Pale Yellow

Brielle was classified as a dangerous unknown form age 7 when the government officials couldn't decode her DNA codes. Forced to go silently and calmly by the government for a decade causes her to act out with a small bit of rebellion. To keep herself from being taken and locked up, she leaves to join the resistance and try to stop what she believes to be morally wrong.

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2. I am a 0.

There's always that great moment right before fully waking up, when you can't sort out dream from reality, when the whole world is at a standstill, and everything is perfect. Then you open your eyes, and The dreams and realities quickly sort themselves out, and more than often, at once, the world isn't nearly as perfect as it seemed.

That moment for me regularly consisted of the same events. First, a dream. A dream where I was normal. Where I was a classification like a 12 or a 17 or a 65. Where I went to the Learning House every year from September to February. Where I would come home and hang out with relatives and chill with friends and be someone's valentine and flirt with boys and get in trouble and go to parties during vacation for 2 weeks. Where I'd go back to the Learning House from the end of February to June where I would do a bit of the same things before graduating. I would get a graduate and have a huge party. A few years Later I would fall in love and get married to a brilliant, amazing guy and we'd have a beautiful home and even more beautiful kids. Where I was happy.

Second, I would wake up, but not fully. I would smile, waiting for my husband to wake me with a kiss, but after laying there for a moment without one, I would become confused.

Third, I would open my eyes. And I would remember everything. No boy loves me. I have nearly no friends. I was expelled from the learning house on my third day there. I am 17. I am an outcast, I am a 0.

○○○

I sat up in my huge, circular bed surrounded by poofy cream sheets and decorative pillows. My back was towards a tall, deep red violet wall. I blinked in the bright morning light and frowned. Just like my mom to let me sleep in after a late interview the night before. I examined my spacious room, tidy from Coralie, our house keeper. The walls included two red violet ones, behind me and to the left with the door, and two cream ones, in front of me and to the right. They arched high around me up to the peaked ceiling where skylights lay, sucking sunlight into my room. The cream wall at my left was stacked to the high ceiling with large, square windows reaching about 30 feet. There were two french doors in the middle that led to my balcony outside. The room was full of tasteful furniture and accessories. Opposite the room for me was my huge closet which contained a fairly large sum of designer clothes.

This room renovation was my half-birthday present 3 months ago. It was a bit ridiculous actually but I knew my mom had enjoyed being the fashionista she is and decorating it. She was hoping that on my birthday in August, when I become an adult, the 2s will let me roam free dressed in all my clothes and live my dreams like a normal civilian. That she'll finally have a normal daughter. I would hope that she'd be right, but I know she won't be. I feel bad. Any 8 in the world's worst nightmare would be having a 0 for a daughter. Most 8s dreams are to have children that are 8s and have them be in beauty pageants and become heart-throbs. My mom got stuck with me. I guess I'm not really ugly, but no boy could ever see past the fact that I'm a 0. I have long, wavy, nearly black hair and grey blue eyes. I'm tan, just under 4'12” and am pretty skinny. When my little 8-year-old image was flashed on all the holo TVs after Brielle Cherish was announced a 0, people couldn't believe me dangerous. The 2s have worked hard enough though, so they all fear me. Everyone. The Whole Globe's population. I plan on changing that though.

The speaker in my room crackled to life with a small “pft”. “Brielle,” dad's voice sighed, “Mackenzie will be here in 20 minutes. She isn't happy, hon. Why on earth did you say that in the interview? We need to go quietly and easily like the 2s say, Pumpkin.”

“I know, dad” I replied, “I'm sorry. I'll be down in 5.” I rubbed my eyes, pulling away a long eyelash caught on my fist. A faint smile danced across my lips. I pinched the hair between my pointer finger and thumb. I held my breath and wished hard, blowing the eyelash across the bedspread. I moved my feet lazily to the deep brown wood floor and teetered onto my feet. Arching my back, I floated onto my tiptoes pondering the interview last night. Coming out of the stretch, I decided that Mackenzie would be absolutely furious with me. The one interview she was too busy to supervise. Mackenzie was a 13, kinda a lawyer. My lawyer. I had seen an opportunity and taken it. I smiled at the thought of how Mackenzie's face would look when she'd walk through the door. She would be waving her holo hardrive in the air and glaring at me. On the speaker, dad had sounded like he and mom must've already watched the broadcast. I wondered what they thought of it.

