Breaking Order
By Catherine Kopf
Copyright
© 2017 Catherine Kopf
Breaking Order
All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Cover and Interior Design by Eight Little Pages
Published in The United States by Createspace Publishing
First Edition
ISBN-13: 978-1981781324
ISBN-10: 1981781323
Author’s Note
To all the Dreamers out there….
Keep dreaming and inspire to be who you are. Who Knows? With your determination and patience you may make it to where you want to go in life. maybe you’ll find yourself in a world you never imagined. Let dreams be your magic and trust those you care about most. There’s no limit in trying and no success comes without failure.
-Catherine Kopf
Special Thanks to…
God, Erin Hughes, Emily Holmes, Marlo Nall, and my family for all inspiring me to complete this story.
Table Of Contents
Copyright
Author’s Note
Special Thanks to…
Table Of Contents
One:
Two:
Three:
Four:
Five:
Six:
Seven:
Eight:
Nine:
Ten:
Eleven:
Twelve:
Thirteen:
Fourteen:
Fifteen:
Sixteen:
Seventeen:
Eighteen:
Nineteen:
Twenty:
Twenty-One:
Twenty-Two:
Twenty-Three:
Twenty-Four:
Twenty-Five:
Twenty-Six:
Twenty-Seven:
Twenty-Eight:
Twenty-Nine:
Thirty:
Thirty-One:
Thirty-Two:
Thirty-Three:
About the Author:
One:
I was fourteen, curious, and my nightly internet surfing might have already given me a death sentence.
At least those were the rules— the laws that kept society running. The Regime protected my world with its leadership. It saved the people in its arms, and they locked the outside world away.
People couldn’t say they were all that strict. Surfing the internet was fine, but looking up what I searched at night could be considered an act of rebellion.
I clicked the search bar on my laptop screen. Questions burned in my head. As I tapped on the keys, a single phrase sat typed and ready for me to search:
What’s it like to dream and use creativity?
No, that was too specific. The Regime’s lock would never let that question through, even if I used my father’s firmware. I wasn’t a rebel, even if I was curious. Couldn’t I at least get a clear picture of what the illegal activities were so I could report them?
I typed another phrase into the search engine, keeping my words short and broad. The more specific the question, the more flags would sound off on The Regime’s end. I didn’t want that.
Magic: definition.
Just typing the word could place me on a watch list, but I couldn’t come up with anything better. I wasn’t a creative person, and, boy, I was glad. Society frowned expression for fifteen years— at least according to Gran— and anyone caught doing anything involving it died.
My search ended in red letters coded across my laptop screen:
BLOCKED
“Dang it…” I mumbled the words under my breath, trying hard not to make a sound.
The word acted like a stop sign, a dead end. The bold letters coated in red reminded me of the system. It reminded me of the blood Father honorably spilled on a daily basis. The Regime waved their finger like a third parent to tell me what I did wrong.
I reached over to my desk for my black notebook— bound like a journal and worn at the edges. The pages were old and cream-colored, rare for my time. It reminded me of a couple items in my gran’s trunk packed in the attic. The notebook was a lucky find, and Gran was happy to see me making use of it.
Picking up the notebook, I dropped it on the journey back to my bed. A loud thud echoed on my stone bedroom floor. Silence broken from the sound, I paused. What would’ve been a small mistake to most people might’ve been the end of my life.
‘Crap…’
The floorboard creaked outside my door, and a shadow lingered in the light under the doorway. No, he could never find out. I could only imagine what he would do if he did.
I kicked the notebook under the bed with my foot and muffled the sound the best I could.
My door’s handle squeaked open. In an instant, I shut the laptop under my sheets and curled into a ball. Closing my eyes, I laid still as I calmed my racing heart. My hands clutched my laptop, waiting for the figure to leave. I couldn’t give away my wakeful state— not if I valued my parents’ respect… and my own life.
“See, Hugo? I told you. Calista’s fast asleep.” Gran’s raspy voice lingered in the hallway.
“I swore I heard something in here,” Father grumbled.
“Honey, you know Calista’s aware of the rules. She’s your daughter,” Mom said.
“Father, just leave Cal alone, okay?” the voice of my older brother, Ambert, echoed outside the room.
“I didn’t ask you.” Father gnashed his teeth.
“Let’s go to bed, Hugo…” Mom’s voice uttered. Her gentle tone reflected her soft nature.
