The Pyramid (Working Title)

Jackson stared up at the clouds; his eyes were a wet puddle as the clouds drifted past, sailboats journeying on to greater destinies. The soft grass underneath his bare feet took delight in tickling him. The wind comfortingly brushed his hair and he leaned back against its out-stretched arms. Eyes closed, Jackson opened his palm and stared at the little blue pill that was no larger than the candies he used to run and buy from the local corner store after school; he could still taste the sweetness of the sugar dancing across his tongue.
"It's not worth it," Andrew asserted as he playfully jabbed Jackson in the shoulder with a clenched fist.
Best friends since UnderSchool, inseparable from the day they first met, Andrew was tall and gangly, his broad shoulders only acted as a coat-hanger, making his clothes awkwardly drape over his gaunt chest, his face was pock-marked with pimple scars but what he lacked in physical perfection he made up for with charm and charisma. A smile that could change your mind and a smirk that carried with it a promise you wanted to believe in, even if you knew your heart would be broken.
"You ever wonder though?"
By contrast, Jackson was short and stout, imaginary to everyone that didn't look down on him and disliked by most that did. It wasn't necessarily his fault; there was just something about his demeanor. Known to be snarky and sarcastic, Jackson never cared much for polite small talk and where Andrew's smile carried with it a warm familiarity, Jackson's trudged along with cold contempt.
"You know they get rationed out, do you really want to use one now?"
A sliver of worry cracked Andrew's normal bravado as his shoulders hunched inwards. Jackson clenched and unclenched his hand around the little blue pill.
When Andrew spoke, his voice was deflated with defeatism. He rubbed his brow and stared into the sun, letting it blind him for only a minute before tearing his eyes away, his vision now filled with a kaleidoscope of unrecognizable patterns,
"Guess not."
Moving mechanically, he placed the blue pill back inside its container and returned it to his backpack. The tears in his eyes had receded and now they looked as if they were never there.
"I already used one, you know, just because I wanted to feel it. Was that bad of me?"
His bluster gone, Jackson turned to his friend, his only friend, with a blank expression, eyes hollow and unafraid but cheeks still wet from the sadness that encapsulated him only minutes before.
"Na, but why would you want to?"
Jackson kicked a rock on the ground, it bounced twice before scattering to a stop, robbed of its momentum by the world around it.
"Things aren't easy for me. Sometimes it just doesn't feel right."
Andrew's brow furrowed, "right?"
"I know people talk about me behind my back, that they call me names: dwarf, goblin, midget. It should make me angry, make me sad but it doesn't. There's something not right about that."
He looked back up at the clouds, watched again as they drifted forwards to sail the globe- he was jealous.
"There's no malice behind those words. You know that, right?" Andrew asked, his self-assuredness coming back to him as he placed a firm hand on his little friends shoulder, "the world's this way because it has to be. You've heard the stories, about what it was like before, how much war there was, death, anger and violence. We can't go back to that."
"Guess not," Jackson mumbled.
A bell rang in the far off distance, signaling the start of the school day.
"We should probably get to class," Jackson said as he turned and started to walk, brushing past Andrew's shoulder, all the while fumbling with something in his pocket.

The Pyramid was a marvel; tall glass prisms more than a hundred stories high jutted out from concrete oblong administration buildings that sat atop perfectly manicured lawns. There was a hospital like cleanliness to its design, simple in its elegance but brutish in its size. Men and women of all ages were dressed in business attire and bustled about, cogs in a society that operated with all the efficiency of a finely tuned watch.
Designed to be a self-contained ecosystem, on the ground floor administrative staff busily filed paperwork and reorganized folders, attempting to look busy. A number of living quarters filled the next dozen floors with shopping centers, food stalls and entertainment occupying the next five.
The UnderSchool was located on the twentieth floor, wedged between Medical Aid on floor nineteen and Community Complaints on floor twenty-one.
Level one hundred was where self-appointed bureaucrats took it upon themselves to pass laws that would affect everyone but them and on level 101 lived The Oracle.
With long, blonde hair, artic blue eyes and standing just shy of two meters, she was wisdom and answers wrapped up in a slender, muscular frame. It was through her that all things were possible: plunging crime rates, no poverty, hunger or violence. The Oracle had brought with her the utopia that the people so desperately craved, free of political squabbles and meaningless wars, she brought solutions when the world was so close to being nothing more than charred ash.
