
Scorch
Abigail Gibson | Belle Vue Primary School |
English | Term 3 2024
Chapter 1
Tendrils of black smog emerged from them, causing the grass around them to wither and crumble to ashes and dirt. The morning sky was as dark as the depths of the untamed ocean that surrounds the city, and storm clouds obscured the stars. “Is it today master?” A raspy voice called out to the darkness. A cruel smile appeared in the murk, the only thing visible around there in the early hours of the autumn morning. You could hear the ocean splashing and the wind whipping it into a frenzy in the early tide. But the words that were next uttered would drown everything else out. “Soon, my loyal follower, soon.”
***
Panic floods my chest, swirling and spreading, sending a shiver down my spine. Today is the day I turn 14. By tonight, there is a small chance I could be dead. Never to be seen again.
In the city of Lorena, on the day you turn 14, you have a small possibility that you are Taken. Nobody knows by who, or what for that matter. You just disappear. People reassure me that it is highly unlikely I will be gone before the sun sets tonight. But just in case, most families don’t celebrate children’s birthdays until they survive past the day they turn 14. You wouldn’t want to be celebrating a child that will be a corpse when they turn 14, right? I groan in frustration. These people in the city are deranged and need to get their priorities straight. But these people are my family. These people are my home. Not celebrating birthdays is a minor consideration. They give me everything. Well, everything that I need so that I can work for them later in this endless cycle of boring life. I think bitterly.
“You ready for school?” my mother calls out in her sing-song voice from down the stairs. I jump, my train of thoughts gone.
“y-yeah.” I say, my voice shaking slightly. “I’ll be right there soon.”
The city of Lorena, the city of the ocean as some like to call it, is a futuristic city that lives on metal beams that lift it out of the ocean. The houses are made of water-resistant metal and the glass is thick with small openings that have locks on them. Our skyscrapers touch the clouds, but like most of the city, is not designed for beauty, but for practicality. The most beautiful, ornate thing in this whole science wonder city is the park with its green grass, small wildflowers and towering trees. It has a glass sculpture in the centre that glows at sunrise and sunset. Unfortunately for me though, it’s in the east sector.
The city circle has all the workplaces and factories, where most citizens end up working to run the city to keep it from turning to rust at the bottom of the ocean. The east side has the shops, schools, the park and exercise centre. It’s where the fun happens because only there are children allowed to run. The northern side has the wealthy residents who are mainly egomaniac and wish to control the whole of the city. The southern side is full of the average people with families. The western side has the peasants and low-pay workers and is rusted, old, and miserable. Lastly, the outer circle, where the fishermen live. My father calls them the daredevils, risking their life to produce the food. My mother calls them the idiots because they perform crazy stunts like somersaulting into the ocean on New Year’s Eve.
I tread down the stairs, re-adjusting my blue pleated skirt and putting my hair into a messy bun. I wonder if we are having toast for breakfast instead of fish curry or dried seaweed like usual, I ponder hopefully.
“Ah, you’re finally up and moving! Come to the kitchen and have your fish curry, my darling.” My mother exclaims sweetly. I scowl. “Again, fish curry? We’ve had it for breakfast for 2 weeks straight!” Mother gives me a disapproving glance and sighs. “Would you prefer to have anchovies then?” I make a disgusted face and put on an extravagant show of pretending to gag and die due to the revolting thought of anchovies. We both laugh until our stomachs hurt and we are leaning against the wall to stop ourselves from falling to the floor in howling laughter.
“Come now, you must eat breakfast, or you are going to be late for school Sumi!” my mother cries, standing up straight. I nod, although inside I am disappointed that this carefree moment has ended. I straighten my skirt once again and my mother tucks a strand of my chestnut-coloured hair behind my ear. Her pale skin looks like a ghost in comparison to my warm-coloured skin.
My feet tapping on the steel floor, (nobody wants wood because the water would just make it rot and fall apart) I make my way to the kitchen table. My older brother is already at the table wolfing down his curry before dashing out the door to the café in the east section. He got hired there last month as he needed a job to fill his dull days. And to fill his empty mind with some knowledge apart from ‘eat food’ and ‘be late.’ I added cheekily. He wasn’t the smartest one around. He failed in nearly every class. Only because of mother and father is he still in the south sector. If one of them were to drop dead right now he would be on his merry way to the west sector due to the lack of money he owns. I shake my head and sigh, nibbling on my fish curry.
Eyes scanning across the living room, my eyes fall onto the singular painting in the house. It’s a painting of our family. My mother had sketched it a few years ago to celebrate my brother’s 14th birthday. Tomorrow, another portrait will make its way on the wall next to it. My present. I can just imagine it. Me, smiling next to the rest of the family. A painting that has all the colours imaginable. As beautiful as the ocean. I glance at the small metal clock in the corner of the room. Damn! I think in my head as I practically inhale my food. I’m late for school! I sprint out of the door and slam it behind me, hoisting my bag on my shoulder and making my way towards school.
***
“Miss Hemsworth, you’re late for class.” snarled the teacher. “Sit down and grab your books. We are doing history.” Slipping into my seat, I grab the leather-bound history book out of my bag and flip to page 81. The teacher continued droning on about the marvelous creators of the city and its founding architecture, while I did what I usually did, studying the map that had been scrawled in on the bottom of the page. Obviously someone who owned the book before me had put this in. Whoever did it though was rushed or had bad handwriting, because of its awful quality. It was a plain map of the city sectors. She did not mind the map. In fact, it gave her an extra boost in geography. But the words underneath always troubled her. The words did not make sense, they were like an unsolved riddle.
I was sure that my day could not get any worse when the school bell at the end of the day rang. History sucked. I got a detention at lunchtime because the history teacher thought I was slacking off. Maths sucked. We were learning algebra. I mean, why are letters in Maths? It does not even help. It does nothing to make the problem any easier to solve. The only good class was English. I love to write stories, because I feel every person’s life is worthy of a story. Although, most people disagree with me. They think Maths or Science is better because it is useful. They want to be useful. I’m not useful.
I decide that I will take a detour home. I’ll go though the city centre, to the west sector, then back down to the south sector. I just want to be alone. I pass by the bustling streets of the east sector, which usually holds my attention due to the wondrous smells and beautiful sights, but today it is only a nuisance.