary colors, my course schedule, and I know that something is wrong.

"I... I can't put my finger on it." I say. A smooth breeze tousles the lush grey plants below our feet. "I don't know."

I expect him to fire back with anger and phrases meant to suppress whatever blasphemous thoughts have been polluting my mind, but I don't hear anything for a few minutes.

When he does speak, it's soft and concerned. "We've been partners for years. I don't know what's happened to you."

"I don't know either." I don't even know what it means to be partners. I recall the word 'love' from last night, but that's it. "I don't know what to do."

"Neither do I."

"Something is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong."

He's wrong. We stand inches apart in the field and allow the silence to mend the rift between us, but I only feel a divergence. With every breath he takes, whatever feeling we had to match us together as partners, dissipates.

For just a second, a split second, everything is different and all the warm feelings I have towards him return in a burst of light and something I automatically determine as color.

Color. It's a split second, but the image in front of me is blazed into my brain. Blue sky. Green grass. Orange flowers. Yellow shirt. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Purple hills of the field.

The second is gone. The wash of bright happiness is gone just as quickly as it appeared. The field is washed in a mixture of gray. My life is black and white.

Oh, yeah. Something is definitely wrong.