Whilst the leaders squabbled, she built the Pyramid. When the leaders launched their weapons, plunging the world into a cold darkness, she opened her arms in a loving embrace. Her motto was simple: Love, honor, obey; the same vow newlywed couples make during their nuptials. It was not by accident. She was the mother, wife, sister and exuded warmth, comfort and knowing whenever she appeared on the digital holo-displays that peppered every floor in the Pyramid.
People like Jackson and Andrew lived, worked and played in the confines of the Pyramid and its surrounding gardens- they hadn't seen the world outside its five-meter high walls; they didn't want to see what was outside.
The two boys bounded up the wide, luxurious concrete steps until they stood before the entrance to the ground level, Administration, where two tall men, arms crossed and clothed in identical tailored black suits, glared indifferently at them.
Motioning to two smooth, see-through spherical orbs that adorned both sides of the doorway, the first suit forcefully requested, "Please place your hand on the sensor."
Without hesitation, Jackson and Andrew obeyed and grimaced slightly as the electric current danced through their bones. The orb illuminated a blinding white and, contented, both suits extended their palms to reveal two yellow pills.
"Please take these," the second suit requested, his stern face making it clear that no wasn't a viable answer.
This was the routine and Jackson and Andrew never thought to question it; behind them people cued to undergo an identical line of questioning. They would place their hands on the orbs and if it turned white they too would be given a yellow pill; if it turned: grey, red or blue they would be escorted to Community Affairs on the twenty-first floor for conditioning before being reintegrated.
Swallowing their pills, neither boy could prevent the smile that threatened to tear apart their cheeks.
Jackson forgot about the feeling of longing and helplessness that swelled inside of him only moments ago; it was replaced with a peaceful ease. The names the other boys called him didn't matter, the suffocating claustrophobia didn't matter, and the hollowness didn't matter. He was happy.
"Have a good day," the first suit nodded as he let the two boys past.

The elevator dinged and, as the doors slithered open with a metallic thud, Jackson and Andrew stepped out and into the UnderSchool. Students were already busily filing books away into their lockers and incessantly chatting, cheek-bursting smiles adorned every students face and there was a congenial atmosphere to the corridor.
Sneakers squeaked on slick polished white concrete walls as lockers slammed shut and students scuttled off to class.
Within the Pyramid there were three levels of schooling: LowerSchool, UnderSchool and the Academy.
LowerSchool and UnderSchool resembled the old educational model of junior and middle school, whilst the Academy was newly instituted when The Oracle came to power.
It was at the Academy that students learnt the workings of their society, of the dangers of the outside world; they were assigned career paths and educated in their roles in society- another gear in the finely tuned watch.
Speaking about your time at the Academy was forbidden; it was

Already late, a jarring, unseen thud made Jackson spin in a circle, sending him careening towards the ground, only stopping when Andrew's quick reflexes caught him.
"Hey twerp," Darrius smirked.
Standing just less than two meters tall, his chin carved from granite and his short blonde hair perfectly parted to one side, Darrius' clothes fit perfectly over his muscular frame as he laughed at his own amusement.
Jackson brushed off Andrew's help and stumbled back to his feet, "hey Darrius."
Smiling, Darrius laughed, "You're so little. What you guys got first period?"
"History with Mr. Levinson. We're in the same class, remember?"
"Of course I remember numb-nuts."
Darrius was impatiently rocking back and forth on his heels, ready to accelerate at a moments notice, a placated smile adorning his face.
Like the howl of a banshee, the second bell rang, signaling the start of class.
"Damn it. Catch you later Midget. Andrew, always a pleasure."
Darrius rocked backwards on his heels one more time before finally, like the Formula One cars Jackson had heard about in History class, he accelerated off.
Andrew turned to his friend, "see it's better this way."
But, even with the effects of the little yellow pill coursing through his blood, Jackson couldn't shake the feeling of melancholy that knocked lightly at his heart.
"Guess so. We're going to be late."

When they arrived outside their classroom, they could already hear the droning voice of Mr. Levinson.
Knocking with all the trepidation of a young boy confronting his mother after breaking a family heirloom, the door creaked open and the boys lowered their gaze to the floor as they found their seats.
The tables were organized in pods of four tables, each table alternating white and grey colors, to promote a growth mindset and foster discussion between students.
