As I sat in the room awaiting whatever my superiors had decided, I tapped my fingers against the cold metal of the table.  Whoever had designed the room certainly attempted to make it as uncomfortable as possible, for the height of it in comparison with the arranged seating caused any person to slump just in order to fit the required spaces.  I felt sweat building between my legs from being so confined, and all things considered, even my lungs were struggling to function properly.  Being only 25, this was my first time in such a room, and the tales of its nerve-wracking characteristics had not been over-exaggerated.

Every wall was painted a deep shade of gray, and the meetings of each surface could hardly be discerned.  There was nothing to cushion one's tailbone and the air was thick and hot.  No windows offered relief for the confined spaces either, and with each ticking moment I felt my sanity dwindling.  Was this how the superiors got young adults to agree to things?  I wanted badly to adjust the cotton around my legs, but I had no idea who was watching and didn't want to leave any inclinations of my discomfort.  Instead, I pictured the little garden my mother had planted in plastic bottles which hung inside our porch.  Such things were forbidden in our sector, but few got away with it.  I had always been amazed by the little green tendrils that shot from dirt, of all things.  They felt so soft to the touch and smelled so full of life.  Many times when I was younger, I had questioned my mother about their purposes.

"They are reminders that life is worth living," she'd tell me.  I never understood her meanings, but the statement always had an aura of hope and left me feeling as though her certainty was truth itself.  Whenever I felt stressed about the law, my education, or physical tests, I'd think about how something -so- still could contain so much vivacity.  In fact it inspired me to study harder because I wanted to be placed as a doctor some day even though it'd mean a life of isolation.

As I was imagining one of my mother's herbs and counting its sprouts, I noted that I must have been lightly dozing. I didn't even hear the click of the door before a chair was scooting back and someone was sitting down.  Careful not to show my alarm, I slowly opened my eyes and lifted my gaze.  A young man who appeared to be no more than ten years my elder sat a folder down without even looking in my direction. Instead, his attention was on the stack of papers before him as though they were all that mattered.

"Well, miss Willow," he stated casually, "we've reviewed your work and come to a conclusion." I kept thinking that surely my abated breath couldn't be lost on this fellow, but his steady gray eyes spoke otherwise.  I actually found myself admiring his steadfastness.  Instead of putting me out of my misery, the man brushed his fingers through curly brown locks atop his head and flipped through a few papers as though looking for one.  Could he be nervous like I was?

He finally stopped on one that certainly hadn't been something I'd written. The print was mechanical and precise, not at all like my loopy scrawl that tended to form waves across the paper.

"You have been permitted into the profession of nursing."  His lips curled up a little and I felt my heart skip more than a single beat.  Sitting as straight as the chair and table would allow, I almost wanted to rip the folder from his hands in my disbelief.

"There are of course, serious matters to consider before you accept."  I nodded past a swollen throat and managed a quite "yes sir" in response.  Of course, this man new what any denial would mean: five years back in the slums of houses my family and every other were forced to live in.  I figured I'd bust if I had to do even one more year, even in the company of my mother and father.

The man continued, his fingers running along the line of print.  "Miss Willow, before accepting the profession of nursing, you must relinquish all belongings to the ownership of the state.  You will at that time become the property of your company and obtain any needs through them.  You must also give up any rights to visitations with outside parties and dedicate any research to the betterment of the company and state."  There was an uncomfortable pause, and at along last, the man lifted his eyes to meet mine.   I knew the decision was not a light one, but I also knew it's what  I wanted, and so I nodded with just enough certainty to not seem too eager.

For the first time, the young man's lips curled ever so slightly. What about any of it could make him smile, I wonder?  His eyes faltered a bit and he cleared his throat.  "Can you give a verbal affirmation of your decision, please?"

It was a chance to change my mind and also an opportunity to record my acquiescence, but I didn't hesitate.

"I, Ruby Willow, do agree to immediately give up my possessions and identity in order to work for the state as a nurse.  I will embrace a life of seclusion and dedicate my work the the proper parties for the betterment of everyone."  I added the emphasis just so that anyone listening would know how passionate I was on the subject.

Without saying anything else, the man turned the stack of papers around and pushed a slim writing utensil in my direction. I had never seen anything like it before, but I picked it up and signed anyways.

---

The flurry of activity after my agreement was almost too much to handle.  As soon as I had set the last flourish of my name, people were entering the room, removing the desk, chair, file, and writing tool.  I was ordered to remove my clothing and simultaneously handed a new set of clothing.  While I changed, someone was at my hair, taking scissors to it.  This was something I had -not- expected at all, and I almost rose my hands in protest, except that they were busy with exchanging the clothes.  I felt winded as I saw my brunette hair gracing the ugly brown floor, but I tried to keep neutral about it all. I kept reminding myself of the green herbs and the life they held within their limbs.

No sooner had I handed over my last shoe than I was being rushed out.  I was allowed to stop in front of a mirror very briefly for any necessary adjustment and then realized that I hadn't even had the chance to notice the color of my new garb.  I was half hoping they'd be a light green, but instead they were dull brown. There were no pleats, folds, or buttons, and I felt rather like an old potato sack. Even my hair was cut in a very flat style, bobbing at my chin without any personality.  It made my hazel eyes, however, suddenly leap from my face as my new best feature.  I straightened a sleeve and thought about how unnecessary the mirror was; there wasn't even anything to adjust.

