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My Name Is Acacia
My Name Is Acacia

My Name Is Acacia


I awoke, the hot flesh of the sun beating down onto me through my stained glass windows. I felt it, the sun was apart of me. Gazing across my room I noticed things, simple things. Luxuries only which my parents could afford for me. Such as, Life. Staring right back at me, was my small Bonsai tree, one of the last in the world, and every time I awoke it reminded me of what used to be, so many years ago. And what I have become. My mind trails across the room, reminding me of stories my parents had been told by theirs. They say that, when you go outside you breathe in air, simply. You intake the atmosphere of jungles, sometimes flush grasses. I wanted this, I wanted to run outside onto the grass like the stories they told. I picture it in my mind a lot, green as far as the eye could see, green. Of course, the crowned get to see grass all the time. They can afford to, leaving the other 99% of the population, outside of their luxury of a life. In our society, you can only be one of two peoples. The crowned, or the not-so-lucky people, the proletariat. I remember I begged my life for that little tree, and I convinced them too. But, I hate it. It stands there, mocking me every time I awake. Mocking me, like the sun which beat on my flesh through my stained glass windows, reflecting memories of rainbows before global warming caused a shortage in rains. My mind retreated once more, to the safety of my own, being.

I left the house, both my parents at work. They are always, at work. Working for the Crowned; They step on our toes while we teach them how to dance. I know for a fact that schools have changed a lot to, the immense heat has caused schools to be built in a dome shape. Something to do with, air flow. The population of the world has more than quadrupled since 2040, and now everything is only allowed crammed spaces as homes. Look at me, my parents and I live at the top room of an old church, along with several other families. As I walked to school, I saw other people too, from my school. They call me introverted, I don't mind, although several people have walked with me as if they'd known me for years before. The hard gravel earth echoed within my steps, like a song that's waiting to be sung by the core of the world, but is never given the chance because no one listens.

I reach the school, a new synthetic material called glassfibersyn covers the entry as a pair of doors. It is a clear fiber, and lets whoever walks through, through, until someone activates the lasers above which make it opaque and harsh to get through.

I walk in, I could feel my Amber eyes reflecting the sun as if I was the sun, myself. Or I carried a part of it with me, I knew I did, but only the Crowned carried something with them. So, I kept this to myself, knowing that I would only start lies within my soul.

I listen as the murmmers of the people around me fade, for this I am glad because I can feel stares on the back of my neck, I know. On my neck I have a tattooed crown, only the crowned have this and I pity myself every day for it because I hate it. If there were one thing I would change about me is that I have that. The Crowned are to be killed, every single vile thing which every touched one needs to be killed. I despise the Crowned, if anything we deserved their glory more than they did. I don't know why I have this on the back of my neck, neither will my parents admit that it's there, but I see it. I have eyes. That's what I like about being able to see, because, when you see something, you know it's the truth and not the lies which people will feed you until you're gone, forver. Fed lies your life, this is not something I would want to be remembered by.

I enter a room with only several other students, all of them notice me walk in for the first time as if they haven't seen a human in their life before. I avert my gaze, feeling the sun reflected throught the dome hot on my back, the warmth killing me by the second. After a while into class, I realize that the burning sensation has never happened before and I click a buzzer which then alerts the teacher I need to be excsued without distracting the whole class, she excuses me and I run through the domes. I run. Students tossed and turned behind me, whispering lies which their eyes have told them. I don;t trust sight anymore, because that Crown on my neck isn't the truth, I've never put it there before. The burning sensation continues and I choke back hot tears burning the inside of my throat and eating at me alive until I find a small coridor with shade.

I sit in the corner, waiting for a moment, for the burning feeling to stop, no sun reaches me here. No people, see me here. For this I am grateful. My tears stream down my face as I choke sorrows back to not let the world know how much pain it has put me through, but if I tell anyone this. They'll think I'm crazy, and due to overpopulation, the crazy die. I would die. So, I sit there, the burning calming by the passing seconds until a buzzer on my wrist bracelet alerts me it's time for me to return to class or i'll die. Perfection, or none-the-less-death. Except for the Crowned. They get away with being imperfect, the one thing I admire them for.

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About This Story
3 May, 2019
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5 mins
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