Invisible Ledge - Chapter One

I’m running again. I can feel my lungs burning from it, my knees buckling under the pressure of my body and every single cell in my muscles pleading for me to stop. But I can't stop. I mustn't ever stop. Her screams guide me through the dark corridor, forcing me to ignore every door, every silver lamp hung on the walls decorated by expensive tapestry. Everything else is a lie, only Andrea's voice is real. My sister's shrieks pull me forward, even though I'm considering giving up, just laying down on the hard stone floor and curling up into a sobbing ball of limbs. But, I know I won't get out of here if I don't press on, and so I do. Step by painful step, I advance forward, trying to block out the screams. I fail at it miserably. After what feels like hours, I finally see the dark door from which the screams originate. My salvation. I grab hold of the door handle, pull down and slowly slide the door open...
And then I wake up, drenched in sweat.
Rays of light break through the dim, grungy windows of my room, tearing away the invisible strands that hold me in my nightmares, the horrifying realm of dreams and forcing me to wake up and smell the misery.

I get up and head to the bathroom to wash up. A tall male in his early twenties stares back at me from the mirror's reflection. His jet black hair is scruffy from sleep and his dark brown eyes are bloodshot from just waking up. A small, diagonal scar spreads across the skin above and under his lips, interrupting the otherwise consistent short layer of black stubble covering his face. I barely recognize myself anymore.

My muscles are no longer defined or firm, like they used to be. The flame tattoo on my shoulder now rests on soggy skin, rather than defined muscle. Everyday violence,fist fights and running from the authorities used to keep me toned and athletic. But now, the peaceful life I've obtained since I got my lucky break seems to have taken that away, leaving me looking completely average. Doesn't matter either way, no girl would look at me one way or the other. I'm beneath them.

I put on my clothes, gray shirt, black jeans and pull fingerless black gloves over my hands, covering the scarred knuckles I gained when I was younger. I tidy my room up and walk out into the dark and slumbering hallway connecting the rooms which make up the dorm I live in. I walk the halls, my boots occasionally slipping on something sickly green and greasy, someone probably spilled some ecstatic substances. Just like every morning, I'm the first to wake up and will probably be the last to come back into the dorm. I really hate it here...

I walk out the tall arched doors of Hawthorne's Dorm for the Gifted without looking back, and head for the bus stop. The bus arrives, fifteen minutes late as usual, followed by mind numbing exhaust fumes. I show the conductor my "Advanced Student" card, and he grudgingly lets me go on board for free. One of the few things I actually like about my "new life' is that I get free stuff for working hard on my studies...

The ride is boring and uneventful. As the minutes pass I feel sleep falling over me again while I watch the graying, concrete visage of the city pass by my eyes.. I'm just about ready to allow my eyes to close when the bus comes to an ungentle halt, and my head jerks forward towards the seat in front of me. I make myself busy rubbing my sore forehead when something, or rather , someone, catches my eye. A girl walks in with a proud strut you can only see on the bodies of the Risen, the ruling city officials or their children. But something about her tells me she isn't one of them, even though I can't be sure what.

Our eyes meet for just a moment while she's sliding gracefully down to find her seat. The sight of her sends chills running down my spine. Her eyes are intoxicatingly blue, her long, black hair perfectly frames her round face. Looking natural, without any of the borderline monstrous makeup the other girls wear according to the latest trends, just makes her even more attractive. I look away, feeling a sudden rush of red in my cheeks and turn to back to the dull scenes of the city, trying to gather my thoughts.

As the bus ride continues I can't help looking back at her. I try to get just a sneak peak, a little glance. But she isn't looking at me, or anything else in the bus at all. She's looking towards the distant skyscrapers of the city with a look in her eyes that's full of longing. I allow myself to drop my eyes from her face and onto her body. She's a short little thing, wears jeans and a plaid shirt, rolled up to her sleeves... and that's when I see it. The small circular tattoo on her forearm, a falcon with broken wings encircled by a snake. I touch the identical tattoo on my own right arm, almost by reflex. Inked in my skin since I was an infant, that little patch of ink is responsible for screwing up my life. The mark is how they tell apart children of the Insurgent, the rebels who dared to try and usurp the government nearly twenty years ago, from the general populace. Few who were originally Insurgent survived the fallout from the rebellion, if any. But we, their children, did. And now we're suffering the consequences of their actions...

I shake my head, resisting the urge to hit something. Marked, ashamed... shunned, just for something my parents did while I was a hungry baby in a crib, crying and alone while they were off fighting their war. The sheer unfairness of it all makes me want to spit on someone, preferably a Risen. I tug down on my sleeves, even though they cover up the entirety of my arm. I've never been able to get past the fact that I'm branded like cattle. Seeing Insurgent children wear the mark like it's a badge of honor, like something to be proud of, only to be beaten to a bloody pulp, didn't really convince me to show it to anyone. But it didn't matter if I showed it or not, everyone knew already, and no matter what I did, I couldn't avoid the beatings.

