[For context, this chapter is apart of a larger book that I created(I didn't really finish it though). It takes place in a dystopian society where Kumi, the main character, is a minority within her city and she was late to class with her friend Yasny. Kumi also has a stutter and in this society that sort of weakness is not tolerated.]
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The bell rang right before they both got to the door. It was shut already before class started, the tall, inanimate structure giving a piercing stare at them both. Yasny knocked on it, and awkwardly waited for it to be opened.
“Late again.” Mr. Kaluga’s ragged voice greeted them. It was weirdly smooth, yet it made everyone feel uneasy. He hadn’t put his hand on his stomach and a half-bow to greet them, so he had already broken a rule.
Mr. Kaluga was a tall man with deep eyes. He was a bit overweight and always wore the same set of clothes, a white button down shirt and black baggy pants. In his mid fourties, his sleek brown hair was already balding a bit, although it hadn’t gotten as worse as it had for many others. Occasionally, he would wear a peculiar ocean blue hat to cover it. His eyes wrinkled and an impressive watch ticked on his left wrist.
“Yasny, sit in the front right corner. K-K-Kumi. Sit in the back next to Akhail. I don’t have time for late students.” Kumi froze. Her instincts took over, always having trouble determining whether to hide or freeze. Her mantra had now kicked in. Shut up. Be quiet. Brush it off. Practice your breathing techniques. Speak slowly. Remember your trigger words. It’s okay that this is happening. She always seemed to react in fazes, never all at once. When those thoughts died out, Kumi unfroze and gave Yasny a worried look. The whole class had just watched her get embarrassed.
Yasny sighed. “Don’t worry about them.” She heard her whisper as she walked toward Akhail, trying to not look like her legs were wobbling when they were. That’s what I always try to tell myself. Kumi thought. And it doesn’t work.
Mr. Kaluga pondered on Kumi’s terror. His eyes stared into hers, and the whole world grew still as he started to speak again. “Y’know Kumi, you're like a broken watch, like the one I wear. You go ‘tick-tock-tick-tock’ whenever you speak. I think some people would rather have your mouth chained. For all that is tolerable in this universe, please don’t open it.” Mr. Kaluga remarked, even though Kumi had said nothing. A few kids laughed in response. Kumi was too terrified to even look at any of them in the faces.
Kumi wanted to cry, to tear herself apart and then destroy herself. She couldn’t do any of them but her bundled up emotions were driving her insane. Everyone laughed at her. Everyone hated her. She was the stuttering Dremulusi that lived on the Bherian side of the city. She should go back to where all the Dremulusi live, in that case she’ll only be a stutterer. She couldn’t bear to imagine how many eyes were staring at her, judging her. The thoughts, the snickers. She wanted to hide in her bedroom, under her bed, and never come out. Each snicker and whisper felt like a stab in the spine.
They want me gone. They hate me. They’re right. I should hate myself. Weak. Waste of food.
Kumi closed her eyes tight and curled up into a ball on her chair, with her arms around her legs. She couldn’t bare to look at the classroom again, or into the face of Mr. Kaluga. She wanted to be safe with her parents, who could atleast give her a hug and a few warm words, although she knew it wouldn’t be enough.
When Kumi opened her eyes after moments of silence, Mr. Kaluga was back at the front of the room, near the chalkboard. The rest of the students had turned their attention away from her, even Yasny. Nobody cared. Everyone had gone back to some sense of normalcy.
Kumi reoriented herself. She was in a school, not a bedroom or somewhere where she could cry herself to sleep. She needed to stand firm and with pride, like a real Bherian. She was no Ofreaviet, after all, weak and with skin like the dirt they were. Pride is Power.
Your people were once foreigners, too. They never judged, they were willing to get any help they could. Be a little bit more like them. Be wise, like the golden warrior. A small, pesky voice whispered inside her head, mimicking what her parents would always tell her as a young child. She ignored it. It was Mr. Kaluga’s class; not paying attention was the closest thing to a death sentance.
Mr. Kaluga studied the silent room for a few seconds. Suddenly, the loudspeaker blaired the national anthem. Every student was required to stand up. They had been training to do it syncronized since they had first gone to school. They sang each part of the anthem. It was neither short nor long, dull nor complex. It was a blend of everything Bherian. It had beautiful tunes and a sense of patriotism never outmatched.
Afterwards, everyone took out their pills. It was required to take them in the morning. Kumi watched Yasny closely. Yasny didn’t try the pill, instead she put it in her mouth, pretended to drink a glass of water, and then pushed out the pill with her tongue, spilling a bit of water in the process.
