Wynona
written by cinna
Wynona's been chosen for a special program and is dragged away from her forest life in Dunwich to live with the council in Anemone, the capitol of the land. But Wynona's learning to escape the council, and she learns that they are not the only ones in their world...
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
5
Reads
448
Chapter One
Chapter 1
I wake up to the soft chirping of birds, their melodious voices flitting into my window. There’s no time to think as of now, there is no time to stop climbing down the stairs. I smell the sweet buns that my mother is making on the stove and in the oven, but I try to ignore that as I grab one and run out the door.
The air smells much too sweet to be real and the bun feels fresh and warm in my hands. I sprint towards the edge of the cliff which my house is near to and plop my butt down on the dew wet grass. My dress is soaked by the water and I eat my red bean bun in peace, my hands squeezing the pulp out of the doughy ball.
I can barely hear my chomps over the cool, rushing waterfall. It feels like paradise in this corner of Dunwich Woods, and maybe it is. I try to envision a dodo bird swooping past, only like a true paradise would have. There are no palm trees in my paradise, simply trees that stretch to the sky and a giant lake and sparkling rivers and waterfalls.
I hear another plop on the ground beside me. It’s Quinn, his own fingers wrapped around some beef jerky.
Our families have very different jobs, his being the butcher, and mine being the confectioners. He has meat for days, while I have candy for days. Part of me wishes I had meat, so I wouldn’t go hungry and starve to death. He probably wishes he had candy, as he only gets candied bacon, and his mother isn’t that good at candying it. They never sell candied items at the butchers, but I suspect that Quinn is his mother’s test subject for anything and everything.
The jerky is a new thing she came up with, and it’s all the rave nowadays at “The Market”. There’s no other name for it, it’s just “The Market”. Sometimes Quinn and I will go together and buy some cheeses and milk from the milkmen in exchange for some meat.
It’s not hard to live comfortably in Dunwich, but you’ve got to know your way around. The milkman with the fluffy mustache will only take deer and cow, so you have to be sure to bring some. The milkman without a mustache will take everything, so don’t worry about having to bring a fancy piece of jerky. And the milkman with a beard will only take new meat, fresh meat. We often bring him jerky, because he can never tell the difference, and he likes the jerky anyways. The milkmen are awful picky and I can never understand why.
Quinn sniffs the air and bites down hard on his jerky. His fingers are calloused from chopping wood and pounding meat. He has dark brown hair and green eyes, along with a well built stature that only the bakers and butchers would have. He wears a simple tunic and trousers, and he has a small pouch that is almost ripping from the beef jerkys.
“So. Today’s the day,” Quinn finally says, breaking the ice. I notice that he is aware, and that he is wearing his best clothes, washed of meat stains. I look down and see that I am also wearing my best clothes, which are also light. We wear light clothes every year on this day, and we await it desperately. My black hair is tied up in an elegant braid and my dress has many layers to it, though it won’t be as flashy as those from The Highlands or East Forest. That doesn’t calm me down.
I nod tentatively, knowing that I could either leave my family, or stay with them and try to learn how to make candy. I wouldn’t mind it either. But maybe I want to get away from them. At the same time, I am praying that the council will pass up on my application for the first time. I’ll have to submit an application next year, and for the years until I am eighteen, but the older I get, the less chance I have they will pick me.
“I’m hoping they don’t choose me,” I blurt out. I look down at my almost all eaten bun and sigh.
“Why not? Only fifty people are chosen for the program. If we get in, that’s something special.” I look down and then up at Quinn.
“Yeah, but that means leaving the family.” And it’s not my choice. If you get chosen, you get chosen. I saw last year’s ceremony. They have time to say what you wrote on your application, but not many people do. Plenty of people are excited, but an equal amount are just fountains. They’re usually the ones who fail and are dropped out of the program.
There’s only been three people who are currently alive who have passed the program. Mariyana Dragan is from Dunwich Woods, but she’s not exactly happy that she passed. I’ve met her. And she doesn’t talk about it. They’re not supposed to, and we don’t know anything about what they do for a living.
“What did you write for your application?” I say, trying to divert attention.
He shrugs. “Aren’t we not supposed to tell anyone?”
“Yeah, but I’m not anyone, I’m your friend. Don’t worry, whatever you say will be safe with me.” I jab his ribs and bite into my bun. He laughs and sighs.
“Alright. I wrote some poetry.” He looks down at his jerky and starts to fiddle with the wrapper. Yeah, his mom wouldn’t be so crazy about that. I think his mom was expecting him to write something that had to do with his crazy knife skills or something, but they said to write anything, cause we didn’t know anything about the program.
“I wrote…” I sigh and try to compose myself. “I submitted my story.” The Windflower, a story I’d been working on for two years now, I’d submitted. I wasn’t in my right mind then.
“Your story?” Quinn shakes his head in disbelief. “Now they have to choose you.” I laugh, but I miss the feeling of the warm bun that I have devoured.
The problem is, I wasn’t even done with it, and I still have the chapters that I was afraid to submit in my attic, where I sleep. Quinn says it’s good cause he’s a good friend, but I’m almost sure they won’t pick me. That makes me feel good, and they give you your application back anyways, so there’s no loss.
They will pick Quinn. He has shown me some of his poetry before and it’s amazing. There’s something about it that makes you want to sing or just read it over and over and over again. The council likes those kinds of entries, or so I’m told. I wouldn’t know much, nobody does.
