“Sam,” he begins. “Mom said to-”
“What have I told you about entering my room without knocking?” I demand, cutting him off. My jaw clenches and I stare daggers at him. “Plus, I’m a little busy here.” I thrust up my tablet, waving it like a flag.
Rolling his eyes, Graham replies with, “Mom said to tell you that dinner’s almost ready. She wants you to set the table.”
“Whatever.” I really wish the government will finish enhancing their servant …show more content…
As he blabs on about the third grade, I bound down the stairs and into our stainless steel kitchen. Thanks to the government, everyone is provided with the best appliances.
Over the years, the American Republic has turned into a communist society, which actually has a lot of advantages. There’s no poverty, or jealousy of other’s possessions. Scientists have even gone as far as making everyone’s weather the same. Because of the Climate Control Association, there is never not a perfect day.
“Sam,” Mom greets, as Graham and I walk in. “Could you set the table, please?” Yup, still waiting for those assisting robots.
Because I’m still in a bad mood from Graham interrupting my reading, I don’t respond. With pursed lips, I grudgingly garb the plates from a pristine, white cupboard, which every other house has. I toss the plates on the table, slightly surprised none of them cracked.
“Why are you in such a bad mood?” Mom inquires, placing her hands on her …show more content…
My eyebrows knit together and I rub my hair. I pull my hand back down in front of my face, to inspect what hit me. My fingers are wet. Peering up at the dark sky, I see more foreign drops that repeatedly pound on my head and the small around me. The transparent pellets don’t go that far, like it’s only target is me. It makes my hair and clothes plaster on me. Then, I realize what it is. I’ve seen old movies with this in it.
“So,” I murmur to myself. “This is what rain looks like.”
Slowly, I hold out my hand, letting the rain kiss my palm. The drops form a small puddle in my hand and I am memorized. But then, the reality of the situation hits me. I hug my hand to my chest, trying to wipe away the precipitation. As if on cue, the rain stops coming, everything is back to normal. But, something is wrong. It’s not supposed to rain here.
As I sprint back home, my body becomes hijacked. My eyes start to sting, my flesh burns as if I am engulfed in flames, and I can feel myself go deaf. Soon, I can no longer hear my soaked shoes pound on the dry pavement.
I surprise myself by finding my house, which is in a sea of houses that look exactly like it. Two stories, painted white, with grey shingles. Thrusting the front door open, I cry out, “Mama.” I haven’t called Mom that in