YAFF Muse is back!!! Welcome again to YAFF Muse: blog rounds. The ladies of YA Fiction Fanatics have come together for YAFF Muse. To have a little fun, explore different styles of writing and to give you some kick-butt shorts to read. Enjoy!
Raygun by wintersixfour
By Rachel Marie Pratt
Some schools have rules. Others have a code of ethics. This school—my school— has zero tolerance.
The gymnasium fills with teachers and students for today’s Call to Discipline. Despite the thousand plus in attendance to the afternoons event, the room is completely silent. Not that anyone would dare to make a noise during such an assembly. To do so would bring about great consequences.
Already there are several of us waiting in line to be punished when Principal Shuster crosses the gymnasium. Everyone joins together in showing support. Like a synchronized beat we clap. Clap.Clap.Clap.Clap.Clap.
He takes his place behind the podium. His hands part in the air and the room falls silent again.
“Welcome students. Faculty.” Shuster begins. “Here at Redwood we pride ourselves on the conduct of our students. Many of you were left in the guardianship of the school, because your parents saw the need for structure and accountability in a world drowning in its own sin and disregard. Redwood was built on discipline, with a defined set of ideals. It is through the constant application of these principles we maintain a safe environment and quality of living your parents dreamed for you.” He holds the schools commandments in his hand. All 3041 ways a student can earn a place in the Offenders Line. “Without further delay, let the Call to Discipline commence.” Shuster steps down. And in his place is Eli Manager, who we call “the executioner.”
“Francie Dressler,” he says.
The sound of my name being called reverberates off the high ceiling. Every muscle in my body tightens. I plant my feet firmly on the floor, but I’m no match for the two guards selected to bring me forward. At the center of the gymnasium, a third guard takes hold of my legs and I’m lifted onto a cool, metal slab. As if this hardened table has a memory, images of the tortures preformed here flood my mind.
“Please, don’t let them do this!” I plead with my classmates, to help me. Even though I know nobody will stop the events happening here today. I can’t blame them I’ve been where they are now. And I’ve done nothing the same as they will do nothing. Still, my yells persist until a rubber muzzle is placed over my mouth and secured to the back of my head, deadening my cries.
I thrust my head from side to side. The muzzle is like a vise squeezing my mouth closed until it feels as though my teeth are going to shatter like glass.
“I invoke the first commandment of Redwood: Tardiness will not be tolerated.”
Blinded by a glaring white light overhead, I shift my gaze to the side. A cart draws forward in my direct line of sight.
The Executioner takes his place at my side. He chooses his device of discipline. It’s one I’ve never seen before. It looks like a toy gun. But I know better, this is not a toy.
“Hold her still,” he instructs as the device whirs to life. A six inch needle shoots out. “You like my newest invention?”
© 2011, January 11, rmp. (rmg)