Brandon Charles

Everyone is oblivious to everything.

Everyone has something to say.

Everyone is feeling one thing or another.

We "eat to live", not "live to eat".

 We most often like the opposite sex, while some others, don't.

We're human. Feeling depression is human. Wanting to eat is human. Standing up for your own rights is human. Being oblivious to the boy next door having a crush on you is undeniably human. And liking that boy is human.

But not for us--not when you're living in the year 2799. Something was very wrong.

I stared at the front of my classroom, bright, wide-eyed, and inspecting and dissecting every word the professor planted on the digital board in front of us.

The professor called our generation genetically improved from the ones before--we were "genetically" smarter, faster, more attractive, and unemotional. Professor said we were perfect. He said we couldn't feel, and that was the best thing we could ever do. It would keep us from heartbreak, from anger, nervousness and etcetera.

"Elise Boardman?" Prof. said speculating me behind his hexfocals. "Did you hear the question?"

I stared. "No. Please repeat it again," I answered quickly.

For some odd reason, my brain was only on the boy behind me. There was something about him that put me on edge. He lived next door from me, and just a few days ago, he told me he..."liked" me. Was that even physically possible? Or, rather, mentally?

"Miss Boardman, I asked if you would come up to the board and subtract the two polynomials I wrote here."

Prof. was a fairly old man. He had to be in his early hundreds or so, but somehow, he was the most attractive teacher we had in the school.

"Yes, Professor," I said, just beginning to stand.

"Thank you, Miss Boardman," he said, moving out of the way so that I could get to the problem. He smiled and sat at his desk. "Please, if you will, before you answer the question, present yourself to the class."

It was December the 22nd, the first day of a new school year. Today I wore a suit jacket, tailored to fit on me quite perfectly, and pants. I was the only girl in the class who'd decided to wear pants, so I was already an outcast.

I nodded to the professor and faced forward, immediately avoiding the heart-wrenching contact of eyes with the boy who lived next door. I swallowed unnoticeably, and stated my "case".

"As you know, I am Elise Boardman. I am seventeen next year this coming January. I specialize in 3-D graphics and animation. I've been accepted into Columbia next winter. I am mixed with Egyptian and English roots and have been told that I work well with others." I flashed a slight smile before turning back to the professor. "May I begin?"

The professor watched me with a tilt of his head with his legs crossed. "Ahead you go, Miss Boardman. Proceed."

I raised a pointed finger in the air, and began writing, finishing almost as soon as I started. Pleased with myself, I backed away, and waited for Prof. to approve me.

"Good, you can take your seat," the Professor said, standing back up again. "Now, who can simplify this answer?"

I dropped dead in my seat, feeling a sudden rush of embarrassment, the right half of my brain taking complete control. What have you done? You didn't simplify! Now you're a dud!

I bit my bottom lip and snapped out of it. It's an honest mistake. Anyone could've forgotten to simplify. Anyone.

But somehow, everyone else raised their hands. What an inhumane mistake.

I withheld a sigh. "You, James Rodney," Prof. said, giving a brighter and more genuine smile than he'd given me.

There was a screech of a chair and the sound of footsteps coming from behind me. Luckily enough, it wasn't the boy next door, whose name I haven't bothered to learn yet.

"My pleasure," a deep voice said as the boy sauntered to the front of the classroom--and...and shook the professor's hand, as if they were friends. What was this?

The professor sat down again and crossed his legs. "Please, present yourself to the class."

Then he turned to face us. "My name is James Rodney," he said, folding his hands in front of him comfortably. He had dark brown hair, green eyes, and dark pink lips that were curling up into a smile. And he was unimaginably tall for someone of our generation.

 "I'm seventeen and plan to major and minor in law and physics at Princeton University. I just came over from England before this school year started, so that's where the accent comes into play. I, too, have been told that I work very well with others, Miss Boardman, so we might get along easily."

I gulped again--then I nodded.

"May I begin, Professor?" he said.

The professor smiled. "Thank you, Rodney. Proceed."

James turned quickly to the digital board and erased all of my work, and suddenly I felt immersed with shame. He then rewrote the problem, used a different technique than I did, and found the right answer without having to simplify at all. No wonder he was getting into a better school than mine.

He turned to the class as the professor made a speculation. He nodded satisfied. "A fine job, Rodney. Thank you. You may return to your seat. Does anyone have any questions?"