My train of thought grinds to a halt along with the bus. It's my stop. As I walk down the seats I glance at her one last time seeing as how I'll probably never see her again. I can't explain why I feel something special about her , but I know it's probably connected to something we have in common - the mark. Her cold, blue eyes meet mine and I freeze. She smiles and looks away, making my head prickle at the back as I finally climb down from the bus, confused.

The University of Scholastic Arts stretches in front of me, it's rough edges and carved walls casting an intimidating shadow over the students rushing to and from it's long halls. I'm one of them, sliding through the busy crowd to the large arched doors similar to those at Hawthorn's, yet even taller and even more intimidating. As I scurry though the sea of elbows and muffled voices a head of long, black hair catches my eye. I get a glimpse of the mark, so defiantly exposed. What in the world is she thinking? I make my way towards her, pushing aside the busy cogs of the giant machine of the city repeating the lessons they crammed in their head one last time before the exam....

At the thought of the exams a stray thought comes into the back of my head, followed by a muffled panic. I actually forgot about the exam! I check my schedule and see it : Advanced Cultural Origins - October 24, 8:50 AM. I run though the halls, pushing everyone aside while I try to find the ACO classroom, my heart skipping a few beats, the blood rushing into my brain. I am so screwed!

Knocking on the hard wooden door I enter the silent classroom, feeling everyone's gaze on me. I find a quiet corner in the back of the room and dart to it with my head lowered, avoiding eye contact.

On the board behind the professor, who is now busy examining a student that's clearly having a small panic attack, is written the subject of today's exam : Arisen Wars, and the Rebellion Backlash

My mind begins working overtime, and a faint image comes to me about a lecture of the Arisen Wars. I feel like my brain is just one giant mechanical construct right now, and the gears are finally turning...

The false democracy that had governed us all for more than anyone can remember had turned into an unbearable, tyrannical regime, where only the people on the top had any hint of a life not filled with misery. After decades of oppression, the people rose up. The spark of revolution quickly turned into wildfire, as the numbers of the rebels grew each day. With nothing left to loose, the desperate people united, and after nearly a decade of war, had managed to overthrow the government. Thus, the Republic of Demetos rose from the ashes of the continent that used to be called Europe.

Once the dust had settled, and order was restored from the chaos, it was time to decide the future of Demetos and it's leaders. Uniting an entire continent with thousands upon thousands of years of history must have not been easy, and many probably thought it would be impossible. But, remembering why the revolutions had happened in the first place, in the end people decided to unite, so that all may work towards a better future...

Three large political factions formed soon afterwards, each numbering in millions, and all with their own vision for the future of the people of Demetos.

There were the Risen, who wanted a rigorously tiered and structured society. A tier system where everyone had their place.

Then there were the Alaeiant, wanting absolute freedom for each individual, a substitution of most of the current systems, and plenty of other radical changes, all inspired by liberalism.

Finally, there were the Ordinate, a short lived faction striving for middle ground between the two others.

Eventually, the Risen won and along with the Ordinate, established the government and the way of life we know today. I can be nothing but eternally grateful to the Ordinate, who were able to make the Risen's tactics just a bit less oppressing. Instead of being thrown into a caste by birthright, we get chosen for one on our twenty fourth birthday, and are stuck with it. Providing of course, we are not Insurgent descendents, like I am. They get their own special caste restricting them to pure menial, manual labor. A harsh life, and one I was able to avoid by pure luck. For now, at least...

The Alaeiant however, were outraged, and outright refused to accept the laws and social structure of the Risen. In defiance, they changed their name to Insurgent... and that's when their own uprising began.

We all know who won in the end, I tell myself. Anger washes over me like a river, clouding my mind, numbing my senses until I just feel like a statue, enraged but unable to move, unable to do one damn thing about my situation.

The professor finishes examining the girl with the panic attack, giving her an AV-Average, which is just enough to pass. She gets off the chair and runs away from the desk, nearly tripping over a few times... some people just can't handle stress. I hear a name called out by no one moves or turns, and I wonder for a moment if they're too caught up in their shallow conversations to notice, when I hear the stern voice again.

"Andrew Harris. Is there an Andrew Harris here?"

I start to move without even thinking about it, more like an automaton than a person, and think only of how flunking even a single class will mean revoking of my Advanced Student status, effectively ruining my future and condemning me to the life of a garbage collector or servant, along with the other Insurgent children. Only those of us who are exceptional, whose potential usefulness overshadows, even by a small margin, our shameful heritage, are allowed to have some resemblance of equality amongst the others. Some have even been allowed to marry after being fully "re-socialized". And all this possibility is lost by failing a single exam, which is exactly what's going to happen.

