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
449
Chapter Three
Chapter 3
It’s not at all comforting to see everyone else. We haven’t interacted with them at all, except when we stood next to each other, and I don’t think that really counts. A couple of them are talking and smiling and laughing, and I wish I had jammed into a car and made some friends.
I see some familiar faces. There’s a boy that I sat behind in geometry class. And the girl who used to push and picket me until I would give up candy. Any candy. Actually, most of the class did that.
Our school playground is not fancy. It mainly consisted of a swing set, a simple plastic twisty slide, many benches, and monkey bars. It’s boring, and there’s usually already a line that stretches around the school as soon as the recess bell rings. But it doesn’t matter, because our school doesn’t have windows.
One school, no windows, not enough books. Well, we do have another school, but most of us can barely afford it. It’s fancy and proper and we’ve never seen it, but the mayor’s daughter keeps telling us that it’s beautiful and magical like a dream. We whisper behind her back that it probably is a dream.
There’s a hole in our playground. It’s not too deep; you can climb out of it easily, but it has giant jagged rocks in the middle of it.
Hot fall day. It’s the beginning of school. I have a sticky bun in hand, like all days. The sun is beating down, and the air is filled with fog and humidity. It is not pleasant. I can barely remember what I am dressed in, but I know that it was something yellow. Or maybe it was white. I’m not sure anymore.
Everyone is tired. No one wants to move; that’s how hot it is. Moving is something of a chore for us. The forecast said it was going to be chilly, but the forecast was obviously wrong. The candy that I had managed to stuff into my bag was melting, and it was wafting everywhere.
Out of nowhere, a storm starts to pull in. A girl with a single plaited braid is the first to feel it. She isn’t screaming of pleasure, she’s screaming in fear. And now… I am screaming as well. I don’t know when this memory occured to me. But now I am sitting down and I realize that they have rigged us to look like a rainbow of people.
I am sitting next to the girl who had that dangerous green dress. Her boyfriend is at the end of the table, with a black bow tie. She looks like she’s about to burst into tears. I do not try to comfort her, as a man with plastic hair slides a plate in front of me.
It is a Phaetonian cheese platter with a Highlander goblet of childrens’ wine and a piece of Dunwich steak. You can tell that everything but the steak is real. I guess they didn’t want to pay for our food. Yet everyone prongs it like it’s just another piece of steak.
I try to swallow it down, but it does not taste familiar. It tastes fake. What is even real in this world? Even Quinn is prodding his food. The salt does not have that tinge of water and moisture. The pepper does not sear through the beef. The spices are mixed too evenly. Everything else is regular.
I want to spit out my kids wine. It’s meant to imitate real wine, but it’s had its alcohol removed. I think I would rather be drunk then have to endure this pain. The grapes do not even taste like grapes anymore, and it tastes like plastic. Well, mainly the smell of new plastic. I’ve never really eaten plastic.
The cheese platter has some cheeses I’ve never even heard of. Munster. Stilton. Blue cheese that isn’t really all that blue. This cheese platter reeks of real, and that’s how you know they’ve bothered to actually make it. One girl deliberately sniffs the cheese, then licks it off of her finger. She is Phaetonian, and she barely winces.
I am like many Dunwich children. This is a foreign land, where they refuse to honor our culture, our town. At least it smells a little better. I still wonder why they have bathrooms inside. I suppose it smells so nice that the grossness of a bathroom can be kept inside.
I think the girl next to me is trying to have a conversation with me. She says her name is…. Mora. I think. I’m not really listening to her. She’s Phaetonian. She misses her boyfriend, despite the fact they are only three meters apart. She is also not eating her food cause she is too busy crying about her boyfriend.
I want to comfort her, but I don’t know how. I’m not sure what to really say. And it wouldn’t matter because a gong rings and more men with plastic hair are filing out of the giant brass doors. The walls are covered with marble, with giant pillars. There is a white curtain. I think that my eyes will be blind after seeing this much white; I didn’t think this was possible.
There’s a girl across from me, who’s gobbling down her food like she’s going to die tomorrow. I suppose that she’s trying to make the most of it. She must be from the parts of the Highlands that makes wine, because she is fine chugging down her glass of purple plastic.