A hand rose beside me, of a blonde girl with a tight smile, and the professor called on her. She opened her mouth confidently and spoke. "James Rodney, how tall are you? We rarely see men in America surpassing six-two, so it's hard to say."

James stopped right in between us, his hand on her desk, and his back facing mine. "Six-four," he answered. "It's interesting to see someone concerned with height."

"Oh," she said, and I bet she was feeling kind of naked, having a conversation in front of the whole class like this—but maybe I was the only one who'd ever feel like that. "I'm asking because I'm majoring in history, and your height is almost record-breaking. I find it very interesting."

Then I froze. I just then understood what she was doing. She was evaluating him, and by the way he slowly walked away without answering, he knew it too.

I may've forgotten to mention, but it wasn't necessary before.

All individuals, at the age of 18, would be assigned a mate. It was mandatory. She was evaluating him as if he was a subject of interest--for mating.

"That was slightly inappropriate, don't you think, Miss Hallie?" Professor said, standing again.

She looked down. "I wouldn't say it's inappropriate. He's an amazing candidate for mating. Women want someone large--it makes for greater fertilization and shows for health and longevity. And offspring would be dominant in the next generation—"

"That's enough, Miss Hallie," the professor said, right before the class finally ended. "Please exit in an orderly fashion."

Chairs screeched as we all stood, and I pulled on my duffel bag. The boy from next door crossed my path, and gave me a look, stealing a single glance, before exiting out of the classroom. Something about that—him—all of him—made my stomach flutter.

He was five-eleven, blonde, and average-looking. Somehow, I had these weird feelings about him, and they wouldn't just easily shake off. I never had feelings like these until he told me he, unexplainably, "liked" me.

"Greetings, Spock," a voice said coming from behind me.

I gulped again—Oh, God, stop gulping, Elise! my right brain screamed. It makes you vulnerable.

I turned slowly to see this James staring me down from his aweing height. "Who is Spock?" I said lightly. "My name is Elise Board--"

"Don't tell me that you've never watched Star Trek before," he said, passing me to leave the room.

Was I supposed to follow? Without thinking, though, I did. I followed. "I don't watch films of any kind, so no."

"Then we have to watch it sometime," he said. "As an informal date. I'd like to get to know you, you're very Spock-ish, and I happen to find it distasteful, and so do the many around you. Human beings shouldn't be like Spock at all."

We exited through the door. "That's very unprofessional of you," I commented shakily, "to hand me criticism like that and then invite me on an informal date to look at a distasteful character that reminds you of me."

"No, not really. I'm actually being quite friendly. You, on the other hand, don't even try, or seem to know the definition. What was unprofessional was that "Hallie" girl who brought up fertilization and mating in class. Blondes are very outspoken, aren't they?"

I paused when I gave all of this some thought and slung my duffel bag on my shoulder as we walked through the hall. I scoffed slightly. "Why are you talking to me?"

"Because you're a prude, Spock," he stated easily.

"What--?"

"And my friend, Brandon Charles, happens to find you extremely attractive, because he's a prude as well, and is afraid to talk to you in person. So I'm doing it for him." James stopped in his tracks just to turn to me. He laughed. "Prudes! I love that word!"

"Shhh!" I yelled. "I'm not a-a..." I began to whisper. "I'm not a prude."

"Oh, but you are. That's why you won't talk to him."

"Why are you so loud? Do you want anyone to hear you?"

"Now, Spock, before you freak out, I am highly intoxicated, and I just need you to talk to him, 'cause he's freaking out about you, and you are obviously freaking out about him. So when can I set up a date between the two of you? Tonight? Tomorrow night?"

"James!" a yell came from across the hallway. I stared into this guy, feeling a rush of embarrassment stir up in me. This was harassment.

I turned my head, and so did James, to the blond kid from next door. He rushed over and hooked onto his friend's arm. "Elise, I'm so sorry," the boy said. "My name is Brandon Charles, and I may've spooked you the other morning with what I said--"

"Brandon, back off," James said. "I have this."

"No, you were making a scene. We need to get out of here. Maybe we can talk more tonight, Elise? You can come over, you know? If, you know, you wanna talk more about this. I know you're probably very confused."

I tightened my grip on my duffel bag, stuttered a couple of words, and without a second thought, paced away, towards my next class.

