When I saw the letter in the mailbox I wasn't sure how to feel about it. My father on the other hand was ecstatic, slapping me on the back and telling me: "I knew you could do it, mijo! You may be lacking In wit most of the time, but your tactic makes up for it!"
I'm the only one out of my three brothers that has received a classification. An honorable role according to the SOCIETY. I don't know what's so honorable about being classified as a fireman. It sounds like work, an area I'd perfer not to induldge myself. I'm only eighteen, and this will be my only chance to live life. I'll take risks and have fun, just the way Mamá would've wanted me to.
"Papá, I'm leaving for school."
"Alright, don't fail your midterms!"
"Ha ha, very funny."
I lazily slack a black baseball cap onto my messy brown hair, as I carefully pass the walk way. Making sure to retain an amble pace. Two kilometers, one kilometer, and then none. I'm met with the city limits sign. A large metal door sheilds us from the outside world. Just at the bottom is a loose metal board. I'd spontaneously discoverd it while mowing Mrs. Willberry's lawn last summer. once flipped open, it permits one, fairly small person to slip in. It's a bit of a struggle, but what's succes with failure? I whistle twice, signaling my whereabouts to anyone who may be nearby.
"Hello, Caro Amico! Missed me?"
"Oh my love, how did you know?" I feign affection. He raises a brow before he sloppily finds himself a spot on open terrace. "So Juan, tell me what it's like being a classfied memeber of society. Is it ego inflating?" He fists his hand, holding it up to my face as if it's a microphone.
I chuckle, kicking back into a comfortable position. "Very ego inflating. Suddenly I'm my father's favorite son." I reach for a handful of the nothingness infront of me. I feel the oxygen that once lingered on my fingertips begin dissipate.
"Can you blame him, having your talentless son suddenly become classfied is truly mind blowing." I gasp in mock surprise, "talentless?"
"Well, not completely talentless, I mean you are pretty sick at guitar. And you have an abseloutely terrifying ability."
I fight a smirk. "Where's Bordon?"
"Not sure, maybe he bailed on us because of work again."
The sky is turning an unsettling grey, the kind you see when a villain appears on a movie screen. "Hey Bordon!" Martin cheers, hands waving him over. Bordon approaches us, slouching, fist clenched. "What's wrong buddy?" I ask, confusion written on my temples. "I didn't make the classification." He delivers his words plainly. "Well, that really sucks, their loss." Martin gives him such gentle words of comfort, I'm mildly surprised. I pitch in, a calm smile tugging at my lips, "Don't worry about it, who cares about the classification. There are so many other opportunities." My smile begins to fade when I realized it's not being reciprocated. "Your only saying that because you got classified." He spits bitterly. "No I'm not."
"Do you even give a damn about the classification? I thought you were going to be a musician."
"I was, but things change. I have to work my classified profession."
"Hey guys, it's getting late, we'll be late for school." Bordon pushes past Martin without a second thought, looming over me with unforgiving eyes. "You didn't answer my question."
"Look bro, you need to calm down-"
I'm struck on the shoulder, the burning sensation of the blow momentarily disorienting my body. "Did you..hit me?"
I've lost all composure.