I can hear the rain pouring outside. I imagine the dark rolling clouds and pretend that I am watching as they cry cold tears onto the gray academy walls. I breathe in the scent of fresh rain and new promises, feeling at peace, as I dream of standing outside and actually experiencing the rain. The closest I’ve gotten to how I believe it would feel is when I pretended I was during my shower. I could feel the rain dripping down my cheek like tears, my hair wet. My uniform soaked. And I felt free, like birds who can spread their wings and fly through golden skies.
I shake my head softly. That’s a ridiculous thought, Madyson, I tell myself and try to read the textbook in my hand. Pencils tap on marble, and thick pages flip, but besides that, silence suffocates the marble library. I know I should be–need to be– used to the silence, but it feels heavy and weighs the air, despite the library being airy and light and absolutely beautiful. Marble columns form arches, holding the building above our heads and defying gravity. They are carved with delicate birds and sharp flowers, which I don’t believe anyone has actually seen from outside of the academy. Books are stacked perfectly, neatly filling the walls one next to the other. Row after row. Shelf next to shelf. Wonderful and beautiful, and I still feel trapped. It doesn’t matter. I would not be an advantage to the Establishment if I went outside, fooled around and died. It’s been forbidden since we took the Decision Assessment, the test that determined whether we were academically strong or physically strong, when we turned ten, and sent us to learn or train at the two very different schools.
Since I took the test and scored intellectually strong, we’ve been told it’s too dangerous to go out. The war outside will rage on until we find a solution. Until then, we’ll become smarter and stronger. Besides, once I take the Final Assessment, the test that will determine who the smartest out of all the tenth year students at the academy are, allowing the very best to graduate to The Establishment. Only a few, and only the best make. The rest will be sent to train briefly as low-grade soldiers before being sent to fight for their kingdom.
Statistics show that 80 percent of the soldiers supplied by the academy die in the war if they don’t graduate. But they deserve that, don’t they? For not being the best?
I wasn’t sure if it was fair to die for not being as smart or as strong, but I didn’t have the right to doubt the Establishment. They’ve been telling us that we need to be the best, work hard, learn hard, be smart and be better. Everyone here is my enemy because everyone fights for a spot, is what they tell us.
I don’t have time to think about that as the hour bell rings rhythmically as it has for the past ten years I’ve been to this school, and I assume many more before then. It’s a good thing though, every student who has whispered something conflicting The Establishment’s methods had to take the Final Assessment before they were ready. I refuse for that to happen to me.
Because they all failed, and were sent to fight in the war. I grab my notebook and the Economy Textbook I checked out and put them in my academic bag, falling behind the students walking out of the E 203, Library. The next class I have is War Strategy.
I’m almost halfway there when the school speakers kick in, “Attention, all tenth year students. Please make your way to the Auditorium.” The voice cuts out just as quick, leaving me confused and wondering. What could possibly be going on that they wouldn’t have told us about weeks in advance? Nothing here is done by surprise.
My classmate from Weapon Manufacturing Science, Julliana, looks at me and shrugs. I look away, keeping my eyes forward.
“Do you think we are testing early?” I whisper to her when we’re halfway to the auditorium. Doubt weighs down my chest, the Final Assessment isn’t supposed to happen for another 2 weeks. Julliana opens her mouth to answer but a cool voice interrupts us from behind.
“Even if we are,” he says, striding past us. “I’ll be fine.”
I keep my face neutral, not engaging in Jason’s immature verbal communication. Follow the rules, Madysyn, repeat them, and be better than him. That’s how I’ll get a spot in The Establishment.
Jason laughs, “I guess that doesn’t comfort you, though, Madysyn.”
I turn away. It’s better to be called feeble by students than get in trouble by professors. The tenth year students begin to line up around the auditorium door, waiting to be told their number to get to their assigned seat. The lady at the desk gives me my number and I turn the opposite way as my other two classmates, walking up the steep stairs to seating level 2. I sit down in the cushioned chair, sinking into it quietly as I watch as other tenth year students fill the room and the seats. After only about 5 minutes of thoughts swirling in my head about what could possibly be going on, the dim golden lights in the massive room switch off, dramatically moving to the stage. We watch attentively as the dean of the school walks on the stage through the back curtain, suit crisp, his dark hair combed, his mouth set in his standard strict way and his eyebrows furrowed, giving him the constant look of being displeased. I feel the room straighten, tension thick through the air.
“Tenth year students,” he starts, his authoritative voice loud through the speakers. “The war that has ravaged our beautiful homeland for the past 300 years remains static. The armies supplied to the effort through the failures of the system, may they get what they deserve-–”
The entire student body of tenth years repeat, “They will get what they deserve,” as custom. I join in and say it with them, though I wonder once again if it’s truly fair to die on the battlefields for the simple reason of being worse than someone else. I force away the thought, guilty I’m not complying completely like everyone else.
