Pawn

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Risking my life to steal an orange was a stupid thing to do, but today of all days, I didn’t care about the consequences. If I were lucky, the Shields would throw me to the ground and put a bullet in my brain.

Dead at seventeen. It would be a relief.

As I hurried through the crowded market, I touched the back of my neck and tried not to wince. That morning, my skin had been pale and smooth, with only a freckle below my hairline. Now that noon had come and the test was over, my skin was marred with black ink that would never wash off and ridges that would never disappear.

III. At least it wasn’t a II, though that wasn’t much of a consolation.

“Kitty,” called Benjy, my boyfriend. He tucked his long red hair behind his ears as he sauntered toward me, taller and more muscular than most of the others in the marketplace. Several women glanced at him as he passed, and I frowned.

I couldn’t tell whether Benjy was oblivious or simply immune to my bad mood, but either way, he gave me a quick kiss and a mischievous look. “I have a birthday present for you.”

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