BHS Inkwell 2017-2018

An artist should be a clear pane of glass. The clearer an image he or she can capture, the better their work is. A lens, though scientif ically useful, contorts the truth. She’s walking toward the markets.The sound inside her brain is screaming that they’ll ask her business, bring her in, mark her down, a Disruptor. Her feet keep moving. The stores are all closed. A blue flag hangs limply from a pole.There’s no wind to blow it and show the circling stars. A woman emerges from the alleyway.The girl turns away, hiding her face, and hurries in the direction of home, trying to seem busy, purposeful, not the sort of person with a story in her head. You’ll deliver the Founding Speech, of course, as top of your class. You must memorize it in its entirety, which I know you will be able to do. I am wild and have been known to break into chicken coops and gobble down the fowl. But if you do not touch me. If you do not. “Hello.” “Hello, ma’am.”The girl turns around.The woman is perhaps forty, wiry and graying. She wears a dark green scarf around her neck. “You came to Story Alley.” “No, no, you must be mistaken.” “I’m not. You were there.” “I wasn’t! I’m the top student in my year! I-” “Calm down. I was there too. You met the approaches her and drops her voice to a soft quiet. “They took everyone. One man, I believe, lived across the street from you.They’re somewhere Unnecessary to know about.” She chuckles, then sobers. “I am their supplier. I am Schedule A. I am a Library. And after they kill me, you will be the only one left who has heard a real story in this city.” What is a forest? A flower? A wolf ? What is it that makes them better than Necessary? “Schedule A.”Her throat clenches up. “A book. A Library. You don’t know what that is. It’s a rather easy concept. You can read?” “Yes.” “And write?” “What do you want from me?” Schedule C monger, yes?” “Yes.” She pauses, feeling her heart hammer and hands shake. “Who are you? Why are you talking to me? Get away! I’ll report you!” “It’s been done, girl. Quiet.”The woman

dirty, against the good, against her own purpose; to understand a criminal, their mind, their reasons, to know their crimes, was to become one. She kneels on the cool kitchen floor and weeps. It’s a rare thing for her. Tears, her mother says, come from frustration. Things are always easy for her, so she doesn’t cry. If no one knows that I went, then no one ever needs to

know,

she thinks. But I know!

I heard that story; I failed; I failed the district governor, my parents. I took what I wanted instead

of what was good.

She walks back out of her house. She’s never left after coming home from school except for the Ceremonies, but that seems a distant and irrelevant fact. She sees the city: cement, steel; crumbling gray asphalt, support beams and clean gray blinds, painted doors, gray shoes, gray shirts.The sky is so blue. It’s so blue.

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