Rogue

I’m in the middle of landing my first ever front flip when my tracker beeps, signalling I have a new message.

The split second distraction causes me to miscalculate and my BMX skids sideways, crushing my leg to the ground. It burns like a motherfucker, and when I look down at my legs, I see a nasty red graze up the side of my thigh.

Trey runs over, holding his skateboard underneath his arm. ‘Shit, Rogue. That was a hard fall. Are you ok?’

I stand up and shrug it off. ‘Ive had worse.’

‘What happened?’

I look down at my wrist. The number 2 blinks back at me. Glowing blue lights illuminate it from underneath my skin, signalling I have two unread messages.

I point to my wrist, ‘This happened.’

When we are born, a doctor implants a tracker underneath our skin, allowing the government to keep tabs on us. My gran tells me that back in the old days, people used to wear something called a smart watch, which virtually allowed them to do the exact same thing. Over the years, the AI technology improved so much that they passed a law making bionic computer chips mandatory for all citizens.

Trey frowns at me. ‘You never get messages. Now you get two in one day. Arent you curious about what they say?’

I snort obnoxiously at my best friend. ‘I already know what they are, Trey, so do you.’

Trey wrestles me to the ground, pinning my arms with his knees. He takes my hand and wraps his fingers around my thumb, forcing it down over my wrist to open the messages. He jumps off me and I curse at him, asshole.

A small 3D projection shoots up out of my wrist and a beautiful woman with immaculate blonde hair twisted into some fancy updo speaks excitedly.

Rogue Madden, your presence is required at the annual woman’s inauguration in two days’ time at Nirvana Palace. With the goddess’s blessings, we shall find you a husband!

P.S. Attendance is not optional.

Somehow, I suspect they added the last sentence in just for me.

‘I’m running away.’

‘You can’t Rogue! Remember what happened to Maisey?’

I certainly remember what happened, unfortunately. Sweet Maisey dropped dead in the middle of the road when she didn’t show for her inauguration - poor girl.

Additionally, whenever the cronies at the capital see fit, they can activate the poison contained in the delightful little chip on our wrists. I guess that’s one way to control the masses - no use for jail cells anymore.

‘You’re not running away, Rogue. I know you, you won’t disappoint your gran. You’re all she has.’

My parents died during the aftermath of the war. It’s no big deal, though. It happened to everyone. I was only a baby and can’t remember them, so there’s no point in feeling sorry for myself. I actually think it’s a blessing that I can’t remember them. It’s the memories that destroy you.

If you were one of the lucky ones, the bombs killed you on impact. If not, and you were like my parents, the radiation eventually got to you. It slowly and painfully killed off what was left of the population, leaving only a few stubborn mules left - such as my gran, me and Trey.

The capital call where we live, on the outskirts of the city, the wastelands. The people who survived here were the 1 percenters. Somehow, we could withstand the radiation and were immune to the toxicity of the air. Trey used to say we were kind of like mutants, without the three heads and gross oozing green skin thing.

The war left the capital city, Nirvana, untouched. Thanks to its technological advances funded by the elite, its walls and shield system saved them from the destruction.

Though despite this, they still failed to thrive. Over the years, their population started to become very male dominated, and in the last two years, only sons have been born. Females are now a precious and rare commodity. Lucky me.

This leads us to today, and the messages I received.

I turned 18 a few days ago. Which now means I’ve technically come of age, ready to be paired off with some stuffy prick who wants to use me for the sole purpose of improving his social standing. Hopefully, in turn, breeding me to produce an heir, preferably a highly sought after one - a female.

I sit down with my gran and watch the news on the television while we eat dinner. It’s never anything of substance, yet we tune in every day to hear the latest gossip happening in Nirvana.

The media here controls everything. Powerful corporations in the capital decide what we can watch, listen to, read and share - all in the name of control.

The news has currently been paused for an important announcement. The same blonde woman who sent me a message on my tracker, sits proudly in front of a microphone, all dolled up in the capitals finery. A full skirt made if silk and tulle puffs out ridiculously and the tight bodice, laced with white fur, pushes her large fake breasts up like a whore.

I see my gran shift to the edge of her seat excitedly. ‘Isn’t she stunning, Rouge? The announcement must be important if Everly is involved.’

I roll my eyes, ‘If a bunny had sex with a hooker, I imagine their child would look just like that.’

‘Oh, hush, girl.’

Capital fashion has always baffled me. It’s a combination of old world Victorian elegance tarted up with a mismatch of modern materials, meshed with the eroticism of a corner prostitute. They look fucking insane.

Everly, the blonde woman, begins speaking.

Nirvana palace apologises for this brief intermission to your regular viewing. However, we need to make an important announcement.

As you are all aware, the 20th annual women’s inauguration is being held in a few days. This year, six beautiful young women have come of age and will be presented to the eligible men of Nirvana as potential wives.

This year, however, is extra special. Nirvana palace has just announced Prince Abel and Prince Ryder will be on the lookout for their princess’s, and whoever catches the eye of Prince Abel will become the next Queen of Nirvana.

Oh! This is just so exciting. This year’s lovely ladies are very lucky indeed. As always, humble citizens of Nirvana - go confidently in the direction of your dreams, and fly!

The announcement ends, and I curse under my breath. Not only do I have to deal with pompous pricks, I now have to contend with royal assholes!

My gran is looking at me full of joy. ‘Rogue! Did you hear that? Princes! Two of them! You’re a lucky girl.’

I groan and sarcastically and mutter, ‘yay for me.’

The next day my gran tells me to come upstairs into her room. She’s been busy up there every chance she gets over the past week working on something.

When I walk in, she gives me a huge smile and holds up a red silk dress.

‘For your inauguration, Rogue. I used some silk from one of your mother’s old dresses. Do you like it?’

I wipe away a tear that escapes my eye. ‘Its beautiful gran, thank you.’

I will give it to the old bat. The dress is absolutely stunning. It’s a form fitting long silk gown with a plunging neckline and two slits up the sides of the skirt that reach the top of my thighs. It’s simple, yet elegant, and shows off my curves.

It may not be in line with the capitals fashion, but I’m secretly grateful she knows me well enough not to create one of those fluffy monstrosities.

‘I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Rogue.’

I giggle. ‘Please, oh wise old one, bestow your dating wisdom upon thy blessed granddaughter.’

Gran raises her eyes at me in annoyance. ‘Are you quite done, girl?’

I remain silent, and she takes that as her cue to continue.

‘Men, like the ones you will meet in the capital, are used to women fawning all over them. They won’t know what to do with a woman such as yourself.’

‘Sooooo, you’re telling me to behave and play nicely with the douchebags?’

Gran sighs at me. ‘No! If you will just let me finish. I’m telling you to be yourself. Those men won’t know what hit them, having to deal with an assertive woman like you. They may think they want the demure, innocent little lamb, but when it comes down to it, they love the chase and a fierce spirit.’

I shrug my shoulders at her. ‘Gran, I’m not interested in any of them. I appreciate your matchmaking advice, but I don’t plan on sticking around the palace for long. With any luck, they will kick me out.’

Gran gives me a knowing look.

‘Rogue, sometimes life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it…’