Mr. Kaluga’s eyes stopped focusing on Kumi, and turned toward Yasny. “Yeldisan, Yasny.” Mr. Kaluga called. If he was truely serious, he would usually call someone with their last name. “Open your palm, please.”
Yasny opened. With that, Mr. Kaluga pounced on the opportunity. “Trying to skip pills, aye.” He gave a wicked smile. “Rare, but this isn’t my first time seeing it. If you don’t want it in your mouth, try sticking it up your ear.” Yasny gulped. She looked at Kumi, this time she was the source of Mr. Kaluga’s wrath.
She stopped hesitating, and stuck the slimy, wet pill up her ear. “I’d like you to keep it that way for the period. Then I’ll see you eat it when you leave my class.” A few kids smirked. Kumi tried to hide herself again. Yasny had yet again managed to make herself look like a total idiot.
“Alrighty.” Mr. Kaluga declared, clearing his throat. “Today, we are learning about figurative language. Similies, metaphors, hyperbole, persononification, the list goes on. Now-” His talk died down into silence as he turned to see two girls passing a note to one another.
He frowned, and sighed, getting rid of a bit of the anger that was storing inside of himself. The girls stood no chance when he was up at their desks. One was Yoryia, a slender and tall girl who was maturing. The other was a slightly chubby and pre-pubsculent girl named Osseria, who’s firm crystal blue gaze made any adult shiver. She was profoundly beautiful for her age. Kumi often saw them speaking to each other, but she doubted they were close. They must be out of their minds to be even risking something like that in Mr. Kaluga’s class.
The girls shifted in their seats, before finally, Yoryia gave the note to Mr. Kaluga. He threw it in the trashcan nearby, and it went in on the first try.
“You don’t need to give me the paper. You girls have no idea what damage you do, passing a note like that.” His voice rose, anger trailing each sylabule. “No matter. If you need to learn how The Creed works, and what loyalty and pride really is, then I can include it in our lesson.”
Yoryia gulped. “Okay, sir.” Her low voice bounced throughout the silent room, before Mr. Kaluga responded. “Let’s get started.” He smiled as he spoke in a pleasant and respectful tone. But Kumi knew that his attitude was only because Yoryia was a true Bherian, bright pink eyes and blonde hair coupled with light skin. But even his response couldn’t have made Kumi guess what would happen next.
He paced across the room for several minutes. Anxiety shifted across the shoulders and swiftly crawled down the back, the weight becoming practically umbearable each time he passed the tiny desk. He was a wolf, tracking the whole herd as intensely as possible until a lone bison broke and was the next meal.
Maybe his method of making us learn and use figurative language is…working? Kumi was now puzzled by whatever was happening. But the bizarre pacing came to a halt at an unsuspecting student.
Aikhal, one of the younger kids in the grade, had been chosen as Mr. Kaluga’s prey. Akhail, in essence, had trouble paying attention in the first place. His pale gray eyes wandered in each and every lesson, his size four feet tapped the floor in boredom, and he was always caught up in himself.
But so was everyone else. Friendship, after all, had been practically nonexistent throughout school, but everyone still had aquaintences and allies. People they could trust to not have an overly awkward conversation with.
Kumi contemplated staring at Mr. Kaluga for longer than a minute. After all, she was right next to him, and she didn’t want his attention again.
Eyes flared wide and a layer of blush emerged on the face when Mr. Kaluga gave the question. “Good morning. Aikhal.” Mr. Kaluga cleared his throat. “Are you loyal to your country?” Mr. Kaluga’s eyes pierced through any fake confidence Aikhail could retain, and his arms crossed in disappointment even when Akhail hadn’t been given time to answer.
Aikhail’s eyes gleamed around the room, chasing any possible look of entertainment or amusement on anyone else’s faces. If there was any visible amusement, it scattered equally. Kumi could tell that most people, on the inside, were deeply amused by Aikhail’s misfortune. There was no room for weakness, every part of The Creed made that reality.
In spite of that, Kumi pittied him. It was hard not to remember the kindness of her ancestors, the Dremulusi of ancient tales. Akhail needed that kindness. He was trapped by the wolf that was Mr. Kaluga, and the desperate eyes were searching for guidance.
“Yes,” The high pitched voice almost stammered, terror clearly stated in only one sylabul. Kumi knew that feeling all too well. Yet I’m not the center of the hate anymore. I guess it doesn’t make a damn difference who is the center of the hate as long as there is one.
A smile slipped through Mr. Kaluga’s deep stare. It was twisted, the spine-chilling horror of it being present even when it was something that was supposedly joyous; a smile. “Prove it. Sing the national anthem, praise The Director. Or are you a rabbit, a small, pathetic creature, only useful to be eaten up by the stronger predators around you? Are you loyal?”