The dean motions for us to be quiet. The room is once again silent. “As I was saying, our armies are diminishing quicker than they are being reproduced. To supply to the needs of the public and yourselves, The Establishment needs only the top intellectual students. The Final Assessment will be more difficult than past years and will cut off more students from the higher ranks. Of course, as was the case for past year students, if you don’t pass with the required score to graduate to higher ranks, you will serve your kingdom by fighting for it. That is all, tenth year students. Please return to your respective classes and remember the Final Assessment will take place in two weeks, as scheduled.”
More students are being cut off from living out of the war zone? I force myself to breathe normally, to not let my panic show. This just means I have to be better than everyone else, that’s all.
Just work harder, think smarter, be better.
Two weeks pass in a blur of studying, tired hands and dread. I’d wake up each day with determination to pass the test, writing and reading and studying until the sun went down beyond these gray walls that contain me inside. My hands would ache from the writing but my chest burns with satisfaction. I am going to pass the Final Assessment. I have to.
This morning I woke up with an eagerness for the day, the day of the Final Assessment. I pace in my small room, walking back and forth, repeating dates and events in my head, going over facts of the Balandium Empire, the kingdom we’re in a war with. It rolls in my mind like honey, smooth and steady. Anticipation nearly chokes me as I wait for the speakers to call the E Wing student residence in for testing.
I remind myself that if each testing time is an hour, I will be called in around noon, but the thought does nothing to settle me. I keep myself occupied by going over notes, repeating them in my head, sometimes I practice by speaking out loud to the silent room, but nothing I do completely calms me. I can’t wait until I get this testing over with and I leave to continue schooling with the other people who pass the test.
“Wing E tenth year students, please make your way to Study Hall,” the speakers order. I nearly sigh with gratitude as the door clicks unlocked and I leave the room, falling in single file behind everyone else in E Wing.
I try not to fidget with my hands as I walk in line, towards my future.
At the entrance of the study hall, test advisers give the student’s their assigned seating number. I look up once at the grand marble swirls that mark the entrance to the study hall. When I was younger, I dreaded simple tests here because of how uncomfortable the room was, table after cold hard table that sat students working quickly and restlessly, flying through textbook pages.
My dislike of the room didn’t prevent me from spending countless hours here. When my professors learned of my disfavor, I was assigned to work here for hours on end, the stale air biting my skin and my mind on the brink of insanity from the stark white walls. Because, after all, it’s important we learn to work through pain and discomfort. I spent most of my childhood in this room studying, and now that I’m almost finished with all my years of school, I feel a sense of pride as I step through the doors for the very last time before my future is decided.
After everyone is signed up for testing and takes their assigned seats in the study hall, the Test Advisers go over the rules, the time limit, and the amount of questions that should be expected. Then they tell us to start. I fly through the multiple choice questions, facts and random knowledge throughout the years. But then it turns into writing questions. I use logical reasoning to deal with war, come up with strategies, and give my ideas how to best infiltrate the bases. Each one slowly gets harder and harder, until I’m struggling to not shout out with frustration. They never taught us this! How am I supposed to kno–
“Times up, E Wing Tenth Year students.” The head advisor dismisses us,“please return to your residential wing. Your score will arrive by midnight tonight. Thank you for your compliance.”
Students begin to get up to leave, but I sit there reeling. What? No, no, no, no. I need more time! That can’t be it, it can’t be! I just…
I can’t move out of my seat, unable to believe I wasn’t even able to finish the test. I look around noticing many students have the same shocked expression I imagine I have. This isn’t fair!
“Get up and return to your residential wing, tenth wing students.” One of the advisers warns harshley. “If you continue to refuse to listen to these orders, you’ll be forcefully removed from the testing premises.”
I force myself to move my legs and clench my shaking hands. Just get to your dorm, and everything will be fine. It’s going to be okay. You passed. You had to have. I get back to the dorm in a daze, not quite sure what I’m doing. I repeat that I’m going to be okay to myself as I pace the room back and forth, back and forth, unable to sleep or study. I watch the small clock intensely in the corner of the room that keeps the school on schedule, waiting minute by minute for midnight to arrive.
11:59
Midnight.
A letter falls into the mailbox by the desk from the communication tubes that spread into every dorm room, every class and every room. I open the metal part that contains them, take a deep sigh and peel the red seal off the envelope slowly. I take out the folded letter, terrified all my hard work over the years is going to be for nothing. I unfold the letter, skimming over the length of it, unable to control the urge to know.
“–-we are pleased to inform you that, although you did not meet the intelligence requirements to graduate further beyond this point, you will be allowed to support and help your Kingdom by fighting in the war effort. You are thanked tremendously by The Establishment, Madyson Lyndon.”
The letter falls out of my hand. It was all for nothing, absolutely nothing.
They are sending me to die in the war.
Scylee Groseth is a sophomore at Verrado High School. Her love for writing did not come when she started to write, it started when she would play games with her sisters with pieces of paper and their imaginations. Along with writing, Scylee loves to spend time with God, her friends, and her family. She also loves to take walks in the morning, run track, and play volleyball as a hobby. She wants to travel when she’s older and explore the beautiful world that God made.
Printed Courtesy of Scylee Groseth