Bang, Bang

 

The rest of the day was a series of pen-biting, nail-tapping, and hourless hours. By the time history was over, I'd finally cooled down. The worst part was, I had no one to talk about this to. I couldn't say anything because it's considered...unusual. If I had a mother, she'd be the first person I would tell.

I lived in apartment 108 on Coelstry St. It was a jumbled mess of brick buildings in a poor city that was all nudged together and packed tightly. So my next-door neighbor's window was literally centimeters from mine.

I knocked on the door, and a series of screaming sounded. Like I mentioned, if I had a mother, she'd be the first person I would tell about my problems. But my mom was gone, ever since she’d been diagnosed with schizophrenia, and has been hearing voices and seeing things ever since.

"Who is it?" a weathered voice said on the other side of the door.

"It's me, Mom. Elise. It's about to rain. I'd like to get inside before the unfortunate happens." I tapped my feet slightly as the door slid open.

Mom was a bright blonde with pinkish skin and freckles. She had a white robe rapped around her and waited for me to step inside.

“Did you take your pills?” I asked, slowly walking inside.

She messed with her fingers nervously. “Yeah, of course…” she sighed. “Are you hungry?”

I shook my head.

Our relationship was far from a normal one. We were awkward. We didn’t smile with each other. And we exchanged the same words everyday:

“Did you take your pills?”

“Are you hungry?”

That was always our conversation.

 

So why not switch it up? My right brain whispered.

 

It wasn’t a bad idea—to just talk to her. “Mom?” I said setting my duffel bag down.

She’d already wandered towards the kitchen to take out some dinner for herself. “Yes?” she said, craning her neck to the side to get a glance from me.

 

Just do it! Righty yelled.

 

What’s happening? Am I malfunctioning? Leftie questioned.

 

“The boy next door has feelings for me,” I said while entangling my fingers together.

From all the way across the room, I could hear her blow out a puff of air as if she was actually exhausted. She didn’t work, she didn’t clean—she sat at home all day. Did my problems really bother her that much?

“Maybe his system has overridden,” she said nonchalantly. “It happens quite rarely. He should be put to rest.”

I controlled the urge to let my jaw drop—‘cause honestly, what the hell did that mean?

Unfortunately, she recognized my silence. “When I say ‘overridden’, I mean a single part of his brain must have taken over the part that should’ve been in control. After that, you’re considered ‘mentally ill’ and need to be put down.”

“Like an animal? Put down like an animal?” I said, trying to get a better understanding. “Like when a dog is too sick and you want to keep the thing from suffering? That kind of ‘put down’?”

She did a complete turn to look at me, put her plate down, and crossed her arms. “That is exactly what I mean—”

“Then shouldn’t you have been put down years ago, Mom? You’ve been sick for years. Why haven’t they put you down?”

She squinted with confusion. “Well, the difference between that boy and I is that medicine helps control my symptoms while with him, there is not a future for a cure. He’s done. He cannot contribute to this world any longer.”

She raised an eyebrow and shrugged, and I had no worthy response that wouldn’t be put down itself. “So what should I do?” I asked shakily. “Should I report this…to the authorities, or something?”

She nodded, picking up her plate and beginning to eat. “Yes.”

I nodded as my last response and made it to my room immediately, but then stopped just as I was going to close the door. “You won’t do it, right? I want to be the one that does it.”

“I’m not the one who witnessed it, dear. This is all up to you.” She took a large, solid bite of kale and spinach medley.

I bit down hard on my tongue and shut the door behind me. My room was dark, and the glass bed shone brightly the reflection of the moonlight coming from outside. I took off my dress jacket and dress slacks immediately. I looked a fool at school today, and I bet everyone else had been thinking it. What kind of young woman goes to her first day of junior college in slacks? Like a man?

I scoffed silently to the thought of it as I began taking off my button-down shirt. Then everything seemed to slow down, and I lifted my nose to the ceiling as if I was a wolf sensing its prey.

There was a repetitive noise coming from the above apartment, or, as I began listening closer, from the window.

My heart stopped, and I slowly buttoned up my shirt again.

 

Please don’t be Brandon, Right Brain pleaded.

 

I came closer to it and handled the nearly translucent shades that made the outside blurry. With a flick of my unsteady wrist, I opened it.

The apartment beside mine had had its window open, and in came the appearance of a familiar face.

“Are you Elise Boardman?” his deep English voice said softly.