Even Kumi was taken aback by Mr. Kaluga’s tone. True ferocity was never shown behind the wolf’s very level-headed demeanor. It was as if his consternation was a weapon, a metaphorical bite at Akhail. Mr. Kaluga’s bushy tail lashed as he dug his teeth-and fright-into his prey. Kumi hadn’t seen such an aggressive flare up within him for a while by now, not since he had gone on a rant about Ofreaviets and ‘Northern Civilization’. “I served for our country, and I even killed a few of those bastards. I’ll kill all of them if I need to, so only the Bherian way of life rules the Earth.” Kumi still remembered his harsh tone that latheled his voice.
Mr. Kaluga put his hand on Akhail’s desk and positioned his head straight into Akhail’s terrified face. He had become a true predator, now trying to intimidate his prey once more.
“Yes.” Akhail finally spoke. The firmness in his voice was slightly tangible, the softness of his normal soft voice being chipped away by false confidence. He raised his hand in the air, 4 fingers out. The middle and ring finger were touching while the two other fingers stayed separate. It was the national symbolism of Bherian supremacy. “Glory to The Director! May all of Bheria’s foes fall on their knees!”
Mr. Kaluga’s smile deepened, the shadowed expression shown on his face contrasted by the brilliant light coming from the sun-touched windows. The sounds of heavy breaths slowed, as the wolf still continued to survey his prey. Akhail kept his hand in the air, his eyes searching for any signal to put it down. No signal arrived. A few moments passed, and the hands rested on the table again.
“Recite the three goals of The Accuser.” A command struck through the uneasy air, right after Akhail put his hands back on the table. Whatever amusement had been in the room had dissipated. The Accuser was a sacred role. They were the ones in court who argued against The Creed. Everyone knew their testimonies would never be enough to overrule a law issued by The Creed, but they were still regarded as one of the highest-valued jobs a person of even the higher classes could attain. The thing was: no one in general, especially at Kumi’s age, knew of their three goals. Besides, well, Kumi herself. Spending time looking at legal proceedings from dust-covered books had somehow managed to fascinate Kumi during her boredom.
Akhail stammered. “I-we-I-I think it’s-” Stammering couldn’t save him from what happened next.
Mr. Kaluga, with all his might, smashed the same hand Akhail had used in the air. It got squished between the hard metal desk and Mr. Kaluga’s fist, likely bruising it or even fracturing bones. Akhail’s face was a balloon about to burst. It was rose red; the veins in his eyes were only getting bigger and redder. Kumi just knew that he wanted to scream for hours. The pain seemed to fill up his whole now-red body, his muscles tensed, his bored leg was now frantically stomping up and down, until after a while the only sound in the air was long, unsteady breaths.
“If you don’t want more where that came from, then you’ve got to know, not think.” Mr. Kaluga responded to Akhail, who was on the verge of tears as he stared at his crippled hand. “Now answer the question.”
Akhail nodded, letting his hand fall onto his left side. “The first goal is to stand at the face of the law with pride, so everyone knows you mean what you do.” A stop. Akhail had given up a crucial moment to attempt to recall what the second goal was. “The second goal is to, um…” Mr. Kaluga frowned. The world held its breath.
Fortunately, Akhail had bounced back to an answer. “To look in the eyes of Justice, as you are its enemy. You represent all those who stand against The Creed and its doctrines.” Akhail’s breathing was still wobbly. He glanced at his hand and winced. The stress of having another hand crippled had occupied more of his headspace than the seering pain of the hand that was crippled.
“And the third?” Mr. Kaluga asked, his sharp voice a blade that cut through the still air. Akhail remained silent, the only thing that showed what he thought was the single teardrop rolling down his puffed cheek. His breathing stabilized, but he was on the verge of weeping away all his dread.
It was a few moments before Mr. Kaluga moved again. This time, when he did, however, he stepped backward. “If Akhail here cannot recite the third goal, then hopefully someone else can and is willing to. If anyone is, I will allow them to recite it.”
The class remained silent, although a few kids shifted in their seats. Kumi assumed she was the only one who knew the third goal.
I should help him.
But what do I gain out of it? Look at this objectively-a student is about to be heavily punished for not knowing a very hard question that isn’t studied, even within this grade level. Or school. Mr. Kaluga is trying to be unfair. What’s his goal?
Should I help? Is this a trap? Does he know that I know the answer?
I’ll look like a nerd if everyone knows that I know. Or I could stutter under pressure. I won’t gain anything out of this socially. I doubt Akhail will suddenly beg to be my friend.
