The day I died, it was a bitter morning. It was uncomfortably cold, the sort of cold where everything itches.

Just mere moments ago, I had waved goodbye to my Mom for the last time, now standing in a line of girls, shoulder to shoulder, like sardines packaged together. On the front of the tin, a navy blue sticker, the brand printed alongside an expiration date of sixteen years.

An impatient sigh left my mouth, glancing ahead at least a dozen girls waiting ahead of me. The thin cotton clothes weren't helping anybody in this early March weather. Murmurs carried through the line as each waited for their fate to be decided. 

Across from us, boys filled a line identical to this, the same cotton clothes with the same look of dread and excitement plastered on their faces. From the moment we were born, every second was spent leading up to March 3rd. 

"I'm so nervous, aren't you?" said a girl in front of me, proudly displaying a grin as she spun to face me. Her eyes sang with excitement, nerves laced in. But, I think for many others, nerves were often mistaken. She waited for a reply, and when she received nothing in return, she quickly added, " Our soulmates will be decided in this very building, and- and oh, also our job!"

"Really, wow? I assumed we were lining up for no reason!" it was clear from my voice that I didn't want to speak, or at least not, to her. What she hoped to gain out of this conversation was beyond me. She pursed her lips; the over-applied lipstick cracked as she spun around. I couldn't help but smirk.

I glanced around to the line across from this one. Of course, there were two lines—one for men, one for women. Everyone was wearing the same school uniform, the white buttoned shirt, navy blue jeans, and painfully dull black boots. Traditionally, girls had their hair in ponytails no matter how long—clean-shaven and short hair for the boys.

Unlike most people, I was more concerned about what job I was getting. On this day, people were fantasizing about their true love. But the only thing my heart was settled on was writing. I hoped to get into journalism, publishing, or something related. The thought of having a mediocre desk job was traumatizing. 

"Listen, I'm not gonna let ya in if ya don't put ya hair up like the rest of 'em, darl," the lady at the desk growled, impatience intertwined with exhaustion. I couldn't blame her; honestly, she was stuck as a receptionist for a herd of nervous, excited teenagers. 

Everybody in the line peered forward at what was happening, and it was clear within moments. The girl at the front of the line had her hair down, and I rolled my eyes. Everybody knew the tradition, however stupid it was. Hair was supposed to be up. No excuses. The girl, however, was visibly upset, shaking as she glimpsed back at us with glassy eyes.

"I don't... I don't have a hair tie..." she fumbled over the words, her voice straining as she glanced around. The boy's line knew what was going on; their focus switched to the drama that was sure to unfold. My best guess is some expected to watch at least some form of electrocution in front of them and were eager not to miss if something happened. I sighed before taking a step forward.

"I have a spare one," I said, pulling out one of my hair ties from my ponytail. My hair was thick, so from a young age, it was always easier to wear two hair ties to keep things stable. I handed it to her and gave a forced smile. It was hard to feel sorry for her when everybody knew the rules.

She began to tie up her hair as I returned to my place. My Mom taught me that trick, the double tie when the elastic broke or thicker hair. As an image of her face crossed my mind, the bitter-sweetness made me wince. After today, I was never to see her again.

As I glanced back at the girl, I stopped. I blinked again, thinking maybe it was a shadow, or I had imagined it. But as she scanned her thumb, shifting the ponytail to the side, it was as clear as glass.

She was Lower.

"You know, that was really nice of you to give her your hair tie," the annoying girl from earlier said, turning back to face me. I gave her a short glance before gaping at the other girl's neck. There was no way she was here, no way this was happening. The annoying girl took no notice of my distraction and continued talking, "Anyway, I'm Abby, since you asked,"

I didn't ask. I didn't even care. But I was too focused right now to think of a snarky remark. On the back of the girl's neck was an L. Maybe an inch tall, just barely visible in her skin. She had tried to hide it, cover it up. That's why her hair was down; she was so upset.

