The Death of the Wave Read Online Free

itself.
    Stronger in my mind is my memory of the surrounding circumstances, the trappings.
    Number 2397, an unusually lanky boy chewing nervously on his pencil, comes to mind,
    as does number 2576, who played with her long flaxen hair as she searched for the perfect word
    for her essay on Sustainable Agriculture.
    I admit that I glanced slightly at her work, something not worth my life.
    We, the adults, now build the exam up to be almost monolithic, taking on a life of its own,
    but it wasn’t that horrible, truly.
    I had my mother and my brother there to comfort me
    before we were herded to the nearest Testing Center located in the nearest Hive.
    Testing day, we were fed better than usual in the Hive’s shabby cafeteria,
    and those that still had mothers were scrubbed almost to shining.
    Testing day was important.
    We were important.
    Looking at the Hive kids, there were many thrown into our mix with their drab gray uniforms, we felt ourselves to be luckier than anyone in the world.
    Only the grim Breaker, lounging lazily outside the Testing room door
    with an old-fashioned rifle in hand reminded us of the stakes.
    I answered the questions the best I could, my mind seeming to buzz in recognition.
    I could do this.
     
    This was what I had been training for.
     
    Unfair, came the whine, often, after the exam,
    in that hour lull while the answers were processed.
    But I exulted in the silence, half-ashamed.
     
    Lines of fresh-faced youngsters, with myself somewhere fidgeting in the mix
    with my too-big blouse and my insipid hair-ribbons.
    The lone Breaker in gleaming black uniform stood in the center of this sea of youth,
    a large assortment of bowls filled with white paper slips set out on the table beside him.
    One by one, he read the number of each child, their test score, their grouping, Palace or Camps, their segment of each and their class within their society, and their eventual profession.
    Out of each of the bowls, split by Palace or Camps and into their segments, he would read their new names. Every so often, he would call out a number but no score
    and the boy or girl called would be grouped into the corner.
    The boy in front of me was trembling with nervousness,
    dark hair plastered to his head in a shiny black cap.
    The Breaker easily shifted his weight and read from his scroll: Number 2786. Score: High in Reading and Critical Analysis. Low in Mathematics. Low in Scientific Induction. High in Vocabulary. Low in Practical Application. High in Writing. Grouping: Camps. Segment: Writer’s Camp. Class: Second Tier. Profession: Copy Writer, Health Corps.
    The boy seemed to sag with relief.
    Completely ignoring this, the Breaker took his time fishing about in the Writer’s Camp, Second Tier bowl. He pulled out a paper slip, and read off the name Hearst.
     
    It was my turn.
     
    Number 2346. Score: Fair in Reading Comprehension and Critical Analysis. High in Mathematics. High in Scientific Induction. High in Vocabulary. High in Practical Application. High in Writing.
    Accusing eyes turned to me as the Breaker paused.
    He asked me if I knew my choices, and I could only nod numbly.
    High scores or close to it across the board gave you a few choices.
    I could choose the Palaces and live a life of comfort, but I would never see my family again.
    I could choose the Camps, but that would only give my mother a permanent mouth to feed.
    Or…I could be a Breaker.
    Taking on the black uniform would allow my mother and my brother until his Testing Day
    to move into a Breaker village, which wasn’t luxurious, but guaranteed enough to eat.
    My mouth opened before I could stop it and by the time I spoke it was too late.
    The Breaker cleared his throat.
    Number 2346. Score: Fair in Reading Comprehension and Critical Analysis. High in Mathematics. High in Scientific Induction. High in Vocabulary. High in Practical Application. Grouping: Breaker. Segment: First Tier. Class: New Watchman (subject to change)
    Profession: Written