Mr. Kaluga’s voice interrupted her thinking. “I will ask again, if anyone wants to recite the third goal, you may choose to.” Kumi had hoped for some answer, to ease off the heavy weight of her decision, but even the air managed to remain still.
This is clearly unfair. Maybe I should play Mr. Kaluga’s game, whatever it is. I can help Akhail, like a golden warrior would. Maybe I can finally make someone proud, even if it’s my ancestors I’m not sure even exist. But that’s just a maybe. I don’t have to.
But Kumi knew what she would see if she didn’t.
~~~~~208Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYfQn42e5rG
208Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHmXDtEK5Lv
“This is your last chance. Recite the third goal, or Akhail will face punishment.”
A few moment’s of terrifying silence, before Kumi’s voice rang through the now liberated air. “The th-th-third goal is to fail.” Kumi couldn’t cringe at herself for stuttering infront of Mr. Kaluga, but she was sure that a distasteful expression had emerged on her face after that sentence. My first stutter today. At the worst possible moment. Kumi’s wide eyes tracked Mr. Kaluga as he ambled across the room, taking as much time in each stride.
A malignant smile had appeared across his face. “Correct. I assume you knew the other two as well.” Kumi nodded, avoiding speaking-and stuttering.
“Very well. Akhail won’t be punished. But, I have a question for you: why are these the goals of The Accuser?” Curse my old self. I should’ve never read the book Ayon and Omalon: a history of law in Bheria.
I should’ve never spoken out, either. “Because The Accuser is trying to get rid of The Hierarchy.” Kumi couldn’t even tell what her voice sounded like. She spoke so fast that she hoped it seemed like gibberish. Maybe Mr. Kaluga would realize that Kumi shouldn’t be questioned. Maybe she would sound too dumb, or whatever empathy he had behind his cold demeanor would break through the cracks. Or maybe he wanted a dumber Kumi.
“Still correct. Two for two.” Mr. Kaluga took a step forward. Kumi almost jumped out of her chair. Her sweaty hands gripped themselves into fists. She felt something wet trickling down her face. Was it a lone tear? A bead of sweat? A mix of both? Something in between? Kumi couldn’t tell, and her hands refused to wipe it off.
“Now, K-K-Kumi, tell me this: are you loyal to your country?”
Kumi gulped in response. I’m the next victim. I’m dead. I’m a fool. No golden warrior can help me now. I’ll be seeing my ancestors in the afterlife.
Nonetheless, Kumi nodded again in the response. “Please, Kumi, speak up.” A chill was sent down Kumi’s spine. Mr. Kaluga almost never addressed her by her normal name, usually an insult.
“Yes.” Kumi’s word was lifeless, like the heart had just been ripped out of it. It sounded like the choking voice of a dying, old man.
“Laud The Creed, please. Say it like you would if The Priniciple was right infront of you.” Mr. Kaluga requested.
Kumi took a deep, troubled breath, before attempting to stare Mr. Kaluga in the eyes. They shattered her confidence. She averted them the second she saw them. The Principle only cares about pleasing the authorities. He claims to follow the rules and never does. Why should I laud him?
For a few moments, Kumi couldn’t get herself to say the words. Her mouth wouldn’t budge, even if her brain wanted it to. Her whole body was in an act of open rebellion. Only her shaky breathing could be heard.
She didn’t know why. Did she hate The Creed? Shouldn’t she like them? Aren’t they another member of her family, the closest friend she will ever have? The aggravating centuries of utter silence dragged on. Eventually, she let out her words: “All hail The Creed.”
Silence followed for a few more moments. Kumi’s fear made it impossible to tell whether or not other people found it amusing. Everytime she glanced at a person, she wanted to jump out of her skin. Even Yasny. Right now, they were bitterly judging. To some extent, none were her allies. Only enemies surrounded her in her fight.
What followed was excruciating pain that reverberated around her whole body like a drum being hit. Her muscles tensed. Her teeth gnashed. She couldn’t tell if she had been moved only slightly or if she had been slammed onto the ground. Fear tethered her body into staying frozen, and humility set in the air around her, along with the harsh reality that she had been slapped in the face by her own teacher.
But Kumi knew that every teacher would be okay with this. They would allow it to happen, even if it was against the school ‘rules’. Maybe it was because of who she was. But no one cared what happened to the girl that stuttered. Rightfully so.
“Now, again. Exolt The Creed like you’re saying it to The Chairman.”
The Chairman doesn’t care about me. His bureaucratic business keeps him busy. He would be okay with casting out all the weak people, including me. Why should I exolt The Chairman?
