Everyone knows what they chose me for. It is because of my eyes. And it isn’t often that Worker Fledglings, or the ones that worked in the fields, are plucked up and sent to Prize School. But I, Gen Yae, was. And I go through it, because money is being sent home to my three sisters and my mother. 641Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNsGWqj0Tv5
I stay because I am eating wonderful food and drinking wonderful drink. I stay because the other Fledglings are all each other's best friends, because everyone is so nice and understanding. But selfishly, I stay because I feel beautiful. Because my nails are clipped and perfectly rounded and clean, my face and body is clean and rid of blemishes, my eyebrows are waxed, my lips are smooth, and my hair, which is usually unruly and full of dirt, is a deep brown, silky and in perfect ringlets that fall to my shoulder. 641Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNfGSNMiBHQ
I look at the mirror sometimes, and for the first time I appreciate my honey tanned skin, my long slender neck, angular face, my small yet broad nose, my full bowed lips, my high forehead, and my angular eyes which shine so bright they scare me sometimes. I am a Purple Eyed Fledgling, which means I am a mix of several races. And for the first time, I feel beautiful.
I hate the classes. I despise them. I want to spit as I sit at each desk, as the teachers taught each Fledgling how to be the perfect Prize. They were taught how to cook, and how to clean, and how to sew-which was fair enough- but the worst classes were the ones that taught them how to treat their Prize-Winners, or the men that would be owning them.
“When you are sitting and eating dinner with your Winner,” The teacher announced, walking into the room swiftly despite her cane (I refuse to call Fledglings it, especially in my own thoughts), “You are to ask him how his day was, and as he talks you are to nod and smile. You are to always look engaged and happy. I want you to turned to each other and practice looking engaged.” I sigh, turning to Yareena, one of my closest friends here, and we both dramatically nod their heads at each other, grinning like maniacs.
“ This is not a joke!” Teacher Brownstein quips at us, smacking her cane down with a thunderous thump. We Fledglings jump, and look back at each other, this time with much less enthusiasm.
I also hate the lies told here. I hate how they aren’t taught to read, or write, or do anything that will make them equal to men. I hate how my teachers tell me that I cannot feel anything, and all my emotions are figments of my imagination because I have no nerve endings. I hate how they tell us that that we are all its, and that men aren’t. But I bite my tongue and hold my breath until Taking Day.
Throughout our year-long education, we have occasionally seen men peeking their heads into doors of classrooms, or watching them talk in the lunchroom on Viewing Days. These men, we are told, are sent by rich families to scout Prizes for young, rich men. If one is chosen by this group, they are thrust into a life of riches and wealth and luxury. The remaining ones not picked are then offered to middle class men, where they will live respectable lives as partners to businessmen. Anyone still remaining will go to lower class men, where they will be forced to run farms and plantations and boss around other Fledglings. Clearly no one wants this. I personally want to be chosen by a middle class man. That way I could live a decent, comfortable life.
One day, Teacher Brownstein calls me into her office, and I sit down. The rich men have come and went, already taking the beautiful Yareena, of course, as well as some other Fledglings. I am happy because Brownstein must be calling me to send me to a finance man. I say a quick prayer to whoever’s out there that whoever he is, he’s nice. I sit down in the chair across from her.
“Hello. You wanted to see me?” I say, barely able to contain my excitement that I wasn’t chosen by a low class man.
“Congratulations, Gen you have been chosen by a very wealthy young man who has just come of age, like you. His name is Everett, and his family..” I stop listening. A wealthy man? My heart stops at the thought of the endless scrutinizing and the fake smiles and stuffy dresses. And I feel sick.
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