Quickly whisked away again, however, there wasn't time for mourning any losses.  I stepped into a train cabin and noted that finally, the air was breathable.  It was as though the superiors had decided that the time for discomfort had passed.  Cool air brushed the back of my hands and though I longed for my arms to feel the same freedom, I sat where instructed. I was given a heavy book, some more words on laws and responsibilities were spoken, and just like that, I was left alone.  I must have sat in silence for three or four minutes before I was convinced that I was truly (physically) alone, and I allowed myself to weep.  Now that I had been accepted, I couldn't be removed from my position. I had no way of saying goodbye to my parents except through my tears, and I was sure they'd be crying their own tonight.  We were close and though they knew of my desires to pursue a medical career, I think they hoped I'd turn an opportunity down just to spend a few more years with them.

Instead, I was here.  Here in a train car, in scratchy clothing, with short hair, and holding a very heavy book.  I buried my face in my palms and let it all out. I wasn't often one for emotions, but 10 years is a long time to desire something and then finally get it.

"You're going to ruin the cover of your book," a soft voice said, and I suddenly realized I was no longer alone.  I lifted my head quickly to find a smaller woman than myself across from me.  Her delicate hands were folded neatly over her own book and she wore the same drab brown that I did.

"Ah,"  I said in embarrassment as I wiped my face dry. I had nothing else to say and noted that her hands matched her face.  She had freshly cut blonde curls which graced her chin much better than my own, and her face was narrow. Her sharp noise adorned her face as though carved from ivory and her brown eyes almost made her outfit almost shine.  I don't know how she had the bravery to speak, but I offered her a small smile.

"Hello, I'm Ruby. Sorry about the uh.. emotions," I stated with difficulty.  I found my fingers toying nervously with the bindings of the bible beneath my hands, but she only shook her head as though totally at ease.

"Not at all," she stated as she glanced down and flipped the cover of her own book open.  I waited, but she didn't so much as offer her name, and I didn't want to inquire of it either.  Instead, I stupidly opened my mouth in an attempt to seem every bit as composed as she is.

"What's it about?" I asked, situating my hips a little more squarely in the seat. I half expected her to ask if I could read, but she hardly parted her lips when our compartment door slid open once more.  This time, I watched the next person being chauffeured in, and he happened to be male.  Instead of getting a haircut, apparently, the poor thing was bald.  He sat down quickly and accepted his own book, and this time, I paid more attention to the guard's words.

Singelli : wow! This is pretty good. Basically, tl;dr I skimmed through it. But I can see you put a lot of thought into this, and it took you a long time. How much cp did you get from this lol.

You took a lot of time to write this . Are you writing a book, or is this just something you wrote for fun? You would make a pretty nice author, especially with your precise choice of words. You read my 3700+ word thread almost a month ago, so I read all of this. It honestly wasn't too hard, it just felt like an accomplishment . You can do something I can't do very well. You can make up stories and make them interesting... If I make stories, they're usually pretty bad. You can usually tell what's going to happen before it happens, and that's why I don't write stories xD. Anyway, good job on this mini-story .

Singelli : I love reading your stories! They are good and often inspirational, and most of all, descriptive! I am not quite as talented in this area (although I'm decent with symbolism). I have adopted a sort of minimalist style that focuses mainly on the message of the story, and little else. As I grow, I'll probably expand outward. But I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet.

Oh, goodness, Singelli: you've done it again. I've read another story from you but didn't say anything. I don't think I want to be a doctor now that I've heard this. And is your name Ruby Willow, or was that just a fake name?

I kind of want to laugh when I read some or your guys' responses... mainly because I felt this was rather poorly done. I wanted to see how much I could write in 40 minutes, but I didn't feel like continuing my writing from the other writing thread.  Once I hit post and went back to re-read it, I could only cringe!  Did you guys not notice the many, many errors and the horrible repetitive nature of the thing?  haha.  Plus, I can't say it was very unique.  As I was writing, I just kept thinking about how it sounded like so many other sci-fi stories.  

Actually, while I was writing, I came up with an idea how to make it very, very NOT like the typical plot.  Maybe I should continue on this tonight instead of working in my other writing thread?  (After all, I want to write for at least 20 minutes every day.)

mario102 :  My name is actually Kelli Singell.    Ruby Willow was a fake name. haha  And the story is completely fiction.

supernerd117 :  Aww, you're so kind.  I think sometimes my descriptiveness is a setback though, because I tend to take a long time getting to the point.  I do love using symbolism, but I flood my poetry with it, not my stories.

MCJungleKitty :  I've always wanted to write a book, but I get about 20 pages into any story and feel lost. I've never written anything longer than that.  I've completed many short stories and poems though, and I've had several poems published.  Thank you for the compliments, even though this post was actually poorly written. XD (And unfinished. *cough cough*)

noahs_brother :  I have no idea how much CP I got for it. I never pay attention to that, to be honest. lol

Singelli : Maybe you can see errors, but I can't see them . I do want you to continue the story just so I can see how you can take stories from the beginning to end. I also want to see how you would make it different than the other sci-fi stories, so make sure you include that if you decide to keep writing . I don't know why you think it's so bad, I thought it was interesting . Don't be so hard on yourself, and even if it wasn't a very good story, you can learn from it and make better stories . Peace .