Kill School: Slice
Read Kill School: Slice Online
Authors: Karen Carr
Kill School:
Slice
By Karen Carr
Text
Copyright
©
Karen Carr 2015
All
Rights Reserved
I dedicate this book to
my amazing husband and
wonderful children.
My life would be
dull and boring
without you.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction.
The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination
and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2015, 2016 by Karen
Carr. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
conventions.
Cover Art
Cover Art by Ktarrier
Self Pub Book Covers
http://www.selfpubbookcovers.com/ktarrier
Copy Edit and Proofread
Copy Edit and Proofreading done by
Faith Williams of the Atwater
Group
Table of
Contents
I watch
my mom as she holds the dice in her hands. She lowers her eyes at me. We both
know she is a few spaces from landing on my most valuable property, Clarkhaven
House with two hotels. I smell the stack of money already in my hands and
smile. I know it’s fake. Paper money doesn’t exist anymore. But, holding it
somehow makes me feel safe, as if it has magical powers. And I need to feel
safe right now.
Mom rolls a seven and misses my property by two. I frown as
she moves her top hat forward, passes my property, and lands on the MagLev
Railroad, owned by Dad. The picture on the board resembles a train that hasn’t
existed in hundreds of years, a silhouetted black engine with wheels. The
MagLev operates with magnets, no wheels necessary.
The game is supposed to remind us of how hard it was before
the ice melted, before most of North America became too hot to inhabit. We
exist on the only inhabitable patch left in the world, feeling blessed that
science has enabled us to live forever. Goody. I feel cursed, sickened by the
fact that I will receive my token on my sixteenth birthday, a few days from now.
“Pay up,” Dad says to Mom.
Dad runs his fingers down the side of his violin, which
rests next to him on the couch. He spends extra time at the neck, running his
fingers over the tuning pegs and the intricate scrollwork. Mom cocks her head
and seems to contemplate her place in Dad’s life before she pays him.
“Your turn,” Sebastian says.
Sebastian picks up the dice and puts them in my palm. His
eyes rest on mine an extra-long time. He’s a year and a half older than I am, but
we act more like twins and often share the same thoughts. I look at the lines
on his forehead and at the edges of his mouth. The last year and a half has
aged him more than normal. The same will happen to me.
“Roll,” Mom says with a tinge of irritation.
My roll sends me directly to jail, an old-fashioned version
of control with bars on the windows and a chance to escape. Those in control
can’t escape. I like the idea of jail better.
Mom winces as I move my battleship piece into the space. She
turns to Dad who pats her hand.
“She’ll be fine, honey,” Dad says. “It’s better than being
chosen.”
“Why isn’t it random, like the game?” I ask. “Why can’t we
decide with the roll of a dice?”
“You learned the reason why in history.” Mom’s heavy sigh
tells me to drop the subject. Dad places his violin on his lap. He gets worried
every time I bring up the Regulators’ unfair rules. A life for a life.
“Play the game, Aria,” Sebastian says. His brown eyes show
flecks of yellow that only appear when he is annoyed, just like mom’s eyes. They
are identical in every way, except for age and gender.
“It’s not my turn.” I have three rolls to get out of jail.
In real life, we can’t leave. If we don’t use our token, we go directly to control
forever.
Dad takes the dice and rolls. “Community Chest.” He picks
up a card. “Get out of jail free.” He flips the card over for me to see. “I’ll
sell it to you.”
The picture is of a bald headed man with a moustache and
wings flying out of a birdcage. The man has a mischievous twinkle in his eyes,
as if he has just gotten away with murder. I want that card.
“Fifty bucks.” I flash a single bill in Dad’s face.
“Five hundred.” Dad is on to me. He knows how much I want
that card.
I grumble and hand over the cash. He gives me the card and
I stick it deep into my pocket, ignoring my brother’s eye roll.
Both Mom and Dad used their tokens a long time ago. Back
then, people lived a long and happy life before being added to the termination
pool.
A mathematician created the termination algorithm many
hundreds of years ago. The idea was revolutionary. It kept our population from
exploding and starving to death by adding everyone into the pool by age range. Old
people were on the token hit list because they had lived a long and healthy
life. They didn’t mind dying and sixteen to eighteen year olds didn’t mind
killing them. It was a part of life.
The algorithm was also comprehensive, allowing for the fact
that overpopulation could still occur. A baby boom created by the dark nights
several decades ago triggered another part of the algorithm. To prevent future
generations from being born, tokens now come in all ages. A baby, an elementary
school child, a teen, we are all in the pool now.
I glance down to where Baby plays on the floor, hoping that
no one ever chooses her.
“Why do we have to do it at all?” I used to practice
killing ants when I was young. Some kids work their way up to killing
squirrels. I haven’t had the courage. Spiders are all I can manage.
Mom wraps her hands around mine. She smells of jasmine
mixed with strawberries. “Randomness breeds violence, Aria. A choice has to be
made in order to keep society civil.”
I pull my hands away from hers. “Then why not give
us
the choice? Let
me
decide when
I
want to die. Why assign our
death to another person? Why does everyone have to kill?”
Dad rests his violin under his chin and searches for his
bow. His demeanor goes from nervous to panic. Poor Dad. Mom reaches over and
tucks his wavy black hair behind his ear, a gesture she does often. Tears well
in his deep, blue eyes, making them look more like the ocean. I am the mirror
image of my father, except for age and gender.
“They tried,” Mom says. “Before people came to Greenland.