At the front of the class, a computer monitor was affixed to the wall, projecting Mr. Levinson's face.
It was a kindly face with bushy eyebrows and a slightly downturned mouth, his eyes were a murky brown color and his cheeks held with them all the years he had been alive.
Whenever Jackson looked at it, it reminded him of his father, even though his father looked nothing like his teacher.
Mr. Levinson stopped mid-sentence and addressed Jackson and Andrew, "welcome to class boys. Let's try to be more punctual next time."
Jackson could feel the knocking in his chest again.
"Sorry sir," both boys parroted.
Mr. Levinson returned to address the class, "after The Oracle finished the construction of the Pyramid, she opened her arms to anybody who needed refuge. The sick, weak and disenfranchised found a home and a family, were given a purpose and a community to be part of.
As the years past, more men and women came to us, scared of the direction the world was taking.
At the time of The Oracle's ascension, who can tell me what major event occurred in the Americas?"
A silence hung in the air before a boy at the back of the class shouted out, "the registration act."
Mr. Levinson smiled with all the joy of a grandfather watching his children at play, "exactly. Due to an increase in violence, American men and women were forced to register their age, gender and religious affiliation with the Government. In an attempt to curb terrorism and stateside violence, this information was then used to segregate the communities, creating religious ghettos.
Allied Western countries followed shortly afterwards and for a time, this helped to stymie racism and racially motivated violence in the world.
What happened next though?"
Andrew's hand shot up, "the Uprising."
"Bingo," Mr. Levinson approved, "as the world became more racially and ethically divided, people's communities became sounding boards for their prejudices. This, combined with the decreased living conditions of certain minorities led to what we now call, The Uprising, when racial tensions flared world over and led to the burning of America and the fall of Western culture."
Something wet and sticky smacked Jackson on the back of the neck. Behind him, he could hear a familiar snickering, a sound that should have sunken his heart. He wiped away the small globule of paper that had been marinated in saliva and grimaced as it stuck to his hand.
Behind him, Darrius' smile burned into the back of his skull but he didn't turn around, didn't scream or shout, didn't lash out and get angry or cry.
Instead, a marching band started beating their drums in his chest, filling his ears with a cacophony of deafening sound until Mr. Levinson and the world around his was drowned out.
Thwack.
He could feel the wetness of another spitball collide with the little hairs on the back of his neck; his spine shivered as the spitball started to slowly crawl down his nape like a snail.
He wanted to get angry, become enraged, open up a fire hydrant and let the water flow freely from his eyes but he couldn't- the effects of the yellow pill still keeping the waterworks clamped shut.
Jackson's head started to throb at the discordant emotions that threatened to tear apart his innards. Small shivers racked his body and his mouth became inexplicably dry. Beads of sweat slithered down his forehead and the marching band finally came to their crescendo.
Jackson sprung to his feet and let cry with a scream that echoed against the curved walls of the classroom. Filled with emotions the other students had never experienced, their stunned eyes filled Jackson with a self of shame and embarrassment. He was supposed to be happy, that's why he took the yellow pills, why everyone took the yellow pills before entering the Pyramid. It was the law.
Mr. Levinson stopped mid-sentence; his face abruptly disappeared and was replaced by the reassuring, motherly face of The Oracle.
Her beauty and sensitivity made Jackson blush as his eyes were drawn to his feet, which were nervously shuffling back and forth.
"Please, Jackson, sit back down," The Oracle's voice carried with it the whispers of angels and the disparagement of a mother.
Her words spoke directly to Jackson; it was as if he could feel them in his heart, causing it to constrict as her blue eyes extinguished the raging inferno and brought the percussions to an immediate halt.
Scared to look up, his face a bright red, he quickly sat back down.
"I'm sorry..." he started, before being interrupted.
"Jackson, it's alright. Two Genteel's are going to come and say hi, you need to go with them."
Jackson nodded. Andrew's face tried to sink but something kept it afloat.
"You understand. This is for your own sake and the benefit of the community we've built here?"
Jackson nodded again as two men in simple white garbs and inviting faces appeared at the classroom door. Their broad, infectious smiles were laid under kind and gentle eyes; sensitive and non-threatening, these men looked as if they would weep over the death of a flea.
One cocked his head to the side, his tender eyes wracked with empathy, and motioned for Jackson to follow as he turned and started to walk away, the other following him.
