The administrator was a tall, thin man with a sharp face and cold eyes. He was always impeccably dressed, and he had a way of making everyone around him feel uncomfortable. The administrator was in charge of facilitating the annual testing for the Three Rivers region, and he took his job very seriously. After all, his failure would mean the failure to follow the laws of nature-- and that had already happened once.
The testing center, unusually sterile, felt almost clinical. Even the old town hall, which used to be a gas station before the green revolution, had the well-worn patina that comes by being used and seeing age. Balmore and the others from Platteville filed in after the testing administrator into a large white room from floor, to walls, to ceiling. The only thing marring the otherwise pristine canvas of the room was a single commercial-kitchen style door imposing itself on the far wall. The administrator turned around and looked for a moment as if he wanted to admonish the teenagers for dirtying the floor behind them but thought better of it and cleared his voice instead.
“I will call your name once, and only once. At such time you will either proceed through the far door for evaluation, or you may exit the facility from where you will be returned to the earth--”
“From which grows our future and our past” the children chorused, interrupting the man. Balmore had always held a slight against the call and responses that had become so commonplace throughout his region of the New America, but nevertheless complied adding his own voice to the mix.
“Yes now, well alright then… Johannes Carpenter.” With little hesitation a girl besides Balmore stood up and walked to and through the door. The only sounds that briefly disturbed the respectful silence were the soft pads of her leather boots on the tile and the greased swing of the far door. The administrator seemed to count the breaths coming out of his mouth to a count of five before reading off the next name.
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“Asha Bakshi.” An Indian girl wearing a dress that was more a canvas bag stood up shaking. She made her way out the door they came in. Before anyone could react with anything other than open mouths and side eyes a gunshot rang out and through the ears of everyone inside.
“From which grows our future and past.” Balmore, usually indifferent to such rituals, found himself unable to join. His heart raced, his ears popped, his eyes unfocused, and a primal fear gripped him. Balmore did not want to die. He did not want to die today. He did not want to die tomorrow. He did not ever want to die. Unbeknownst to others but keenly observed by the administrator, Balmore's eyes met the sharp gaze of the man. The administrator looked over a small notebook from his breast pocket before returning back to look at Balmore.
“Balmore Davidson.” Oddly enough, the sound of his own name seemed to calm Balmore. This, he was prepared for. His family had a legacy of survival in the face of the yearly population cull. Balmore, groomed for this moment, confidently brushed past the administrator, catching a glint of a smirk that vanished as quickly as it appeared. He continued to press on through the door seeing nothing but a medical exam chair before him. He confidently took his place, as though it were a throne he was claiming and not a coffin.
Balmore's calm demeanor masked a hidden turmoil, a burden of his family's history etched into the fabric of his being. Generations of Davidsons had navigated the enigmatic annual ritual, a somber tradition linked to Earth's tribulations. Since childhood, he'd been shaped by unspoken expectations, preparing him for a role intricately tied to the survival of his lineage. As he confidently sat upon the exam chair awaiting his fate, an unspoken pact lingered in the air—an ancestral agreement veiled in harsh rearing and oral traditions. The administrator's fleeting smirk haunted him and hinted at a shared understanding, leaving the weight of Balmore's responsibility ever heavier.
Balmore felt sharp pains across his spine and neck as the chair went about its business. The metal needles were cold, and he could feel them inside himself. The smallest bit of fluid leaked out of him at the site of each injection, and he could feel it shifting as worm-like wires began their journey through his body. He wondered briefly where the other girl had gone. He saw no other door out of this place, and no sign of her ever having been there in the first place. His musings were cut short though as a sudden and overwhelming darkness overtook him.