I see a map of the region hanging on a wall across from me. I’ve never really seen a map of the entire region. It’s almost like it’s banned in Dunwich. I’ve seen a map before though. Most of them are old and almost gone though.
The map shows that all three sections frame Anemone. Provinces are posted in light gray ink that is slowly fading. I find my province, with my mayor’s name. Lower West Dunwich, Mayor Cinchquest. I guess it’s nice to see the entire region, and see how big our forest is compared to the others. How strange it is that the smallest city is the capital. Maybe it’s to show that it’s special… in some way.
Almost everyone is feasting themselves now, even those who are used to this kind of food. Some eat like monsters, others eat with their fork and knife very daintily. It’s a lot of meat, and I barely eat meat, so I just try to pick at my salad as another gong rings.
Dessert. There’s a delectable called a lava cake, some cookies, and some chocolate dipped strawberries. I think about what would happen if I would try to take some of this back home. Lava cakes are too expensive so we can only afford to make them, not eat them. Cookies are easy to make, but it is not part of our trade, so I would have to trade more candy than I should to get them. The chocolate dipped strawberries would probably be the only thing we have in our store, but my parents only let me have what I make. Even then, there is sometimes not enough for me to have a taste of and they must put it on display.
I bet I could walk up to any phaetonian goods store and ask for these items, and they would have them at a low price.
I try to keep my head down, but I can’t help looking around. Gold laced quartz. A long mahogany table. Velvety chairs that are clean and plush.
There are screens positioned in the front of the room, standing near the white curtain. They are black and dark, and they aren’t plugged in. I can’t understand how they work.
My lava cake explodes. It splatters chocolate all over my dress, but nobody notices. Everyone else is also covered in chocolate, and everyone is laughing. Quinn is laughing. I suppose I should laugh too. But I do not. Instead, I take the next few minutes slowly and carefully dabbing the chocolate specks with water, cleaning it off.
I half expect a food fight to arise from this. More gongs. It pierces my ears this time.
The room goes dark. Blackouts don’t happen in Anemone, it was in their stately reports. I presume that the stately reports are just to make Dunwich look bad, but we had the least amount of deaths last year, so I suppose that’s good.
Dramatic. They love to over dramatize things. The instructors step out in their plastic outfits with their plasticy hair and plasticy smooth skin. They could be plastic dolls, with their dainty petite figures and perfect molded faces. That’s what they set up those stupid curtains for. And the screens.
Everyone is cheering and clapping for them. It’s like we’re in a tv commercial. Everyone is happy and perfect and having fun. A spark shoots out from behind them. They do fancy flips and kicks around the stage, but I try to pay no attention. The speakers pierce my ears and I feel like screaming.
I’m still in a white room, but there are clouds. Pink fluffy clouds. They squeeze me. I hear louder and louder shrieks of pain. I struggle to get out, but there is no way.
And I’m back in the dining room, with the shrieks of laughter and partying. Finally, the lights dim back on. Not fully on, but enough for a romantic dinner perhaps.
The pink haired one, Roseanne Mina, stands over all my future peers with a foreboding look. She looks like she could be an actor in a play, and it wouldn’t matter less. She has a laurel on her forehead, and she has a scroll in her hand.
“Welcome! Welcome to The Complex, chosen ones!” The Complex. That’s what this place is named. “Here is your schedule for the tomorrow.” She really wanted to jump straight to this point. I wonder what other purpose she serves other than reading the schedule.
“You must be ready by eight am sharp and report back here for breakfast. The meal will be sausages and a fried egg. Then you will be escorted into your rooms and we will begin… how should I put it… testing. After you are tested, you will come back at twelve for a quick lunch of sandwiches and charcuterie and then you will get to see your rankings for…the testing. Then you will go back to your rooms and continue the testing until dinner, which after you are free to explore the city with an escort or explore The Complex. That is all.”
Fluttering music plays, and the plastic dolls walk off stage, like it’s a fashion show.
Roseanne must be new. I haven’t seen her in any of the other choosings. I’m almost sure she’s Phaetonian. Most of the trainers must be. Why?
