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Anyone want to read part of my book and tell me what you think?
This is the beginning.
Be harsh. Constructive criticism please! (But don’t be too mean)
According to my history book, the world changed dramatically after World War IV, or as it is more commonly known, the War.
We call ourselves the Mediators, and we are, apparently, the good people.
The other side are called the Outsiders, or as they call themselves, the Freedom Seekers. They are, apparently, the bad people.
We are ruled by the government. The government is made up of ordinary people, who have been chosen to carry out missions. The aforementioned people can be any age over 12, and it is considered an honour to be chosen, despite the fact that getting picked is practically a death sentence. On your 12th birthday, you can decide if you are willing to get picked. Most people say yes because it is considered disgraceful to disagree. Besides, there’s almost no chance of getting chosen by the government, so most people are safe. People are usually chosen because they have desirable traits, such as being really clever or athletic and agile.
When you are chosen, they just come. You get no warning. One day they just come and take you away. No chance to say goodbye. If you struggle, they drug you. If they have no drugs with them, they hit you.
When you are 12, they give you the option of the possibility of getting picked, or just living normally because they want it to look like you actually have a choice, but really you don’t. Saying no means stares and whispers, everyone avoiding you, and when you’re older, being unable to get a job, a relationship, or really anything. The pressure of saying yes is so great that you don’t technically have a choice.
On your 12th birthday, you travel to the City and wait your turn on the big stage to go up and announce in front of your friends and family that you agree to get chosen if the government deems you worthy. The audience responds with applause, and then you all go home.
My home is near the Outskirts, because we don’t have that much money. The house is small and made out of wood, like all the others near us. The richer families are closer to the City. They have brick houses and insulation. Radiators to keep them warm. We have blankets.
I live with my parents. Each family is only allowed one child because of the too large population. If twins are born, one is killed. The same applies to triplets or more. Only one baby can live. If a couple cannot have a baby on their own, they can’t adopt another, unwanted baby. Can’t have a kid? Too bad.
At least once a year we get news about the Outsiders from spies living among them. One year told us that there aren’t enough people out there, and they are encouraging people to have as many babies as they can. If you don’t want a child, have one anyway, and give it to someone who does.
My name is Eglantine, unfortunately. Eglantine Black. My family and friends call me Egg. I resent this. An eglantine used to be a very pretty flower, but it’s long extinct. In my family it’s a tradition to name a child after a flower. My father’s name is Aster. His father’s name was Filbert.
I am glad to say I will never be chosen by the government because I don’t seem to suit their requirements. I am 16 years old, tall for my age, rather dumb and pathetically wimpy and weak. I bruise easily and burn easily, even though the sun almost never shines.
This is all I’ve written so far. I’ve written other stories before, but I’ve planned this one more than I have any other and I have it all planned out in my head and some plans written down.
What do you think?
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