Mac, my ancient canary twitted from his large, vintage cage by the windows. I smiled, walking over to feed him. I was sure that my mom would disprove of the interview. She went along with the government. She sort of even feared them. Not that they were scary, she just was a pretty face. an 8 who didn't want her image ruined. Of course I loved her though. I even pitied her. My grandpa had almost disowned her on several occasions claiming that she would put the 2s above her morals. My dad, however, like my mom's father, was constantly standing up for what he believed in, just not too extreme.

I wandered over to my closet and pulled the immense doors open, revealing row upon row of dresses and skirts and gowns and shirts and jeans and purses and shoes. I bravely walked to the back wall of my closet, the most mom-style things. Dresses designed newly from the 17s, the clothes designers. I guess being a kiss-up was a pretty accurate description of what I was doing. I liked much simpler dresses and outfits, still fashionable, but not specially-designed like my mom. I pulled down what I knew to be her favorite selection of my clothes, a Caribbean Ocean Blue dress that wrapped loosely around my body. It reminded me of the games my parents would play before paper was restricted for every-day use. It was when there were two or more groups of two children. One child from each group would have a roll of tissue paper and they would have to wrap up every inch of their partner quicker than the others, only this dress just covered my shoulders and below. It tightly wrapped around my arms and chest, then loosely spiraled around my torso and legs. I remember when my mom placed it in my closet during room renovations, she had gushed about how nicely it complimented my eyes. I knew how sad she was that I never put it on.. until now. And she was right. It carefully accentuated my every curve and made it look like my eyes were the Caribbean itself, dancing with life, laughter, and our steel drums, swaying like the ocean itself. I decorated my arms with a few bangles and floated through the door in my closet and into my bathroom. I padded over to the huge mirror in the center of the tiled room, yanking a drawer open and snatching some makeup on the way. I pressed my nose up close to it's surface and twisted the familiar bottle of Midnight Black mascara open. I quickly swept the brush up my long lashes a couple times, then looked at the pile of unfamiliar objects on the counter below me. I never really wore anything apart from mascara, but if I was kissing up to my mom today, I might as well go all out. I picked out a light, light pink blush and swayed the poofy brush in it. I lightly trailed it across my cheeks and added some light pink lip gloss as well. I reaches for my metal-framed glasses from the cupboard out of habit. Most people fix their bad vision when they're born, but 0s aren't allowed some benefits such as eye surgery. My mom did buy me contacts, but I refused them, sticking to the comfortable glasses. Most glasses were just a fashion statement, but I had my mom especially request a prescription pair. I reached my hand into the cupboard but paused, my hand resting on the smooth, cool wood surface. I switched direction and grabbed the unfriendly, small case that contained my contacts, reminding myself that I was going for mom-approval.

I quickly made my way to the front of the closet. I seemed to float through the door and into my room fit for a princess. I swayed to the left, towards my immense wall of glass. I rested my hands on the smooth, cool silver handles of the french doors, gazing out into my picturesque world.. I pushed down on the levers and swung them open, feeling the air suck itself through the small opening from one huge world to the next. The dark wood floor seamlessly flowed through my room to the balcony. My mom had tried to decorate it with weave-furniture, rugs, and cushions, but I wouldn't let her. This little space was my own little world. The place where no one, under any circumstances would bother me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was aware that there was an energy field surrounding my balcony, triggered to my DNA making sure I couldn't escape, but why did I have to let that bother me? When a 2 or Mackenzie visited, they could supervise me to the shore or the dock. I wasn't always confined to my house. Every 2 was authorized to accompany anywhere in the Cayman Isles as they saw fit. Mackenzie almost always was kind enough to take me where I wanted. As for the 2s, it really depended on their attitude towards me as a 0.

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