"That girl I gave the hair tie to is a Lower," I muttered to Abby as the girl walked inside the giant hall. The line shifted forward, and Abby's eyes widened. She glanced back at the girl who had just walked inside before back at me. The idea danced around her mind before reality shrouded doubt on my claim.

"How do you know?" Abby said, crossing her arms. 

Lowers were criminals, homeless, unwanted, and vermin for many. Lowers were criminals of second-hand offenses. If their match died or was criminally charged, you would become a Lower. Any crime was punishable by death, and being a Lower was as close to it as you could get. Lowers don't get a choice, and when freedom is defined as choosing the way you die, Lowers get hardly that; they get a fate worse than death.

"Did you see her neck? There was an L, a black L; they tattoo those on Lowers. That's why she had her hair down; everybody knows the tradition; I mean, the Lowers I was acquainted with would never try something, so—" I stopped. Abby's doubt morphed into confusion as she furrowed her brows, then to suspicion. I'm not sure why I had even spoken to her, this random girl in this line, but I already regretted every word I had said.

"You know Lowers? How? How do I know you're not one, huh?" she challenged, the line progressing forward again. I already highly disliked Abby; she was not making it easy to be liked. But it was too hard to get out of this situation now.

"I'm not a Lower, look," I lifted my ponytail and showed my bare neck. She kept her arms crossed, unconvinced and I sighed, rolling my eyes. She was annoying and stubborn. Why did fate have to put me in front of her? After a moment of silence, I continued, "And yes— I'm friends with 2 Lowers, they're twins... and why would I ever incriminate myself like that?"

Abby paused, running what I had said over her head as if fact-checking it. Then, after a few seconds, she dropped her arms and turned back, not saying anything else. I may not have liked her, but getting the cold shoulder made me flinch. I mean, I hadn't even been that mean. I guess I had been a little, but it was somewhat understandable.

We continued in silence as my mind drifted away to the Lower girl. How had she made it through security? Why did the finger scan not call her out? Why was she trying to get back in the first place? Eventually, I reached the front of the line—the old lady from before hardly even acknowledged me.

"Rebecca Aria," I stated, my name plain and straightforward, before placing my thumb onto the scanner. A red line ran underneath before turning green and letting out a satisfied beep as if an animal rewarded for a trick. After a few moments of pause, I walked through the giant hall doors, taking a breath as if it were my last. My heart was a bird, flapping inside the body of a cage, feathers flying everywhere. It wanted to soar, fly, and explore each crack and crevice of the world. However much I wished to set that bird free, each step reminded me I couldn't.

Inside the hall was a sea of white and navy animals. Kids ran around without care; even one boy had one of his shoes thrown around. A few girls were sitting on the tops of chairs, and some had even toppled them entirely. It was chaotic yelling, screaming, and laughter from everywhere.

I scanned around the hall. The entirety of the building was probably about the size of a school gym, with six hundred seats placed in rows, split down the center. A giant white screen was at the end of the hall, emanating a warm white glow. It gave you a funny feeling of staring at the light and made your insides feel soft and wobbly.

As I made my way down the parting between the sets of chairs, I spotted Abby. Unlike most others, she sat alone, head down, a few rows from the front, but not so close to the show that she was inviting company. A sharp pang stabbed that fluttering bird as I remembered how I had acted. I sighed, guilt now my pilot; I began to walk down the row she was in and stopped in the seat beside her.

"Is... is this seat taken?" I asked, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. I knew I wanted to apologize to her, but I hadn't exactly planned what I wanted to say. So instead, I waited for a response, and after a few moments, it was clear I wasn't going to get one. So finally, I sat down in the seat beside her.

She had her arms crossed, staring forward straight at the white glowing screen that made you feel nauseous. Her hair was a nice light brown color and in a ponytail. It went down to just below her shoulders. She wasn't exactly beautiful, but she wasn't ugly either. She was just like any other girl.