Father trudged out of my room, shutting the door behind him. I scooted up in my bed and opened my laptop again. Releasing a sigh, I was relieved to be off their radar. The empty search bar stayed clear in my face— awaiting its orders on what to research.
Again, another curious thought passed through my head:
What is dreaming?
My computer froze up. A little loading hourglass appeared near the clicker. I couldn’t believe citizens had to wait until the following year before the latest laptop model came out. Still, it wouldn’t be updated, just the same laptop in the new-looking case.
The computer came back with a result, but only the textbook definition I had known for years. I wanted to know more, not just clarification and generic information. I released a breath and tried to ease my frustration. It wasn’t like I could just ask someone about it.
With a government lock over what could be seen, any research at all was difficult. Under my sheets, I could ask all the questions I wanted, even if all I got were government provided answers.
It was a secret kept between me and my laptop that Father could never know about.
He was a fan of the rules, and was highly respected by The Regime. If he found out, his loyalties would be divided. He could kill me. People would write ‘Curiosity killed Calista’ on my grave— if it were marked. I would be lucky just to get a burial place with my name on a headstone.
But I didn’t
want to die. I didn’t want to rebel. I just wanted answers, closure for my curiosity. Was that so bad? At least I hoped The Regime thought I was being good. Even if my intentions were well-meant, if they said it was bad, there was nothing I could say to change their minds.
After wiping my eyes and yawning, I closed my laptop, put it in its charger— being sure not to knock over my Antiserum vial for tomorrow—, and rested in bed for the night. I did enough for one night, even if I got no answers. Sheets covered my body with a blanket of comfort and warmth. My eyelids heavied and welcomed my dreamless sleep.
My curiosity might’ve been untamed, but I would rather be safe than radical.
Home was as safe as it could get.
Opening my eyes the next morning, I felt stiff, lifeless, and zombie-like. My pale, freckled skin contrasted against my hair’s bright tint. Still, the stiffness didn’t leave me without emotions. I still had them, still loved them, but I felt a little void. Guess it didn’t matter though.
Stretching in my bed, I slowly placed my feet on the floor. The metal was cold to touch, even after a long night in bed with the heat on. I smelt one of my armpits. It was definitely bath day, and I was glad to get my turn to shower this week. No one by any means was poor in The Regime, just regulated. Showering once a week let us save on our water supplies.
I took my shower and dressed for school.
Two:
Lacing the ties of my boots, I made sure each bow was symmetrical. My khakis cuffed at the hemline. A Commander approved C was stitched in the fabric of my black polo and grey jacket. Anything without this seal got me in trouble for The Regime’s dress code. Attending Fortress’ military academy didn’t help the situation. Things were stricter there.
Turning to my desk, I reached for an empty vial labeled ‘ANTISERUM: TAKE NIGHTLY. PROTECTS AGAINST DREAMING AND RADICAL IDEOLOGY FOR UP TO TEN HOURS.’
If it weren’t for Regime issued ‘Antiserum’, my life would be different— unsafe, radical, and maybe worse. I grabbed the vial and exited my room. The door creaked shut behind me.
I rushed down the stairs. A long hallway separated me from the kitchen. The wall was littered with laws encased in black frames. Our house was cold and bland, but it was home.
“Calista? Is that you?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, Mom.” My voice shook from a lack of water.
Mom's voice carried from the kitchen. “Scurry in here before I serve breakfast.”
My eyes widened. “Just a sec.”
I entered our kitchen, a small room compared to the others in our house, but cozy. Oatmeal clouded my nose in an array of delight. Gran’s favorite food was a pleasant smell in the mornings. I threw my vial into the recycling can and sat at our circular metal table. Clean plates laid out for three people, and a fourth was messy, crumbs lying on the dish.
“I’m guessing Ambert left in a hurry again?” My curly red hair bounced as I turned to face Mom.
She kept her opinions locked away as she always did. Mom was a woman of few words, covered in pale features— even her hair was toned an ashen-brown.
Gran was less polite about the mess, her voice spoke with sass. “Does he ever clean?”
She hobbled to her seat assisted by her wooden cane and adjusted her overlarge red sweater. She took her frail hand and wiped a pepper strand of hair out of her face.
“Let me help you, Gran.” I stood from my seat and drew her chair out for her.
“Thanks, Missy.” Gran sat and gave an almost toothless grin.
I returned to my metal seat, not saying a word. The only noises in the kitchen were Mom’s eggs sizzling on the oven’s burner. I stared back and forth at Mom and Gran before glancing at my lap.