I shake more and more as I approach the professor's desk, the gears in my usually racing mind motionless and silent. All I can think about is the image of myself cleaning dumpsters for the rest of my life. I sit down in front of the professor, Edward, I think his name is. Stern blue eyes behind spectacles pierce into my soul, his square face devoid of any emotion as he strokes his sharp, freshly shaved stubble.

"Nice of you to finally join us, mister Harris. I was beginning to think the workload proved to be overwhelming for you. It wouldn't surprise me.."

His words once again emphasize the fact that Insurgent children are a lesser species in the usual, untactful Risen manner, making me immediately feel sick to my stomach.

"Not at all sir."

I manage to say through a grin so fake even he would be proud. Obviously unconvinced, he motions toward the five envelopes in front of him. Each holds a different, random set of questions, and at this moment the right choice could save me, while the wrong one could ruin me for good. I hold my breath, and make my choice, the one in middle, fitting when you think about my own position. I open it and take out the paper with the question, my heart pounding at the speed of light.

1. Founding of the Risen Political Movement.
2. The Alaeiant treachery and the Rebellion Backlash.
3. Risen Ideological Progression.

Realizing I can answer at least two of the questions, a wave of relief washes over me. Maybe I'll get through this after all. There's no time to think, and words just sprout out of my mouth, and before I'm even aware, I'm sputtering out facts about Risen ideology and history, and even small bits of the Rebellion Backlash, a subject I refuse to even think about, let alone speak of.

Almost an hour later, when both my mind and tongue are exhausted, Edward interrupts, signalizing my examination is over. He eyes me up and down for a few moments, bringing his fist to his mouth deep in thought, probably deciding if he should let me fail, deciding my future... After agonizing silence he speaks up, his voice coarse, dry, and rather intimidating

"Well mister Harris that was..." He makes a pause before lowering his voice and continuing to speak mockingly "...utterly sub par. However, taking into consideration your...predicament I suppose I can lower my standards. This is just barely enough for an ST- Standard."

That's more than I ever dared hope for. I'm just about to thank him and get out of there when I catch his cold eyes on me. He's testing me, trying to see if I'll finally give into his mockery at the promise of a higher grade. The prick! I shake my head and curve my lips onto one of those famous Risen grins.

"Thank you, sir. But I'd rather get the grade I earned. The Risen teachings tell us that special treatment is an undesirable trait, that all men should be equally judged in the eyes of god and other men."

Of all the junk that flew out of my mouth in the last hour, that sentence must have been the biggest load of bull by far. However, it seemed to have pleased Edward's egotistic Risen mind, as his response was nothing more than a stern nod.

"AC-Acceptable, then. Do try to keep up with the program, mister Harris. I couldn't bare loosing such a promising student..."

The sarcasm in his voice is so badly hidden that it's insulting. He enters my grade into the student data base without giving me a second glance. I get up and walk back to my seat, my legs shaking so badly I'm afraid I'll fall down. I slouch into the chair in the corner of the room, trying to process just how lucky I was to draw those questions. I'm just about to get up and leave the classroom when I hear a soft, almost melodic voice from behind my right shoulder.

"What a typical Risen prick..." The words are for my ears only, and as I turn around my almost stops for the second time today.
It's the girl from the bus, sitting slouched back into her chair and balancing it on two legs, her own defiantly prompted up on the table in front of her, with her hands behind her back.

"Pardon?" I say, trying to make myself look innocent. I'm not a Risen bootlicker, but there's very little I can do, other than make my situation even worse. That mark on my skin isn't going away, and I have to make the most of it however I can.

Like she noticed my attempt she looks me straight in the eye with the corner of her own, emphasized by a hint black eyeliner making her blue eyes even more intoxicating.

"The professor. He was milking you just cause you're an Insurgent descendant. Don't pretend..."

I shrug as I notice the other conversations in the room have quieted down, and not just because Edward is torturing another student. They're listening to the conversation of two Insurgent children like scientists would observe monkeys in their natural habitat, silent as to not interrupt them.

I heave out a sigh and raise myself from the chair, walking up to her and amazing myself with the courage I muster to sit right next to her. My heart is pounding, my palms are getting sweatier by the minute, but I know she'll just make it worse for both of us if she keeps this outspoken loudmouth act.

"Hey, keep it down will you? No need to make our lives any worse by making them agitated." I try to mutter out with a calm voice, realizing I sound like a total Risen bootlicker all too late..

Her thin black eyebrows form an arch as she eyes me up and down, resembling Edward just for a moment. Enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. She purses her lips and steadies her chair back into a normal position, safely on all four legs before turning my way and continuing, her voice slightly lowered.

"Well, am I wrong?"

"You're more right than I'd ever admit. But not like we can do anything about it, right?"

She frowns at that, clearly not being able to make peace with that statement. Still, she extends a hand covered by a leather glove with fingers removed just like mine, and I shake it, firmly but gently.

"I'm Christie."

"Andrew." I manage to blurt out, my tongue feeling like it's going to twist into a knot. This girl is something else...