"Listen, I'm sorry for being kind of... harsh. I guess it's just my nerves," I knew it wasn't my nerves, but I didn't know what else to say. She glanced at me but didn't say anything, trying to get me to continue. I sighed, shifting in my seat, "Maybe we could be friends? I'm Rebecca, by the way..."

"And I'm sorry too..." she said quietly, uncrossing her arms and facing me. She gave me a slight smile, and I smiled back. Some of the colors returned to her face, "I guess I can just be a little annoying sometimes too— but yeah. I'd like to be friends,"

Friends.

Of course, Charlie and Lillian were my friends, but I hardly ever saw them. They were Lowers, and I could only ever see them so much. And that caused a barrier in my friendship and a feeling of isolation in my normal day-to-day life.

I had never really had friends besides them. Except for one girl, Marie. Honestly, I'm still surprised Marie ever even tolerated me for so many years before she disappeared. Things haven't been the same since, and I've just closed myself off from the world like an antisocial nobody. I became a shadow of society.

Abby and I kept talking for a bit, introductions and such. Nothing extreme like Lowers or conspiracies, just casual banter. Her main focus was on the idea that she also just so happened to also befriend a girl called Rebecca a few years back and that we should 'totally meet someday.' Abby was a sweet girl, not the smartest, but sweet regardless. She wasn't exactly trying to piss me off, even if she had. Although, she was a lot more tolerable than I had first assumed.

Three loud beeps sounded through the air, medium to low pitch. Everyone jumped at the sound; some girls even screamed. Murmurs rustled through the room, whispers, and mumbling. Some people panicked; others were frozen, nervous. I turned to Abby, who reflected an identical impression of confusion and impatience.

A clear voice sounded through the hall from all directions. It was hard to say anything about the voice, though; it was androgynous, the possibly early twenties but could easily be older than that. There was no accent, and something slightly off— almost inhuman— about the voice made me want to throw up. An awful taste in the back of your throat that you just can't get rid of. Oddly enough, it reminds me of travel sickness. The nausea you might get staring out of a window for too long on a bus or car. I didn't know a voice could do that to a person.

"Good morning, boys and girls; if you will, please quietly make your way towards the correct seating area," the voice rang through the halls. The murmurs stopped, whispers quieted, and I watched the once chaotic crowd descend into silence. A boy and a girl lingered at the back of the group.

"I love you too, Jake," the girl's words were just audible enough as she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He wrapped his arms around her as they paused, embracing for a moment. As if holding the last bit of hope they had for as long as possible.

Honestly, I pitied them. It was stupid to fall in love outside of the assignment, but we were all young. There was an extremely high chance they would not be assigned to each other, let alone glance at each other again. So I pitied their matches which had to live up to their previous expectation.

Within a few minutes, the hall was silent. I had never experienced silence like this before. The hall was built in a way for sound to be trapped, keeping outside noises away and reducing echo. It made everything cold, eerie. It was terrifying, with six hundred people staring at a nauseating white screen.

"Within the next few moments, the assignment will begin," the voice called from every direction. There were no visible speakers, no echo, just a voice coming from your mind. A girl in the seat ahead of me checked under her chair, her hand tapping underneath it, searching for a speaker. Staying in a situation like this for too long might drive someone insane, crazy even. That's if we weren't already.

"Assignment will be done with the following format: male name, career, female name, career. Once you hear your name, you and your assigned partner must make your way to the exiting door of the hall, where you will be given a keycard. The loss of a keycard may result in further consequences. The assignment shall begin shortly,"

My heart began to race, soaring through countless emotions at once. I was genuinely nervous, and adrenaline made me feel as if I wanted to run as fast and as far as possible. Finally, I turned to face Abby, who was visibly shaking. She was staring directly at the screen, unblinking. I leaned over and held her hand.

