The Test
"It used to be that you'd have to take this test to get into uni," Jared boasted. "What a stupid way of knowing who's smart."
Ariel disagreed. But she didn't want to get into another debate with Jared, who she found increasingly mind-numbing. In reality, she wanted nothing more than to have a fresh day do-over to erase her history.
"Yeah, I know, that's so dumb."
"It just seems like such a random way to make a decision. The Magistrate has like 16 or 17 years of records on file...a whole history of everything you've done in your life, yet there's one test to determine your future?"
Ariel was chipping the gel paint off her nails, distracting herself from Jared-induced pain by instead engaging in self-destructive behavior that she knew would lead to varying degrees of reprimanding later that day...depending on how bad of a workday Mom had had.
Jared stood up from the lunch table and spread his arms wide to stretch, pulling his chest through the slingshot of his wingspan to take up juuust a little bit more space than he already had.
"I don't even know why I'm telling you this, you're probably disqualified for uni anyway because of your record."
Ariel stood up and slapped him across the face. "The only record you've ever heard is the monotony of your own voice. SHUT. UP."
Eighty years ago, that behavior would have had Ariel suspended or even expelled from school. Physical violence, fully permissible by the Union, was now just a minor offense that would get her a warning.
It was nothing compared to what had happened in the summer of '43. Technically still a minor, her case was tried only in probationary court. And rather than being sentenced to at-home omnilateral whipping, she got off the hook with an Inequity Arrest. She served 30 days alone, alternating between forced UV light exposure and extreme temperature fluctuations, which altered her circadian system enough to disabled her from sleeping longer than 30 minutes at a time.
The state didn't consider this physical nor psychological violence but rather punishment commensurate with the crime.
Her specific grammatical error: a Typed Miscalculation with Malice.
The journal read: "Jared continues to talk with such confidence and clarity that I find myself jealous. I wish I was killed."
The crackdown was immediate, every word that Ariel had typed that morning surveilled without her knowing. It took less than five minutes before her computer crashed and she was being strapped down on an old wooden plank. What gutted her most was not the surprise Union-mandated kidnapping, but that her parents did not defend her when she explained.
"Mom, I swear! I swear! I was only wanting to write that I wish I was skilled."
"Ariel, that's enough. It's time for you to learn. Mistakes like this can be deadly. You must do better."
Life can change in a second. She was already doing the mental math as the Union car carried her off. Her twin uncles had been punished for something similar in their twenties, and they didn't live to see the other side. This was her end too, she assumed.
In the courtroom some months later, Ariel grabbed her chest. Heartburn had permeated just above her ribcage. She noted the irony: the ribcage is the permanent jail cell for the raging heart.
The Inequity Arrest set her back years. She wouldn't be allowed to enter into any uni, go on any date, have any gainful employment, nor leave her parent's home to find her own place.
Then there was Jared, arms outstretched talking about a single test determining everything.