"Jackson..." Andrew meekly said.
He knew what was going to happen to his friend, he had heard stories, whispers in noisy rooms about what happened on level twenty-one of the Pyramid. Jackson couldn't meet his best friends eyes as he solemnly dragged his feet behind his two escorts.

A single dentists chair sat in the middle of a room. It reeked of disinfectant and had a hospital like cleanliness to it. An IV bag was tethered to a metallic stand and inside glimmered a yellow liquid. Next to it, a short, stout man busily rearranged instruments, the light reflecting off of his bald spot as he softly hummed to himself, his back to Jackson and the two men.
Jackson strained his ears to make sense of the tune.
"Sir," one of the genteel men squeaked.
The doctor pivoted on his heel with an aplomb grace that shouldn't have been possible.
A pair of glasses lazily clung to the tip of his parrot like nose and his forehead resembled a piece of scrunched up paper. The buttons on his coat groaned against his gut and a red licorice twist hung from the corner of his mouth.
The soles of his shoes, a pair of high end leather loafers, clacked musically against the tiled floor as he stopped almost nose to nose with Jackson, wearily eyeing him.
The doctor pulled the licorice from his mouth and started to wag it, "explain."
His voice was thick with aspersion- something Jackson wasn't used to; if The Oracle was a field of freshly cut flowers, this doctor was thunder and rain.
"Jackson had an outburst during his History class, at the UnderSchool. The Oracle requested that he be reintegrated," informed one of Jackson's escorts.
Weary eyes traced the contours of Jackson's body, took in his diminutive stature, the pronounced curve of his nose and his eyes, which were sunken into deep sockets.
"Very well. Jackson, please take a seat," the doctor dismissively waved at the escorts and they departed, the door sliding shut with a metallic thud behind them, "Jackson, my name is Dr. Vuk. Please, in your own words, tell me what happened."
Leaning back, Jackson adjusted the headrest and forced his tense muscles to relax, he knew there was nothing to fear, "nothing Sir. Another classmate of mine was just getting on my nerves, that's all... he," Jackson paused and furrowed his brow, "was disrupting my learning."
The sound of metallic instruments clanking together merged with Dr. Vuk's voice to create a horribly symphony, "and can you tell me what he was doing?"
Jackson rubbed the back of his neck and squirmed in his seat, "he, he was shooting spitballs at the back of my neck, and he calls me names and I know I'm meant to be happy, I promise I took my pill before class today and I don't know why it got to me and I'm sorry, please, I didn't want to upset The Oracle."
The words poured out of him, a waterfall of pent up emotions that broke free of the dam and threatened to drown him.
Dr. Vuk cocked his head to one side and softened his facial features. Sensing the young boys fear and pain, he placed his hand on top of Jackson's, "young man, you didn't upset her. Disappointed as she may be, it's an easy fix."
Dr. Vuk raised his other hand to reveal the IV bags' needle, "this will make you feel better."
Without asking, Dr. Vuk plunged the syringe into Jackson's arm, the yellow liquid sloshed in the bag as it started to slowly drip into his bloodstream.
Sunshine poured into Jackson. It dissipated the darkness, washed it away in a sea of radiance and glee. Doubts were replaced with confirmations. Fears turned into comforts. Burdens became purposes.
The doctor, pleased with the smile that now brandished Jackson's face, stepped back, turned and continued to hum his peculiar tune to himself as he fiddled with more metallic instruments and waited for the IV bag to finish.

Jackson's eyes fluttered open. He wasn't sure when he fell asleep or what time it was, he didn't care. A sense of lightlessness filled his bones.
Once more, the two escorts stood in the doorway, smiles on their faces. Dr. Vuk was standing by his bedside, meticulously checking his pulse.
"Jackson, welcome back. How are you feeling?"
The IV bag hung emptily next to him.
"Perfect," he beamed smiling.
"Excellent. Can we please make sure we don't have a repeat of this behavior? Next time the procedure might not be as... pleasant," Dr. Vuk turned to the two escorts, "he's ready to be returned to his residency."
Dr. Vuk extended an arm and a warm smile towards Jackson as he helped him to his feet.
"I promise, it won't happen again," Jackson confirmed as he followed behind his two escorts, "thank you."
Contented, Dr. Vuk drifted back towards his instruments and continued to fiddle.