"You're going to be okay, I promise," I said, and she turned to me. In her eyes was true panic, fear. At that moment, Abby became a helpless child. Her eyes widened, frightened of the unknown. Her eyes glanced back and forth between me and the white glow of the screen, and her once charismatic sweetness was scattered and broken.

Despite having just met her, I already had the urge to protect her from whatever she was afraid of. I had never really experienced this before, and it was daunting. As I stared around at the crowd, every girl and boy had a similar state of childlike fear. The fear you might get from monsters under your bed. We had prepared our entire life for this, and it was still hard to process what was going on. It was hard not to be scared of those monsters.

It was like that. They came in like children, bouncing around, yelling, screaming, and causing mayhem. And now, these children would die. In the next few moments, these innocents would become society. I shifted in my seat, my mind rushing through one thousand things at once. It was foolish to believe I wasn't a child as well. We were all children here. And none of us, not even myself, were ready to grow up.

"Peter Collins, residential management. Laura Becking, primary education," everybody held their breath as the first names were called. I have always been told that the first names called were the most prolonged moments. Black and bold letters of what was just called popped onto the white glowing screen. A clear font, sans serif, perfectly symmetrical.

Oddly, my mind went to Neverland when the announcement called the first names. It was one of the first books my Mom had read to me and what we had all studied in school. Peter Pan showed us how important it was to grow up even if we weren't ready for it.

The story was so tied into the morals of our society today that it was difficult to believe that an author just created it in the twentieth century. Those teaching children it's okay to grow up, not stay in Neverland. The day children died and were replaced by a false idea of free will. 

Today, the lost boys died.

Abby squeezed my hand as tightly as she could, her fingernails digging into the palm of my hand. As one second passed, it became an eternity of waiting in a moment. A girl a few rows before us stood up the next moment, her legs shaking as if ready to collapse underneath her. Across the room near the corner, another boy I didn't recognize stood up. Before anybody could process what was happening, it called the following names.

"Oscar Simmons, livestock farmer. Olivia Walt, transport mechanic," more people I didn't recognize. The shock was still setting in, and the idea that it could call any one of us was unbearable. It's like knowing you're going to die within the next hour but not being told if it's in a minute or twenty. Abby's grip was beginning to hurt, but I couldn't focus on anything right now. I was just praying that I would get the job I wanted or something related to it.

More names were called, and more matching text appeared on the screen. Even though all we were doing was sitting down, it was exhausting. A constant adrenaline rush for up to an hour was not good for the body. And it's not like it got easier the more names were called. Finally, when fewer and fewer people were left, it began to grind at your worries.

What if I wasn't supposed to get assigned. I wasn't a very nice person; what if the assignment machine knew that and I was an outcast as a Lower. I remember the stories of people being left in the assignment hall because they didn't match with anybody. I mean, it had matched even the Lower girl now. And as more than half the hall was gone, that worry and stress became more realistic.

"Elias Briggs, neuroscientist. Abigail Davis, produce marketer," the black words rose onto the screen. I turned to Abby, the moment frozen in her eyes, staring at the screen. Now she was the shell of the girl I had met earlier, hollowed out. I watched the moment she died then, the child in her disappearing. 

A boy across the room stood up and glanced around, terrified. I didn't recognize him but was unsure if Abby did. Another moment passed, and Abby did not stand up. Whispers and glances scattered across the girls' chairs, waiting for one to stand. Even those who did not know her, we all pitied the girl who was too frightened to grow up. Too scared to move. It was the fear we all had today.

Just as I was about to tell her she was called, she jumped up, letting go of my hand. As she began to make her way towards the exit, I received no final words from her, no final goodbye or even a thank you. I was never one to expect much; even a thank you would be more than usual. But seeing that hollowed-out figure walk away like that— responsibility followed as if I had to take care of instead; I sat there, my mind racing. Maybe a form of Abby indeed had died at that moment.

"Jake Morris, law enforcement. Rebecca Aria, computer technology,"

I froze.

This wasn't happening.