Before our history began here, the Regulators assigned a death day on a child’s
birth certificate. Once the child grew into an adult, and reached her death
day, she was supposed to report to control to be terminated. Most people were
unable to take their own lives. Nobody showed up on his or her designated day
to die. They were hunted down and killed like animals.”
“Now, everyone must hunt.” I lower my eyes to Mom’s crisp,
white blouse and gold necklace.
“Aria,” Mom warns with her tone. “Knowing anyone can kill a
loved one keeps people civil. Your choice will most likely be someone who has
wronged you or someone who has acted out against you. We all are targets. We
all are victims. We all are hunters.”
“No one has wronged me,” Sebastian says. “My choice is
going to be a rich kid. The son of a scrooge. Someone who deserves to die.”
“Exactly my point,” Mom says. “You’re targeting someone
because of their wealth. What will happen if someone targets us because of
ours? Didn’t you learn anything in your token class?”
Sebastian’s dark skin goes crimson. “Sorry, Mom.”
“Who did you kill?” I ask my mom. She turns the same shade
of red as Sebastian. I know she doesn’t like talking about it.
“Sorry, Mom.” I try to smile, but can’t.
I get my token on my sixteenth birthday, a few short days
away. I have no idea what color it will be, or who I will kill using its code
and my choice of weapon.
Sebastian takes a chain from his neck and places it on the
table. The pendant on the chain houses his token in a mesh of silver wires. His
girlfriend designed it for him.
“Pick it up, Aria,” he says. “Hold it in your palm. You can
almost feel the screams coming out of it.”
Sebastian’s thick curls hang restlessly around his face,
springing to action with his slight movement. It makes him look adorable and
fierce at the same time.
Dad finds his bow and begins playing a low eerie tune on
his violin. I crack a smile as Dad continues to play. My eyes return to Sebastian’s
turquoise token. The color symbolizes the age of the person he has to
terminate. Turquoise hue—someone our age, sixteen to eighteen years old. We
have to kill in order to live. His task will be hard. I hope mine is not.
“Are we playing a game or what?” Dad asks.
Dad waves his bow across the coffee table, accidentally
knocking Sebastian’s token to where Baby plays on the floor. Baby promptly
picks it up and sticks it in her mouth. I try to grab her as Dad plays a
dramatic note on the violin. I laugh aloud. My mother and Sebastian both catch
the giggles. For a moment, we are back to being a normal, happy family.
Sebastian picks up Baby and dislodges his token from her
mouth, which makes her cry. Mom stands and he hands her the infant. Sebastian takes
the token out of its silver pendant, checks the flashing security code on the
back, and wipes the drool from it. He sets it back in the pendant and puts the
chain around his neck. Baby wails miserably in Mom’s arms.
“You shouldn’t have snatched it away from her,” I hiss at
Sebastian.
“You think if she eats it, I won’t have to use it?”
Sebastian asks.
“Maybe I wasn’t thinking of you.” I was thinking of myself.
I can’t imagine having one of those. A token dangling around my neck,
proclaiming my ability to kill.
“You will understand soon,” Sebastian says as if he’s read
my mind. “You’ll know what it’s like to carry one of these.”
Sebastian holds up his token. His eyes fill with resentment
and hatred, but not toward me. He’s always been one to ramble on about how much
he hates society. Mom and Sebastian can go on for hours about the unfairness of
things. I hope he shuts up tonight. I don’t want to feel more miserable than I
already do.
Mom’s pager goes off just as Baby calms down to a whimper. She
regards her pager and then scowls.
“Take Baby. We’ll have to finish the game later.” She hands
me Baby, who coos in my arms. “I have to deliver another baby. The Wrights.”
“I have to go,” Sebastian says before Mom asks him to help
watch Baby.
Dad perks up. “Where?”
Dad doesn’t like Sebastian leaving the house. I don’t blame
him. Every time Sebastian walks out that door may be the time he kills. He will
become a murderer.
“Dad, you know it has to happen soon.” Sebastian grabs the
front doorknob. “I’m already seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in a few months, and
then it will be too late.”
Sebastian opens the front door, revealing the night sky and
the smell of damp grass. My muscles tighten the second I see the stars, hungry
for what lays beyond our horizon. I want to devour the darkness.
I step toward the door as if in a trance. Baby pinches my
ear as I reach Sebastian’s side, reminding me that I am at home and on the
other side of freedom.
“Can I go with you?” I ask.
“No,” My mother and father say at the same time.
Baby cries from their sharp tone. I cradle her head on my
shoulder, telling her to be calm. Meaning the words for myself.
“After you come back from training camp,” Sebastian says.
He glances at our parents and walks over the threshold, taking the night sky
with him as he shuts the door.
Training camp. A month away from my parents where I will
learn to kill. Joy is me. I remember the day Sebastian came back from training
camp. He went in his room and didn’t come out for a week, not even to go to
school. I’d stop by his room, wanting to enter, only to change my mind when I
heard his muffled sobs. Mom was the one who brought him out of his funk with
her conspirator talk.
Mom touches my cheek. “Why don’t you come with me? Dad can
watch Baby.”
My mouth gapes open. I have never been out at night. Excited
and frightened, I stare at the closed door. More people are killed at night,
for no other reason than it’s easier to take a life in the dark. Mom opens the
closet and retrieves her medical bag. Dad puts down his violin and reaches for Baby.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Dad says. I can hear the
reluctance in his voice. “It’s about time she gets used to the dark.”