lila's flashbacks

                                    

                                          
Location - The Center, Siberia 
Lila's Age - 6
The untested girls' hair is braided into one long plait, a white ribbon securing it at the end. Our dresses are white and pressed, our socks white, shoes white. 
We're lined up in five perfect rows, five girls in each row. We stand three inches between us, backs straight, head level with the floor. 
The untested boys stand across from us. The boys wear white, too. White suits, white loafers, white socks. Their hair is short, combed back. 
The tested girls wear red dresses. They have red ribbons in their hair. Their shoes are red, their socks red. They stand to our left. 
The tested boys are to the right, across from the tested girls. They, too, wear red. Red shoes, red shirts, red pants.
We form a wall.
Four groups on all four walls. 
To trap the tributes. The victims. The two who will die. 
Today is the Ceremony. 
Today, two will be tested. Proven worthy.
Today, one Brother and one Sister will end a life. 
The boys are lined up in six rows. Five boys in each row. There are a few new boys. I wonder who will be chosen, who will slit someone's throat. 
It's so small, this room
The walls are white
But soon the red will roll roll down down
Thick blood will soon roll down the floor floor oors 
White shoes to red
Sir comes in, boasting his smile
He's happy. Very happy. He likes to test us. He likes it when we're proven worthy. He wants us to be worthy to him. 
Worthy of praise
Of pride
Worthy to bring glory to this family, our Brothers and Sisters
Sir walks around the room
Everyone straightens up, like the Dominoes we set up in the classroom
Clacking
Clackclackclack
Down and down
We spin and dance around them
Pockets full of posies 
We
All
Fall
D
O
W
N
Sir stands in the middle of the room, but he will not be the victim. He will never be a tribute. He wants us to know this. 
We all do.
He casts warm looks to the tested ones. 
Then he looks at us untested ones. 
He raises his hands and moves them around, like we're in a choir and he's our conductor. But we only can sing the songs composed by Death. 
"And, of course, girls go first!" He smiles. "And which lucky one of my Daughters will be chosen? Which one will be proven worthy to me?"