Prologue
Clara Moore
Overpopulation. (noun)
Overpopulation is the condition of being populated with excessively large numbers.
It was my 16th birthday when I stood in that well maintained building, rain pouring on the wooden surface above. This place felt cold and brutal. No warm colors were painted on the grey walls and no welcoming smiles were seen from any of the miserable employees. I looked up at the clock that was perched on an otherwise empty wall, the fingers of it twitched painfully slow as I stood in the tedious thread of people.
Today was the day I would discover if the government found me useful or useless. Authority decided a couple of years ago, due to overpopulation, that if you were not going to benefit this town that you would no longer be in it. Unfortunately, they didn't suggest that you would be kicked out of town but rather that you would be executed. It was tragically beautiful, really; a huge ceremony was dedicated to you, small but gorgeous, almost as if you were to get married and not slaughtered.
I observed the building once more as the line of 16 year old children and their parents became shorter and shorter. Stations were pressed neatly against each other where the workers were seated. It gave an aura of sophistication, as if there were no room for any type of errors and mistakes to be made.
Gradually the sluggish rope disappeared and it was my turn to go to the white chair in front of the desk. It was spotless, just like the rest of the boring property. A cherry-wood divider was the only object that separated me from the stations next to this one. It was only then, when I was seated in front of the impassive-looking woman, that I realized how alone I actually was. My parents didn't bother coming with me to see my results nor did they care. I felt neglected and in some ways, betrayed. I didn't have my mother here with me to celebrate if I got to live and I didn't have my father here to soothe me if they said my life wasn't worth anything to them. Instead, I was here with no hand to hold and with no support what so ever.
"What is your name?" the bronze-skinned lady asked with her lips in a grim line. I could see she had no time to be patient with me. "Clara Moore," I said in a soft voice. Her skinny fingers typed on the keyboard of her laptop, making a satisfying click-clack sound echo around us. "You're birth date?" "16 March 2002." The fast thumping of my heart silenced the sounds of the keyboard as well as the soft murmurs around us. I was anxious and sweating because of waiting.
Finally, her hazel eyes slowly traveled from her screen to my own and I knew my results before she even had to say anything. It was hilarious that her warm shade of brown eyes told me my darkest fate.
I guess it was only fair that my time got limited, since I never had a reason that my lungs should expand and deflate with the slow and steady pump of oxygen. I didn't have school days to look forward to. I didn't have any career I wanted to pursue in the near future and I definitely did not have anyone I wanted to live for.