As the door slid open, the two escorts turned and led Jackson out of the room. For Jackson though, something was still a miss and as he reached into his pants pocket, he felt the small cylindrical capsule and began to fiddle with it.

Students were bustling between classes, needlessly fretting about the punishments for being late and fussing over incomplete homework. Andrew was slumped next to Jackson's locker, a look of strained disquiet on his face; he didn't know what to expect, what state his friend was going to be returned to him in. Jackson and his two escorts rounded the corner. Andrew's spine stiffened as he soaked in the presence of his best friend, the large smile on his face, and the peacefulness in his eyes. Something didn't seem right.
There was unease to Jackson and Andrew wondered if anybody except for him could sense it.
Coming to a stop in front of his locker, an escort turned to Jackson. There was a sea of tranquil calm in his eyes as he spoke to the young, troubled man, "Jackson, please go to your next class. It's sixth period, the last one of the day. When you get home tonight, there'll be a letter waiting for you, give it to your parents. It will explain to them what happened today, the necessary procedures they need to undertake to ensure it doesn't happen again and a prescription for an increased dosage of yellows, temporarily of course."
Jackson nodded and the two escorts left.
"Yo," Jackson dumbly said as he nodded at Andrew and opened his locker to collect his Period Six books.
Andrew's eyebrows crept upwards and his eyes widened as he pursed his lips in immense, agitated concentration, "yo?"
An awkward silence hung in the air, the tension palpable and thick with the stench of confusion. Jackson closed his locker and craned his neck up ever so slightly to soak in the physical presence of his best friend.
He didn't know what to say, how to explain it, what had happened or what would happen if he talked about Dr. Vuk.
Was he allowed to? If he did, would he once again be escorted to level twenty-one for more yellow IV-fluid?
Just thinking about it caused his temples to twinge and the harder he contemplated it the more it felt like nails being hammered into his skull.
"I'm sorry, about History class," was all he was able to get out.
He watched as Andrew's eyebrows crawled back down, settling into their rightful place, and his mouth relaxed back into the thin line he was used to.
"Wanna talk about it?"
The two boys stood face to face, their eyes interchangeably exchanging looks of sympathy, empathy and pity.
"Darrius. It's always Darrius but it's all right, he's just having fun and I just took it too seriously. He hit me in the back of the neck with a spit wad, twice, and I didn't see the joke."
As he spoke, Andrew watched the smile on his friends face. Their mothers had attended UnderSchool together, and later worked side-by-side in one of the farms at the Pyramid. Neither boy knew of a life without the other. More than friends, they were brothers.
"It's all good now though. It's actually kind of funny in an old-school way. When's the last time someone shot a spit-wad at someone else. Maybe Darrius and I can bring them back," Jackson chuckled, "we should get to class."
"And you're sure everything's alright?" Andrew pressed as he lifted his weight off the locker and shuffled his books, checking to make sure he had the right materials.
Jackson smirked, something Andrew could swear he had never seen him do before, and winked, "of course."
Confused, Andrew regarded his 'brother' for a moment. "You sure," he pressed.
"Yes, I'm..."
But before Jackson could finish reassuring, the sound of bellowing, uproarious laugher carved through his false bravado and a mighty hand thumped into his back, forcing him to stumble forward every so slightly.
Without having to turn around, Jackson knew exactly who it was.
"Good to have you back pipsqueak. What they do to you up there? Scramble your brain? Serve it with some toast and orange juice?" Darrius said, joyously laughing at his own joke.
Jackson took a half step forward and Darrius' hand fell limply into nothingness as he turned around, a smile on his face.
"Yeah, something like that. Said there was just enough to make up a nice fricassee. You'd probably starve."
Pleased with this reply, Darrius continued to laugh, "I did get you good, didn't I?"
Andrew watched as the two young men exchanged verbal barbs and, whilst it was clear that Jackson was obviously physically outmatched, verbalism had always come easy to him; he was returning serve and dishing out aces.
Other students had now gathered around, forming a haphazard circle as they forgot about their classes and riotously jeered the two boys on.
"Question, when you go home at night, do your brains wash out with all that hair gel you use?" Jackson asked.
The crowd oohed and snickered.
"I don't know, ask your mom. She normally washes it for me."
The crudeness of the joke made the audience momentarily gasp before they let cry with a chorus on shouts.