I hovered over the window carefully. “We’ve met already.”

James Rodney had been entirely flushed in the face, unlike earlier in class with his rude “Spock” comment and upright, uptight confidence. “Not formally,” he said.

For a good couple of seconds, there was the most awkward silence I’d ever experienced—worse than my mother and I—and we’d been left to just stare at each other.

After what felt like a minute, my annoyed emotions decided to take over. “What, Rodney? What could you possibly want from me?”

He crossed his arms on the windowsill of Brandon Johnson’s house and stared at me, like he was a completely different person than who I’d met at school. “Someone’s been having a bad day…”

“If you’d excuse me,” I said, preparing to shut the window. “I think I’m going to go to—”

“Come over,” he said, opening the window even wider.

Righty: “Don’t freak out, don’t freak out. He wants to talk to you about Brandon—oh, no! Maybe he’s noticed that you have feelings for him! Oh—wait! Maybe this is all a trick…maybe he wants to put you down, like…Mom. Play a robot and pretend you’re not interested!”

Leftie: “*Beep* *Beep* Abrupt brain malfunction. Withdraw from existing situation immediately. Mandatory withdrawal. *Beep* *Beep*”

I rubbed my left temple, which was giving me an utter headache. “How?” I asked reluctantly.

An unexpected smile tilted a corner of his lips, and he pointed to the small space that separates our two buildings, except it wasn’t either of ours. It belonged to the government. The air we breathe, which included the small distance between the houses.

“You want me to climb over?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Brandon’s done it millions of time, or at least that’s what he’s told me.”

I bent the line a couple of times. “What if I fall?”

“I doubt you’re dumb enough to be able to fall,” he said, running his hand over the length of his neck.

I was afraid to have to say it, but the question was burning through my skull and I might just die from anxiousness. My eyes must’ve gone around in my head millions of times. I took a deep breath. “You better not be a rapist, James Rodney.”

He gave a warningly intense look as I swung my leg over the windowsill, and blushed hard. “If you don’t want to get raped by at least anyone, I suggest you put on a pair of pants, Miss Boardman.”

Immediately I withdrew my leg. What was I thinking? It was Leftie, not having any sense of embarrassment. But somehow, that emotion was written all over his face, James. I suddenly felt a little bit less ashamed.

“Here,” he vouched for me, throwing a pair of gym shorts for me, and it hung barely on the edge of my windowsill. I reached to grab it before it fell. “Slip them on and hurry up before someone sees you.”

I did, and they smelt like old sweaty socks, but disregarded it, because I wouldn’t form an opinion about all this. I was already going for it, and I wouldn’t risk looking like an idiot by suddenly backing out.

“I apologize for causing you that discomfort,” I grunted as I made it over the window.

“Don’t,” he said.

I slowly climbed to the other side, putting one foot out on the sill, and crab-walking until I could touch the other side. James reached a hand out for me, and I took it. Human contact was very rare, and this was the first I’ve ever had of it. You never touch anyone other than your own blood. And now I was touching a complete stranger.

He pulled me up as I tried leaping over on my own.

Being in another person’s house was like entering another galaxy—it was alien, uncomfortable, and estranged.

I pulled onto my taut ponytail and attempted to loosen it, to calm myself down, but it was to no use.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior, Elise,” James said suddenly. “Heroin can be one hell of a drug.”

Pretend you never heard that, Righty and Leftie said in unison.

“So…where’s Brandon?” I commanded instantaneously.

“He’s making dinner…for himself and I. But you can take mine—”

“Why are you here, James?” I interrupted, realizing how strange it was that he was even here in the first place.

“Me and Brandon—we’re brothers. I just don’t get around a lot. For instance, I’ve been here my whole life yet have never seen you before.”

His green eyes flickered over to my breasts, and he stared, with no shame. Just as I was getting ready to say something, he had suddenly brushed the area just beneath my collarbone.

“You’re wearing a necklace?” he said, picking it up off my chest.

My breath began to heave as I snatched the necklace right back from him. “What are you going to do about it?”

“No—nothing,” he said. “It’s just very curious.”

Bloody English people… “And what does that mean to you?” I said, trying to get a better understanding without seeming naïve.

“It’s just unexpected,” he clarified. “Lately, no one in this generation has expressed a taste of their own fashion sense—that’s a fact.”