“All hail Th-The Creed.” Another stutter. The second time that day. Anxiety now oozed down Kumi’s back, covering her up in invisible guck. The sore atmosphere crept behind her. Fate had been sealed.
Another wave of pain hit Kumi when Mr. Kaluga stomped on her foot. Has it been flattened? Was the first thought that popped through Kumi’s whirling head. Her whole body wanted to scream; a fire had been lit within it. Kumi clenched her jaw, pursed her lips, tried to stop herself from smashing the table and stomping her feet on the floor, if only for a moment to distract herself. The eerie sounds of tears hitting the tile floor filledthe apathetic air. The only other noise that followed was an uncomfortable giggle from Akhail himself, staring at his allies to observe what they thought of the entertainment they were witnessing.
Mr. Kaluga grasped Kumi’s arm with exquisite speed, hoisting her up from her chair. He grabbed her body with one hand and headlocked her with another. Kumi attempted to resist, but it didn’t work. He was far stronger than she was, and she couldn’t escape his iron grip. He was in control now.
Kumi tried being dead weight. She started shaking hysterically, trying to pull his arm off her stomach. It only gripped her tighter. It was getting harder to breath, harder to see, even harder to think. Kumi saw the stacks of pencils and rulers and scissors in the baskets. Those innocent tools suddenly looked a lot more dangerous.
Mr. Kaluga’s breathing could be heard from miles away. It had become louder than Kumi’s own breathing. She felt the air from his breath brush against her head.
Kumi could hear her own heartbeat. It pulsed throughout the whole room, slowly becoming less and less rapid. Kumi’s chest was being pushed inward. The eyes of everyone judging her haunted her wherever she traced the room. She was being watched and belittled at every moment.
“Salute The Creed like you are speaking to The Director.”
Only one thought flashed through Kumi’s mind before she said the chant. Why should I salute The Director?
But that moment quickly became just that: a moment, and now, she was saying the words.
“All hail The Creed! All hail The Creed! All hail The Creed!” Kumi was practically screaming the words, all air in her lungs dedicated to the hysterical chanting. They felt like they were ingrained right in her soul. Even though her lungs were literally being crushed and her neck was in a headlock, she had almost breaken the barriers of logic by being able to scream as loudly as she could.
But in a strange moment, she suddenly found pride in those words. They were saving her life. By following her Dremulusi roots of the golden warrior, she had been almost condoned to death. Now, she knew that she was Bherian. She now supported The Creed. The Creed’s reign was glorious and brought prosperity to all. She had found truth in the words that she shouted.
The tight grip released. Kumi fell to the ground, and scrambled back into her seat. As she breathed and cleared her thoughts, the only thing that remained was uncertainty. How much do I like The Director? Should I have helped Akhail? Was it a good idea to help someone who never repaid me? Even if he will repay me…should I have been weak like that?
Mr. Kaluga stepped back to the front of the classroom, where everyone could see him. He commanded the attention now.
“All hail to The Creed!” Mr. Kaluga declared.
“All hail The Creed!” Shouted the class in unison, including Kumi. They were terrified, but they were one.
The class all kept their hands in the air for what felt like hours. Tired students glanced at each other, then back at Mr. Kaluga. Kumi however, didn’t mind it as much. She was proud that her fists could still remain in the air, even after every part of her body throbbed.
“Now you see, if I were to put guns to all your heads and demand that you fight for your lives, as natural law does to humans, then you will eventually create hierarchy. The weakest will die or be on the verge of death, the middle will be trying to support itself and the highest ranks will be demanding of their weak counterparts. But, if, say, the weakest classes, together, were to revolt against the small minority of the highest class, then they will squabble until another hierarchy is created. This time with smoke and mirrors. This hierarchy is inherently weaker than the original, as the highest class has to rebuild its wealth from the infighting of classes. The cycle continues, and lives are lost in the process. Humans inherently have a need for hierarchy. It’s dug deep within all our subconsciouses, like the roots of a tree. Although most are submissive to the hierarchy, as they should be, there are a few who are assertive and come from the lowest classes. It is our job, as civilized humans, to eliminate them. The system must continue if it is to thrive. The system is worth dying for, even for the hollow corpses that make up the lower classes. For the sake of all of us. We must remember the wiseness of the philosopher Kahnifus, who stated this: “Equality is oppression.””
The students turned their attention back to Kumi, who avoided all their eyes. The herd had spotted their own weakness. Soon, it would be time to eliminate it. The order to put their fists down still wasn’t given, but the wolf watched and admired with pleasure the herds attempted to hide their stress and tiredness. It was clear who was the victor.
A few minutes later, the bell rang.
The end of period one.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