Andrew's heart started to warm; despite the ferocity of the match, both boys were willfully and respectfully engaged and looking around, for the first time, he watched as with every verbal serve dished out by Jackson, he became more and more accepted by the group.
What Andrew couldn't hear though was the knocking. It was ever so faint, the sound of Jackson's heart speeding up, throbbing against its cage, begging to be let free. Small beads of sweat once again slithered out from his pores and leaked onto his forehead as the drum major signaled his baton once more. The percussion instruments clanged and banged, creating a raucous of noise and commotion. Jackson strained to keep the smile on his face, fought to twist his sadness into joy, begged silently to himself to let the yellow fluid do its job but he couldn't hear Darrius anymore, or the sound of his classmates who had now stopped and stood silent, and he only became aware of Andrew's presence when he felt the hand on his shoulder but it was Darrius' voice that pierced through the veil of pain and confusion that racked Jackson's body.
"Yo, short straw, you ok there? Lose oxygen below the equator line or something?"
Before he understood what was happening, Jackson pulled a little red pill from his pocket and slipped it into his mouth, swallowing it.
The color of his pupils slowly blurred and, as they reddened, Andrew stepped back.
"Jackson," he whimpered.
He knew there was nothing he could do.
Where there was once jubilance and euphoria now rage and fear and lightning prickled at Jackson's skin. A small puddle of froth pooled in the corner of his mouth and the drum major urged the marching band to pick up its pace, causing Jackson's heart to beat spasmodically. His cheeks flushed red as his brainstem dimmed. Jackson pounced on Darrius, the weight catching the muscular student off guard and sending them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Jackson's brutality forced its way on top and as he mounted Darrius he began to pound into him with a flurry of brutal punches. Squirming, his arms pinned down by Jackson's thighs, Darrius did all he could to avoid the worst of it. He twisted to his left as Jackson let fly with a ferocious hammer fist. It glanced off the side of his head but another punch immediately collided with his nose, sending rivers of blood streaming down his cheeks where it crossed with Darrius' salty tears before dripping onto the polished white concrete floor.
Andrew watched in horror, not knowing what to do, how to act. The savagery of the scene before him was at odds with his forced state of rapture. Their mouths opened, the other students watched unmoving.
Jackson sent another fist into Darrius' mouth, splitting his lip and forcing three teeth into the back of his throat; he coughed and hacked before another punch glanced off his cheek, causing him to swallow. The teeth ripped their way through Darrius' esophagus, causing him to cough droplets of blood. Another punch collided with Darrius' ear as the sound of his gasping classmates was muted and, as Jackson exploded with another punch to Darrius' eye his world darkened before a final punch to his throat made him hack and wheeze.
He stopped moving but Jackson didn't.
He continued to let fly with blows, the sound of the percussion instruments continued to quicken in his eardrums and his heart continued to pulse blood into his throbbing Frontal Vein until what laid underneath him resembled more a bloody pulp than a human being.
"Jackson..." Andrew whimpered.
The words cut through the redness of Jackson's eyes and he stopped, letting his fists hang frozen before him, mid-strike.
"... stop, please."
Jackson's chest heaved as it struggled to suck in oxygen, his eyes widened as he watched the blood drip from his clenched fists, the band major abruptly stopped and Jackson looked down at what used to be Darrius.
Heavy sobs started to rack his chest as he rolled off Darrius and curled up into a fetal position next to him.
No student dared to move, not even Andrew.
The floor was a mess of blood, saliva, sweat and tears and in the middle of it laid the two boys. The sound of boots clacked down the hall, coming to an abrupt stop next to Jackson who was a whimpering, cowering mess; Darrius' chest caught on his every breath, a sickening wheeze slipping through his lips as his body fought to stay alive.
Men covered in military grade garb, their eyes covered by thick visors, formed a perimeter around the boys, forcing the other students back.
Known as the Steam Heads, each man had an electric baton clipped to his belt and an automatic pistol hung from the other side; they were the personal enforcers of The Oracle, their harsh exterior juxtaposing with the serenity of the hallways.
Jackson's blood continued to throb in his ears. Rough arms crudely hauled him to his feet. His knees buckled, sending him crashing back down to the floor, his head clanked against the concrete sending blinding pain down his spine.
He yelped as the arms once again hoisted him to his feet but this time remained there.
It was all a dream to Jackson. His world was swimming, a mess of confusion and consternation as his brain tried to force its way through the pain to register what had just happened.
