Cransfield

It was 2188, when I first began school. That year I was about to turn 7. It was the first time that we were formally allowed out of District 7 and the House. My childhood days spent in the House consisted mostly of happiness and a few fights (and tears that accompanied these fights, but that was normal). It was like a kind of bubble protecting us from the outside world. Perhaps Cransfield too, was a bubble, a bigger bubble protecting innocent children from the cruelties of the real world.

One Sunday morning Beth had taken Darren, Hannah and I, the only children born in 2188, to the neighbouring District 6. Tomorrow was going to be our first day as students enrolled in the Cransfied, Education Facility. Although Darren and Hannah were eager to start going to school, like so many of the older kids at the House, I wasn't. How should I explain this? It was a gut instinct, like a spider, creeping up at the back of my head. Something was clearly off about Cransfield, and the subconscious me had picked up on it. Anyways we trekked through the same trail, that we took earlier this year when we snuck out of District 7. Through the woods, at this time it was autumn, so the orange leaves left a crunching sound as we walked above them. When we crossed the border to District 6, we walked on the main road. It was the first time that we had seen a gravel road, a proper road since all the roads in District 7 were dirt tracks. Beth hummed a little as we marched on the road, on our way to the station, where we would catch a bullet train to District 4. The nameless song that she had sang that day was my favourite song, and I would hum it later to Kim.

As the nameless seasons go by,

I would find myself,

Lost, lonely and hollow, inside.

Is it the human that dreamt of,

Being a butterfly?

Or is it the butterfly that dreamt of,

Being human?

The nightingale would sing,

For those, whose time is up.

As they fall to ash,

Giving back to this earth.

More than they took.

Whenever Beth sings this song to us, all of the children in the House immediately shut up and listen. Something about the quality of her voice, or the lyrics of the song, gave us a very melancholy impression. Every single time I would listen, mesmerised and on the verge of tears.

"Hey Beth, how much further is it to the station?" I whined after 40 minutes of walking.

"Just 100 more metres, and we'll be there." Beth replied, her plaited hair, bobbing up and down as she walked. As if on cue, a sign saying "District 6 Metro Station", appeared in front of us.

Darren shot me a glare dripping with venom. "You didn't have to complain like that."

I returned his glare. "At least I'm not holding us back, unlike a certain someone." I hissed. He looked down in misery, and continued walking, this time trying to conceal the exhausted expression he wore on his face.

The station was almost as glossy, and white as my birthplace. I noticed several adults getting in a white tube like structure (the bullet train), and Beth, signaled us and we followed suit. Between the platform and the Bullet Train there was a huge gap of about maybe 30 cm, it was so deep that the bottom could not be seen. Buckets of sweat formed on my forehead, as I tenderly placed my foot onto the Bullet Train. Then holding onto the sides of the Train I gently pulled myself up. As I watched the adults step on so nonchalantly I was surprised. But I guess that eventually, I became indifferent to them.

The interior of the train was composed of 8 compartments, each connecting to each other. Adults carrying leather briefcases, sat on the sides, and also the elderly, visiting old acquaintances from other districts. The Train was largely empty, almost as if it was designed for about 100 times the amount of people who used it. Our group decided to sit on the very end carriage, because there was nobody else, and we wanted privacy. To be honest I wanted to sit with the adults, and observe the way that they would live their lives but Beth was against it so we didn't.

"Privacy." She said.

"Yeah, we don't want to interfere with their lives or be a nuisance." Darren agreed, albeit phrased in much simpler words. He glanced at me while speaking the last part.

I didn't miss his gaze and stared daggers back at him. I was feeling particularly irritated that day, and once again Darren had picked a fight with me. If it was a fight he wanted, I was going to give it to him.

"Stop repeating what Beth has already said. You're like a broken record player!  If you want to stop being a nuisance, then shut up!" I snapped back at him.

His face flushed beet red, and visibly embarrassed, he turned away from me. We spent the rest of that train ride in silence. Hannah reading her book, Darren and I facing opposite ends, sulking. Only Beth spoke when she mentioned to us that we had arrived at our stop. The District 4 station.

You see, the metro system was a hexagon (6 sided polygon), with the midpoint connecting to every vertex of it. Each station was directly connected to Station 0, the station of District 0. And adjacent districts were connected to each other. There was a one station per district rule, although there were many abandoned stops between the Stations. District 7 was special, there was no Station, so we had to make the long trek to the closest station, in other words, Station 6.

