Outliers

I’m forced into the belly of the ship. I see other Outliers sitting hopelessly on the sides. Their dusty fingers shake in fear and their eyes shoot up to me. I look at a dozen or so faces. They don’t seem to know what’s going on. If I’m going to Belladonna, they must be too. What they want with us, I don’t know. But I doubt they mean well. I join the frightened people and sit down. In no time, a bell goes off and I feel the boat shifting through the waters. No one exchanges words, though we hear the Perfects talking and laughing above us. I stair at the ceiling, following the many pounding footsteps atop. I try to listen, but I can’t make out what their saying. Hours pass, and I nap in a corner. The boat halts, shaking its passengers to a wake. A few mumble and gasps, wondering if their lives end at this moment. I stay still, knowing otherwise. The clasp to the door frees open for suited Sentries to enter. We are suddenly pushed out of the boat and into a wagon. My eyes adjust slowly to the bright light from the oculus sun. I lift my hand to shade my forehead. I see palm trees lined off a beautiful coastline. Birds are flying high, drawing circles in the azure sky. I see high rises in the distance, stretching for heaven. It’s better than the TV said it is. Busybodies walk around in leathers and furs and intricate fabrics that shine like diamonds. The wagon carrying us dirty, dusty, pale Outliers contrasts greatly with the tanned, bronzed, and golden people of Belladonna. Holograms move back and forth near the streets, selling adverts. Screens across, large as buildings, sit over our heads, almost floating, show perfect faces and perfect bodies. My neck strains to stare at the technologies advancing pass me. The city is lively as though it’s constantly electrocuted. I can’t help but be amazed by the bright pixelated sights. Before I can let my breath free, the wagon stops behind a bricked building. Some strange people pull us out one by one. Inside the building are white tents. I see my abductor appear with another Perfect. She has big almond shaped eyes, satin black hair with blue tips, and a round stature. She leads me to a seat in front of a wide mirror with lights. I watch my confused face across from me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my reflection so clear. Pale with scratches all over. My hair is frizzled and uncombed. My eyes are droopy, but the light makes them look like a magnesium grey.

Looking at all the makeup pieces and compacts, I decide that this place is a makeup studio. As the woman lay out her brushes, I watch the other’s happily adhere to the changes of their physical appearance. Just as everyone seems distracted, I jump off my chair and make a run for it. I only make it as far as the corner of the building before I’m hauled off my quick feet. I groan and fail to fight off the suited people.

“Let me go!” I scream.

Though I thought they would lock me up somewhere, they simply put me back in my chair. My abductor comes to me again.

“My, my,” he laughs. I watch him shake his head. “This’ll be harder than I thought.”

“Why are you doing this? Why did you bring me here?” I spit.

He simply sighs, “First, let’s get you washed up.”

After taking my first warm shower, the woman gives me a new set of colorful clothes to wear and brushes shiny bronze powder all over me. As the woman steps away from me, I see myself again in the mirror. I see how the light hits my face in a different way. There are no more lines on my face. My hair is voluminous and bright. My skin is clear and youthful. What remains the same are my eyes. I look so… perfect.

“Now we can get down to business!” my abductor exclaims rushing my way.

I look around at the other Outliers and how much they’ve changed with a little brushing up. They seem excited and happy. I’m on edge. We are sent back to the wagon. After driving for hours, my anxiety level rises. The wagon stops and we are pulled onto a platform. Hundreds on Perfects come up swinging there arms, yelling prices. The Outliers are being auctioned. The other Outliers are forced to hold up a number series and the highest bidder gets to keep them. My abductor pulls me to the sidelines, as if to watch. My people’s faces drop, realizing. I turn to the man behind this.

“What’s going on?” I ask him.

“I guess I should have introduced myself,” he says, smiling widely. “I am Eamon Kingdawn. Though I’m a powerful man in Polaris, I like to have fun once in a while.”

So he captures Outliers, bring them to the city, and makes them look perfect enough to sell them as servants.

“This? You call this fun?” I ask, clenching my teeth.

“Oh, don’t take it to heart, Outlier. It’s a lot better than living in the dumps.”

“I rather live in the dumps than be your servant.”

He shakes his head, “You’ll soon think the opposite.”

“Doesn’t this create an unbalance? You know, for the Cygnus?” I ask.

“I don’t really care for the Cygnus. It’s not like any of you were planning on finding your match anyways. If anything you people should be thanking me. Especially you. You would have died.”

“So what you’re doing is illegal.”

He rubs his fingers together and says, “I like to refer it as… business.”

I pause for a second, watching the others being bought for a few pennies at a time.

“Why am I not up there?”

“I’ve put you…” he starts. “On reserve.”

The night falls over the city and the auction is finished. Eamon makes me follow him into his limousine. I look out the window, trying to void my mind of thoughts. I watch Eamon pressing his finger into a holographic screen, reading information intently. I don’t know what his real intentions are. Does he truly want to help the Outliers? Or has he just found a new business market?

We stop in front of a wide mansion, decorated with shooting fountains and accent lights around the lot. The driver comes out and opens the door. Another young man, wrapped in a fur-coated blanket, seems to wait for us. He resembles Eamon.

“Little Brother!” Eamon shouts joyously, extending his arms.

I stand still, staying near the vehicle. I watch Eamon give his brother a hug. But his brother is just a still.

Unmoved, he says, “You’re late.”

“I had a few errands to run.”

Silence hangs in the air.

Eamon continues, “But I brought you a gift.”

He pulls me in between them. I keep my eyes on the marble pavement. The young man’s opal eyes are piercing right through me. I quickly look away.

“Prance, this is Sage. She’s a very…” Eamon pauses, placing his hands over my shoulders, “fervent and zealous young girl—with a quick tongue.”

Eamon’s brother has no sign of amusement in his expression. His stare is chilling and displeased.

“If you bring me a gift, should it not be worth something?” Prance asks mordantly.

“Trust me, she’s worth something.”

“Then you should have brought me a dead raccoon. I’d find it much more valuable than an Outlier.”

With that he walks away. He’s nothing like the charismatic Eamon I’ve gotten used to. Eamon leads me into the mansion. Prance is not short on servants. A dozen or more young girls like me are lined up on each side of the entrance, awaiting an order. But these servants are not Outliers.

“You’ll be staying here as his servant,” Eamon tells me.

“Why?” I cling onto his sleeve, “Why did you bring me here?”

“No one has withstood my brother,” he says. “I’m sure you can withstand my brother.”