Disformation Disease (a fiction)
By AVA M, age 11
I stumbled around my old flat, scanning every personal possession. It was all over. I couldn’t ever return to this flat again. There was a weight in my chest; the small, worn flat was all I’d ever known. I grabbed my knitted, polka-dot bag and moped to my bedroom. My dusty wardrobe made its familiar creak as I opened it. I clutched my old, grey pajamas and worn slippers to my chest. I chose my new black jeans, white shirt, and the stripy tie that I hated. If I was going to live with strangers, I might as well try to dress well. But then I threw out those boring clothes and chucked in my stained jeans. I mean, I might as well wear my favourite, comfortable clothes. It was time to leave.
I trudged out of my home, the flat where I’d lived since I was a child. Two masked policemen waited to escort me on the walk of shame. Everyone called them the ‘Masked Police’ because they wore black sunglasses and nobody knew their identity. Some people stared, some people glued their eyes to my extra thumb, and one boy threw a sharp rock at me. It hit my cheek and stung more than it should have. The policemen’s grip tightened on my shoulders, and my cheek bled onto my old sweater. I suddenly felt a prickling in my leg, as if a knife was growing out of it. My stomach churned like the inside of a washing machine. I knew what it was, Disformation Disease. By morning I’d have an extra leg to go along with my extra thumb.
There are currently only 89 people in the world that have Disformation Disease, and the Government wants to keep it that way. I shuffled up an old ramp to the boat, with the masked policeman behind me, in case I made a run for it. A pale woman, wearing a surgical mask and gloves, met me at the top. She had dark circles under her eyes and, as she grasped my arm, she was trembling. I knew the workers were forced into the job, and most of them got infected.
Three days later, I walked down the same ramp to the East Island. The woman on the boat watched us mournfully. I would never see them again because they were being transported to the West Island. We would be kept apart so we wouldn’t fall in love and have babies that would be naturally and equally, if more so, disformed. Nobody had gotten better yet, and most people died. I really hoped I would make it...
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