“It was a sixteenth birthday gift from a grandmother. I wear it to honor her. It’s been a hand-me-down since forever,” I explained. “Don’t you…”

Make conversation! Righty was annoyingly screaming throughout every word in my speech.

“…have any hand-me-downs?”

But exactly, at that moment, the door busted open, saving me from this awful awkwardness.

Brandon stood in between the doorframe with something unfamiliar in his hands…in round, plastic plates. He looked at me for a split second before turning over to James. “What…is, um, going on?”

Brandon was minimally attractive. He was average height for this generation, and had wind-swept blond hair and was relatively, just, average. I couldn’t even fully explain how these stomach-fluttering emotions for him had gathered. Just the other day he told me he liked me, and suddenly I decided to return the favor by liking him back. Was that even the right emotion?

“Hi, Brandon,” I breathed shakily.

He politely smiled. “We should talk…” he nodded. “Pizza?” He waved his mysterious food item in the air as an offer.

“She doesn’t know what that is, Brandon,” James said. “Are you that oblivious? She’s scared.”

I wasn’t going to repudiate that. I was absolutely terrified.

“You must not be used to this,” Brandon agreed.

Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe you shouldn’t have come over at all. I had nothing to say, nothing to tell him, and I wasn’t going to explain to him that I had no experience with these feelings at all. So I let my left brain take over for me.

“Brandon, I only agreed to come over to tell you that your behavior is severely inappropriate. Those who are victims of these kinds of feelings are immediately diagnosed as mentally ill and should be put down. I’m here to warn you to discontinue your actions before I have to. For you.”

I looked at the ground to avoid contact with him. “Elise…”

“And I should add that your disease is infectious, so be pleased that I am risking myself by standing in your bedroom.”

“I’ve had sex before,” James said out of the blue. “Actual sex, and more than once.”

This created the worst silence I’ve ever come to experience, and I found that Brandon and myself just ended up watching him, this random male telling us something completely illegal and insignificant.

 But he had his arms crossed and happened to be completely serious. “Once it was with a girl I liked. Another time was with a prostitute who needed money.”

“James,” Brandon interrupted, shaking his head quickly.

“I did it with a hotel maid,” and James smiled as if reminiscing. “I’ve been this way since birth. Having ‘feelings’, Elise. I’ve gone to normal schools, have had normal jobs. Yet, the people that I worked with, the kids that I’ve gone to school with—they’re all still robots. I never infected them. I’ve come to realize recently that I’m only human. They’re just emotionless, powerless, insubstantial robots.”

I stared at him, but only one question hit me. “There are others?”

“It’s not just about liking people, or having sex either, Elise. I get angry when people call me ‘Jimmy’. I got depressed when my grandfather died, the only person who I thought was just like me. I get stressed when my favorite video games buffer.”

I looked away and tugged on my necklace. Erase these memories, erase these memories, erase them! Leftie howled. You never heard any of this!

“Don’t tell me you’re much different,” he said, but I still looked away, no matter how serious he may’ve looked right then.

But I wasn’t—much different, I mean. When my mother refuses to take her pills, I feel a rush of insanity running over me. When I learned that James was going to Princeton I was unexplainably jealous. Worst of all, I had feelings for Brandon.

“You’re insane,” I gasped, feeling it all cascade me. “Absolutely insane. I have a plan—to get married when I’m eighteen, have children, and live on with my talents and make a living. Continue the line of species the world has created. Stop telling me that I’m different.”

James rushed behind me to close the window, his overwhelming height making it hard to lean against. “Yes,” he whispered, as if to keep me quiet. “You are.”

I stole a look from Brandon who didn’t want to seem to interfere. “You do know this is your fault, right, Brandon? Why I’m even here? How do you just randomly confess your feelings to a girl and not expect her to absolutely panic?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Elise. I couldn’t hold it in.”

“How long have you been ‘holding it in’?” I asked ignorantly.

He gulped. “Since…since before I can remember. Since before my mind made a switch. Maybe, like, sixth grade?”

I felt my jaw drop, an unfamiliar feeling. “I—I didn’t even know you then, Brandon, what the—”

“I know,” he said. “It’s very sudden. But I’ve always known who you were and…” He couldn’t stop gulping, and it made everything else even more nerve-racking.

“Spit it out!” I yelled unconsciously.