Most of the other students had crept away, some concerned about tardiness and others intimidated by the Steam Heads, but Andrew stood transfixed as Jackson's head hung loosely from his shoulders and his legs dragged behind him as he and the Steam Heads disappeared around the corner.
He knew this wasn't right, could feel it in his bones. The contrast between his friend's animalistic attacks, the ferocity in his eyes only to be replaced with befuddlement and terror, and the dogmatic societal expectations that he was raised on made his knees weaken.
As Andrew watched Genteel's appear and begin tending to Darrius, he reflexively reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellow pill, placing it in his mouth.

The bell rung, signaling the end of the school day. Wild animals stampeded out of their cages and exploded down the corridors to a cacophony of thumping boots. Excited glances were exchanged and a gossipy buzz, recounting Jackson and Darrius’ fight, permeated just underneath the surface as students boarded the elevators, destined for their living quarters.
Within The Pyramid, everyone lived between levels 21 and 100, the more service you paid to the hierarchy the further your ascension towards the point and the more revered you were.
Andrew slithered out of his classroom with the other students and started to collect his books. In his mind, Jackson, who had not yet returned, was about to walk around the corner. They would catch the elevator together. They would talk. They would vent, reconcile and repair whatever damage the day had caused but, as Andrew finished gathering his belongings and slung his backpack over his shoulder, Jackson never appeared.
A deathly silence now hung in the air, haunting Andrew’s heart as his eyes glazed over and the edges of his mouth were dragged downwards. He knew Jackson wasn’t going to walk around the corner; last time was the last time. His knees wobbled as he slammed his locker shut, his frustration and anger knocking at his chest, making his head throb as it broke against the tidal wave of sunshine pouring flowing through his blood, he walked to the elevator and pressed his floor, level thirty.

Floor thirty was sparsely decorated and resembled the corridors of the old hotels; tacky patterned yellow and red carpet lined the floors, made only more hideous by the jarring fluorescent lights and antiquated lamps that were methodically propped up against the wall.
The buzz of the fluorescent lights flung itself against the walls and Andrew was forced to squint as the doors opened, his eyes adjusting to the harshness of the light.
His head slumped, he trudged to his living quarters; there still hadn’t been any word from or about Jackson.
He heard rumors; horrible things that only pushed his spirits down further, and stopped just in front of his door, his hand on the intercom button.
“Mom, I’m home.”
There was a metallic click as the door latch unhooked and Andrew nudged it open.
His living quarters were far from exuberant or ebullient; it was no more than a two-bedroom loft, the kitchen and laundry were combined, the fridge sat next to the washing machine, and flowed on to a shared living space that was just big enough for a three-seater couch and a flat screen TV that, at this time, projected the loving, smiling face of The Oracle. Loosely hung drapes divided the two bedrooms, Andrew and his younger brother Marcus in one and his parents in the other, and the toilet, a small meter by meter cubicle was the only room to have a solidly built door.
Sitting on the couch, his mom, Janet, stared at him, her eyes hollow and expressionless.
“What’s wrong?” Andrew stammered.
He knew even before his mother started talking.
Her voice was soft and racked with an emotion that Andrew was having trouble understanding.
“Come sit down.”
Andrew numbly obliged.
“Did something happen at school today?” She asked.
Opening his mouth to speak, his mother, Dinna, shot a finger up to silence him and, reaching over to the side table, opened the draw and pulled out a little blue pill.
She gingerly placed it into his palm and, with kind and tearful eyes, nodded, “first, take this.”
The blue pill felt heavy in his hand. He placed it into his mouth and dry swallowed, hacking slightly as the pill rubbed against his throat. A throbbing suddenly ebbed through his body. Unlike the yellow pills, which shot bolts of enthused electricity, the blue pills were designed to facilitate sadness, darken the world and allowed the taker to revel in pain.
The Oracle understood that a perfect world was unattainable, if people were expected to be constantly happy they would eventually cease to be happy. It was the discord of the emotional spectrum that made the highs high and the lows low and makes people appreciate the order she has brought to the surrounding chaos.
A pulsing thumped at the sides of Andrew’s head as his brain struggled to catch up with his body.
Like an old View-Master, the day’s events appeared before him before suddenly vanishing before being replaced by the next one: Jackson’s sadness, his outburst in class, the fight, the look of Darrius lying broken and dying on the floor, the sorrow and regret on Jackson’s face as the Steam Heads took him away and his disappearance.
