F.O.U.L

By Aliyah

The clock strikes thirteen. Its resounding bell somehow reaches the dingy mine, momentarily muffling the grunts of the exhausted workers. Occasionally, there is a small exclaim of excitement, when a glint of blue subtly gleams through the dull, grimy stone. This hasn't happened in a while. A sharp pain shoots through my body; the effects of mining phsolodite. Electric blue, extremely valuable and difficult to find, phsolodite is a precious gem that we workers have to mine. Don't ask me why - I don't have a clue. F.O.U.L (the Federation Of Unified Legions) order us to do it. And anyone with the will to survive doesn't question F.O.U.L; they're the boss, always have been, always will be.

They changed everything, according to M273 (my 'mother' who gets paid by the government - F.O.U.L - to be maternal towards me). Apparently, 135 years ago, you were actually allowed to attend a school, and go to the toilet without being timed. You could even live with your own family, have friends and communicate with each other! The way time was calculated, was different too. Then there was the War of Revolution, an almighty war, where billions inevitably died. It was during this war, that F.O.U.L took over. And changed everything.

C894 nudges me, telling me to concentrate. Our concentration is a matter of life or death. The stern F.O.U.L worker glares at us, glad to have an excuse to scrutinise someone, at last. "Oi! Get on wi' your minin'!" he yells. Abruptly, someone cries out in pain; the phsolodite must be getting to him. He continues groaning. C674 is his name, well code, I think. Clearly infuriated by C674 crying out, the F.O.U.L worker orders him to be silent immediately. Stupidly, C674 doesn't. Brutishly, the guard raises his whip. I can't bear to look. A brisk, raucous snap fills the air. Then a cry of agony. I can't believe the cruelty of F.O.U.L; he was in pain! He wasn't breaking the law! My anger bubbles uncontrollably inside me. Not a good thing. Without warning, I fling down my pickaxe in rage. Uh oh. Bad move.

The same guards hastily drag me away, up and up, into the leader of the mining mission's office. I am astounded. While we have dirty, uncivilised huts, this office is lavish! Plush cushions, velvet chairs and a groomed officer behind the mahogany desk. "Well, what do we have here?" he asks threateningly, "The start of a rebellion?"

I remain motionless. He nods to the guards. I am taken to a room, filled with an abundance of phsolodite. The gems glisten mischievously. The door is slammed shut. Dust chokes my throat. The phsolodite inexplicably glows. The room is filled with a flash of blue energy. The energy flares in my pupils. My brain feels weird. Nefarious. Superior. Possessed. The terrible truth of phsolodite dawns on me. And it spells trouble.