Startled, he dropped whatever he was holding, rushed over to me, and cupped my face with his hands. “Elise,” he gasped. “I’m in love with you.” And without a warning, he bent down and shoved his lips against mine, leaving me in a shocking, stilled astonishment.

Almost as quickly as it’d started, James shoved Brandon off of me, which I was partially thankful for.

“Too soon,” he snarled.

“I had to—it was the spur of the moment, and I was going to lose you, I could feel myself losing you already, Elise.”

Leftie and Righty finally silenced. It was like nothing was there. Had I gone brain dead?

My lips were parted, and I still felt as if Brandon was kissing me, and a gasp escaped from them.

James seemed to laugh. “Don’t act like he just stole your virginity, for God’s sake.”

“I…” I let out a hollow breath before my heart beat began settling to a normal race. “I have to go home now. Please, whatever you both do, avoid talking to me under any circumstance whatsoever.”

“Elise, I’m so sorry,” Brandon said, trying to edge up closer to me. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be someone like us. We can go years…” and his gaze drifted to the ground as if he’d fallen into his own world while talking. “Years…feeling affectionate for another person without a single person feeling affectionate for you in the same way. It’s…agonizing.”

“Then comes marriage,” James sang. “Then comes a baby in a baby carriage.” I slowly turned to give him a disapproving look, but he managed to go on anyway. “That’s not all, that’s not all…”

“What’s not all?” I nearly yelled again.

He clenched his jaw. “I didn’t have a good ending that relates to our situation.”

I could feel my head burning when there was a sudden knock on the door. All of our heads switched in its direction choreographically. “Brandon?”

His mother.

“The closet,” Brandon whispered exasperatedly. “What, Mom?” he then said louder.

James pointed towards the closet that was across the room. “Get in!” he whispered.

And Righty decided to make another appearance: You’re in deep, Elise. Look what you’ve done.

I ran into the closet without another thought and closed it softly behind me as the room door opened. “James?” Brandon’s mother said, sounding astonished.

I stood there, trying to see through the cracks in the closet door, but saw nothing but James’ crossed arms of defiance.

“What are you doing here?”

“Mrs…Charles,” James said slowly, swaying. “Brandon and I were just looking over first-day studies.”

So…James and Brandon weren’t brothers.

“Um, okay. I heard a lot of noise up here—too much. Keep whatever it is that you’re hiding silent. We don’t want admin coming over to look through the house.” There was a line of footsteps heading for the door, and then the door shut.

I flew through the closet door and glared at Brandon who looked speechless. “Is your mother…in on this?”

“In on what?” James interrupted. “In on normality?”

I headed for the window instantly. This would be the last time these boys would hear from me, but James slid just before me.

“What’s your favorite song, Miss Elise Boardman?” he asked, arms still crossed eagerly. “People like us always have a favorite song.”

I looked at Brandon again. “Brandon, just for a heads up, there is no ‘us’. An ‘us’ is utterly impossible. There’s a system to all of this—you get assigned a wife. You don’t get the opportunity to pick one. You have at least two children, and you’re not allowed for any mistakes and have more. Just, pretend this never happened, will you? Please?”

Instead of answering, Brandon looked away from me and sat down. “Let her leave, James,” he said, and James looked down on me.

“I don’t see how he could fall for such an emotionless, authority-following, lifeless robot anyway.” James cleared the path. “My favorite song is 500 Miles, Elise.”

“I don’t care,” I said, putting my legs over the window. “I don’t have one.”

“Couldn’t you at least give him a hug or something?” James laughed, looking over at the sulking Brandon. “He’s gonna cry himself to sleep tonight. The first time he’s ever confessed his love for a woman and she shoots him down like a bird. You just ruined a life.”

There was no turning back. I began making my way across to my window. “He knows how sorry I am,” I said, beginning to put my legs into my own window. “He knows how I feel, at least.”

James looked stuck in thought and was just about to speak as I slammed my window closed and lowered the shades.

I slowly hit my back against the wall and slid down, slipping my knees underneath my chin.

My favorite song: Bang, Bang

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 06.12.2014

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Widmung:
I don't dedicate this to the movie The Giver. Halfway through my amazing story, I found out about this movie and got pissed because the aspects were forreal similar. But I'll watch it anyway. And I dedicate this to a girl named Amy who thought the idea was great. And to my Dad, who's finally noticing how much I love writing and listening to my ideas. And to all my readers