When we got off, all we could see was a patch of green, and upon that green were rows and rows of mundane brick buildings. That same brown brick was being used over and over, and every building had a maximum height of 4 story's (except for one). We walked upon some shoddily constructed concrete roads, leading us to Cransfield. I couldn't help feeling disappointed that we had come to this type of place.

In my head, I had imagined Cransfield to be some kind of crystal palace, the sort that the princesses in picture books lived in. I expected there to be large marble staircases, leading to the classrooms, and even grander staircases that lead to our rooms. Our beds were supposed to be king sized ones, with the fluffiest, fur pillows and blankets. It was supposed to be a place of great luxury, that was how Beth had described it to me anyway. Similar to what I would imagine to be a boarding school for princesses. There would be horses in the stables, and each of us dressed in little sparkling, beaded dresses would own one each. My horse would be a mare, with a black mane and coat, with just a splash of white on the right ankle of it's hind leg. Everyday we would ride in the meadows with our ponies, under the blazing sun and at night we would all gather in the massive dining hall, and seated on one of those long tables (like in Harry Potter) we would eat while chatting to one another. I imagined maids and butlers serving us, dressed in almost absurd frilly uniforms, standing there, waiting for our every beck and call. One of them would be almost identical to Beth in appearance and just as kind as Beth was. She would listen to every complaint, comfort me in the same soft voice and tell me that everything was going to be okay. My roommates were the high class princesses from those story books, each dressed in a unique type of dress, and all of them incredibly kind and caring (unlike Darren) and they would accept me as part of them although I was no princess. They would give me dresses embroidered with the finest silks, trinkets embedded with sapphires and emeralds and expensive combs and such. As well as styling my hair on a daily basis.

But that's not how it turned out... My fantasies shattered the moment we entered the cold brick building. An older girl showed us around the dull place that was Cransfield. She was maybe in her late teens, judging from her body. She wore rectangular, thick glasses and her ebony hair was in a medium ponytail. Her appearance was plain, and I felt somewhat dismayed with her, although she wasn't to blame. But why? I looked identical to this girl, although my eyesight wasn't poor. Who was I to judge her about being plain? I wondered if it was an early manifestation of my self-loathing, which became a central part of my mentality later on. Back to the matter at hand.  What was the problem with being plain? I was the one in the wrong for setting my expectations too high. I surveyed their conversation with resigned eyes. The ebony haired girl seemed to have a certain level of familiarity with Beth, so I concluded that she must've been one of my seniors at the House.

Cransfield was a rather large school with a total of 5 classes with 30 people each per grade, until 10th grade in which the number of classes and class sizes greatly decreased. Back then I assumed that many of them dropped out to pursue non education related careers, but in hindsight the number of adults didn't match up. In any society in the past the percentage of people pursuing education related careers was relatively low, but in our society it was 80% of all grown ups. If every grade in Cransfield consisted of 150 children and if Shaftsburg and The International School of Industrial Arts also consisted of a similar number, then approximately there would be 450 children per year group. Under the assumption that the dome only comprised of people up to the age of 60 (despite most people before the age of 75 being quite healthy due to our excellent health care) there should be a minimum of 27 000 people and even more if you included the elderly. However for some reason the census always showed a number under 10 000. Even for a young child unable to calculate such difficult numbers, it was common sense to notice the disparity between the numbers. Deep in my subconscious I had blocked out such ominous numbers, I didn't want to think about it.

Although the buildings were dull and unremarkable, I could not help but comment on the sheer size of it. The tour girl replied to my questions by saying something along the lines of, "Of course, we have a lot of students after all." As she rambled on about each classroom and each teacher, we headed in the direction of the dorm.

"And these are the dorms, the female dorms are from floor 4, to floor 7". She babbled on.

"Layla, Darren, Hannah in three years you will be able to live here." She pointed at an empty grey room, furnished with nothing but 3 empty bunk bed frames and a large oak closet. A small bathroom consisting of a showerhead, a sink, and a toilet was located in the corner.

Our tour of the school ended without introducing me to my favourite part of the school, the fields, for what it was named after. As we left the grounds I stared back at the black heavy metal barred gates and the mundane brown brick buildings. My mind was filled with thoughts, but I didn't dare say any of them to anyone.

From that day onwards Darren, Hannah and I got up early in the morning and began our tedious journey to Cransfield for our education.