Bells ring. And in the distance I can hear the howling of the animals that live in the forest. I can see Quinn’s fingers twitch at the howling. His mother has trained him to hunt animals, it is his job as the butcher’s son. My family has taught me how to knead taffy, which will be extremely useful if I end up having to take care of myself. I’m being sarcastic when I say that.
Bells. Bells mean it’s time.
I stand up, brushing the grass off of my dress, and start walking with the crowd towards the center. It is held in Dunwich Woods every year, so we do not have to travel far. Dunwich has the room and capacity, so that is why we must endure the bells being rung in our area every year.
The crowd is all wearing white, light colors. We must, as to distinguish the different areas. I find my parents in the mess of white, and they give me a little something to chew on. I see Quinn with his brothers, who are all eighteen. This will be their last year having to submit something for the program. After that, they will be able to start pursuing the butcher’s trade. Their mother places her hands on their shoulders, and whispers something. They nod and they continue walking. The bells keep getting louder.
There are already people here. They are all dressed in yellow or green. Phaeton City and The Highlands. The two other main provinces in the country. They are much bigger than our province. Our province is big on size, but not on population. The people from Phaeton look at us like we are dirty or something like that. I look at my dress. They are right about me.
We sit in our white seats. We smooth out our white clothing. And we look up at the stage which is framed with pine trees and air and sparrows fluttering about. A man with unnaturally colored hair that looks like silver. It is overly gelled up and it looks expensive and his clothes are nicely ironed.
“You all know why you are here today. We best get on with it.” He grabs a roll of paper from a table. That roll will contain twenty-five girl names and twenty-five boy names. The chances of anyone from Dunwich is slim, but there is a chance. He unrolls it, the crinkling of the paper pricking my ears like a sharp needle.
“Elena Ward!” A girl from The Highlands stands up, her hair long and luscious. She steps up to the stage and is first in line. She does not look sad or afraid at all.
“Lavanya Amice!” A girl with dark skin from Phaeton stands up, her lips pursed and her yellow dress trailing behind her. She and Elena Ward shake hands and it is a sign of betrayal to Phaetonians if you shake hands with other provinces. They boo her, but she ignores it.
The names continue. I hear some names go off, but they are not from Dunwich. It’s blurs of green and yellow, as they stand in line, their colors almost mixing together. “Evelina Peda!” Finally, a flash of white stands up. She approaches the stage, and she is biting her nails. She is eighteen, but she acts like she is three. No one boos her, they all sit quietly as a shard of white joins the others.
Silence follows, but the names start to flow again. We are getting close to the end, there have only been three Dunwich names called, so my hopes are high. They are almost at the end of the list, I have been counting, just three more to go and-
“Wynona Evermore!” I forget what I am thinking and bite my lip. Quinn was right, and I was wrong. I should not have submitted my story, what was I thinking? I approach the stage, and I feel a wave of shame passing through me. What does this mean? I try to say goodbye, but the guards slam their spears in front of me and I must keep walking. They don’t even pose the question, “Do you want to read what you wrote?”. They must know it is too long for me to read it. I do not even try to push it.
I stand with the others. It is almost over, and I feel two more girls shove next to me, and we all wave… or something like that. The Phaetonians raise up their fists, which is supposed to symbolize the sun rising up. We file out and sit in the front.
Next is the boys. First is a boy from Dunwich, named Grant Partha. I’ve seen him at school sometimes. They call more names. There is a staggering amount of people from Dunwich. Oh, and Quinn. Quinn Erastos.
He looks at me and frowns, and I smile. I am right, they did choose him. We all sit together, him about a row back and three seats left from me.
“With that done and over with, I would now like to introduce our teachers! Roseanne Mina! Emily Mervin! Carolina Remund! Edgar Lennie! Ivan Prunella! Darrell Lya!” Three women, three men, all step out. They have glossy hair and fancy clothing, just like the announcer. “We also have other teachers, but these are the teachers your children and peers are going to be spending the most time with. Give them a hand!” There is faint cheering. “Oh, and of course, try to not drop out.” Everyone cheers at that, and we are pushed forward by the guards in silver outfits.
I feel pushed into a car with Quinn, whose hands are sweating and whose face is wet with tears. There is no one else in the car; the other cars are packed to the brim. There are fancy and expensive bubbly juices that line the walls, and lollipops and all the candy you could ever want. But they’re not from my parents store. The jerky isn’t real. It’s all synthetic, like everything the people at Phaeton eat.
Quinn’s dark brown hair is drenched with moisture, and his green eyes are dark with fear. He screams and cries, and I am glad we are the only ones in the car. He grabs a piece of beef jerky, but immediately disposes of it when he tastes it. I taste one too, and it is not the same as the stuff in “The Market”. Our driver is a woman, and she has dark skin and a pixie cut. She rolls down the window between her and us.
“Rough day, huh? You two know each other?” Her ID that she wears on her breast says Aitana and she does not scare me like the other council workers do. I nod and try to look down at my feet, not wanting to look at her. I can see out of the corner of my eye that she is nodding too. “Well, you might want to sleep. It’s going to be a long ride from here to Anemone."
Anemone. The name of the council city. I nod and feel myself drifting off, my eyelids heavy.