“Dang-it! I still can’t see this tiny font…” Gran used her fingers to enlarge the news article on her holoscreen.
“Ma, can’t you wait until I serve breakfast?” Mom asked.
My fingers twiddled in my lap and adjusted my polo and jacket. Nothing could go out of place, not if I didn’t want to be on the watch list. No one wanted that.
Mom served breakfast and took her place beside me, leaving a bowl for Gran and a plate filled with scrambled eggs for me.
“Is something wrong, Calista?” Mom placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Just… just worried about school. That’s all...” I stuttered.
Thinking about school sent a chill down my spine. Tests, homework, quizzes aside, I couldn’t survive with my classmates.
Gran chuckled and turned off the holoscreen. “It was different when we grew up.”
“Really?” I let a yawn escape my lips, a sure sign of the consequences of researching so late.
Mom paused from her cleaning, looking straight into my eyes. She grabbed an apple off the top shelf and handed it to me. “Eat this. It will help you gain some energy.”
“Now, Suzanne. Let me talk,” Gran shifted her gaze back to me, “We didn’t graduate at sixteen. We left high school at eighteen, and then, we had all kinds of classes: engineering, music, potions...”
‘Music? Never heard of that before...’
I bit into my apple, savoring the juicy flavor.
Mom’s eyes went round. “Ma, if someone found out you’re talking about radical ideology, you know what would happen. I can’t bear...”
“Can’t I tell a couple stories to my granddaughter? Besides, you enjoyed those classes too when you were her age. Don’t deny that...” Gran smiled.
“Mom? You!?” My jaw dropped.
That couldn’t be right. My mom wouldn’t start a rebellion against The Regime or partake in magic. She was cautious, reserved… not a rebel. If she participated in radical ideology, why was it banned?
Mom placed a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s not your concern now, Calista. Don’t get yourself too curious. We can’t do those things anymore. We just need to stay in the system, keep our heads low, protect each other. That’s what a family does, and …”
I startled— only a little— as the kitchen door slammed open behind me. A moan grew as Father shuffled into the kitchen for the coffee pot. He poured himself a cup and took a seat at the table.
I bowed my head to respect him. “Father…”
“Hello, Sweetheart.” He sipped his coffee, grumbled, and cleared his throat.
Bags under his eyes mirrored the dedication to his work. The foggy color of his irises glazed haunted by the lingering past he held behind them. Wrinkles etched near his forehead and eyes like cracks showed his age and experience. Father’s back didn’t arch in his chair, giving a silhouette like Death— which to most people, that’s who he was.
Mom cleared her throat. “Hugo, we weren’t expecting you back until after Calista left for school.”
“I apprehended the criminals earlier than expected. They were openly doing the crime this time. It made my job easy.” Father sipped his black coffee.
“What was it this time? A rival gang? Robbers?” Gran asked.
Father chuckled. “Worse. Artists and Magicians. Scum of the earth if you ask me.”
“Artists?” I leaned a little closer to Father, letting my curiosity get the best of me.
Father looked into my eyes with a firm glare. “Just more radicals breaking the anti-dreaming and creativity laws. One step in their direction and we’ll all be sick.”
“Hugo, Calista doesn’t need to be exposed to…” Mom’s brown eyes scanned Father’s emotions.
Father raised his hand to silence her, waiting for my response.
“Of course, Father. I don’t want the artists hurting us.” I lowered my eyes from his gaze.
Just thinking of his work sickened me. He was just as controlling as The Regime but had more influence on personal lives as Head Executioner. Even with my reservations, I could never make Father angry. That would just make things worse.
“That’s my girl,” Father smiled, “You know, I saw your report card this morning.”
I raised an eyebrow. “But the schoo
l board isn’t giving those out until next week.”
“If you thought you could hide it from me, you’re wrong,” he spat in my face.
“I— I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean any harm,” I bowed my head.
“Overall, I was pleased, but you’ll never take a place in society next to me if you don’t try harder in P.E.” Father sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He always loved his recognition.
“But I can’t think about my future. That’s The Regime’s job.” I looked back to Father.
It was true, as much as I didn’t want it to be. The Regime chose my future off a mild skillset. Developing unique skills was punishable by death. I would probably end up marrying a stranger by eighteen. As much as I wanted to deny my feelings, I wouldn’t be happy partnered with someone.
Breaking Order: Book 1 (Breaking Order Series) Page 1