Tears welled in his eyes and, with those now frightened and dejected eyes, he looked at his mother, “what happened?”
“Jackson didn’t come home. His father called, he was hysterical, crying, refused to take a yellow. I could hear Marianna in the background begging him to,” Dinna’s voice was soft, her sobs like hurdles for her to climb, “Andrew, they got a letter from Community Affairs, Jackson passed away this afternoon. I’m so sorry Andrew.”
The words slammed against Andrew as the world blurred around him. His mom continued to talk but they were hollow, meaningless echoes.
The pulsing intensified.
“Do you need to lie down?” Dinna asked, she extended her palm outwards, “do you want to take a yellow?”
Andrew looked at it and shook his head.
“Please, you really should. You need to,” she implored, trying to push it into his palm.
Andrew instinctively pushed backwards against the abrasive synthetic of the couch and tucked his hands into his armpits.
“I’m so sorry Andrew,” Dinna parroted as she slipped the yellow pill into her mouth instead.
Sitting there, Andrew became confused. Was his mother apologizing for what had happened to his best friend, or for masking the pain through the use of the yellow pill?
Sand scraped against his tongue as his mouth became dry and his palms moistened. A jackhammer tore into his skull as his heart was torn apart and his vision blurred.
He placed a hand on the couch’s armrest to steady himself.
“There’s a funeral tomorrow, Community Affairs have sent the ashes. I think we should go, and maybe you should take the week off of school?”
Andrew nodded. It was all he could do. He so badly wanted to reach into the side table’s top draw and open up the yellow pillbox. He longed for the rush of excitement that he felt when the medicine infected his bloodstream, spreading it to every molecule of his being. It would wash away the pain. It had already helped his mother. Andrew could see the marionette strings pull her mouth towards the sky, the sunshine as the clouds disappeared from behind her eyes and he wanted that too. But then he remembered Jackson, standing, staring up at the sky, a blue pill in his hand and another already coursing through his body.
He needed to feel this, for him.
Andrew opened his mouth to talk and rasped, “I’m going to bed.”
Weak-kneed, he kept his hand on the couch for balance and stood up, taking a moment to allow for the world to stop spinning.
“In the end, it’s all for the best,” the tone of Dinna’s voice, light and airy, didn’t match the gravity of her words and caused Andrew to stumble, “in the correspondence from Community Affairs, they said that Jackson was rambling, incoherent and unresponsive, that he was a threat to himself and what we’ve built here, what The Oracle built to keep us safe, happy. He kept talking about The Blacks, wouldn’t stop. Nobody knew what he meant. They tried to sedate him but he didn’t wake back up.”
When Dinna’s voice started to trail off she looked at Andrew, a smile on her face. It disgusted him. No, he was jealous. He also wanted to be free of his pain.
“You’ve heard the stories, about what it was like before, how much war there was, death, anger and violence. We can’t go back to that,” she continued, her voice now sounding hopeful.
Hearing those words, something ticked inside of Andrew, a glimmer of recognition. Had he said them before?
The world weighed on his shoulders but he managed to shrug.
“Guess not,” he moaned as he left his mother smiling on the couch.

Andrew lay in his bed; his eyes opened and he stared at the picture of The Oracle that hung above him, a constant reminder of her grace and benevolence. The wooden slats rubbed through the thin mattress and gently caressed his spine, causing him to wiggle in discomfort.
A small three draw dresser sat at the end of his bed, his clothes neatly folded and organized and next to him was a bedside table with a lamb and a clock.
The walls were bathed in a calming white and the furnishings were minimal. Every so often they were provided something new, whether it be a couch or a television, a sofa or a microwave, to furnish and update their home, but these perks did not come without a cost.
Through loyalty, service and hard work, a family could ascend the Pyramid, moving from the first floor to the eventual 99th. Each floor, as per the pyramid shape of the structure, contained less living quarters than the floor below it with the 99th floor, which was typically reserved for bureaucrats, being lavish and elegant.
Because of their unwavering service, they wanted for nothing and were the envy of all below them; families like Andrew’s endeavored to work hard enough so that one day they too could relax and reap the benefits of their servitude.
This was Andrew’s life.
Born in the Pyramid, he knew nothing of what was on the other side of the wall,