Read Naomi Grim (The Silver Scythe Chronicles) Part 1 Page 6
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The following day, we discussed the high school infrastructure, which sounded like the game of politics my father and the men of Farrington played with Dunningham. I found that comparison to be quite sad.
Doyle projected a screen on the empty wall of our living room. "At the top, you have the popular students. These students are often popular because of their good looks, the way they dress, and their big personalities. It's not very likely the kids planning a school massacre will be among this group, so you shouldn’t waste your time becoming one of them."
"I don’t think I'll be able to help it. Those kids are going to adore me. I know it." Bram was a lot more disruptive now that Dunningham wasn't present. He was popular in Nowhere though, so he just might be popular where we were going.
Doyle ignored him. "Next you have the regular kids. You may want to get to know some of these kids. Then there's the bottom rung. The nerds, outcasts, losers, whatever the kids call them. These are the kids you want to fall in with and really get to know."
Bram pointed at the rest of us. "You guys are going to fit right in with them."
Doyle spoke some more about queen bees, jocks, cheerleaders, student council presidents, and hierarchy. My eyes began to glaze over. I had been exposed to this world quite a bit, but I never knew things could be so complicated. I was on information overload. The lesson that day was cut short because there was a gathering in front of the Mill at two in the afternoon.
We did what was expected of us at gatherings—donned our cloaks and took our scythes. My brothers and I stood next to our father as the Grims gathered in their assigned section in front of the Mill— Litropolis, then Farrington, and then the Upper Estates.
The sound of a horn blasted through the air. Silence fell as Dunningham made his way to the podium that stood on the platform. I couldn't see him from where I stood, but there were plenty of monitors planted around that I could watch from.
Dunningham leaned over into the microphone. "Dear Grims, I'm sure you know by now that Foragers infiltrated our colony the other day. They have been captured. Now we will brand them and put them to work."
The Watchers led a line of twelve men, tethered together, onto the platform. The men were barefoot and wearing nothing aside from a black loincloth. They were directed to turn their backs to the crowd and kneel. I hated this part. The memories of my own branding made me feel woozy. On my thirteenth birthday, like every other Grim, I'd been branded with a very elaborate G on my right shoulder. It was a blinding pain. I'd never felt anything like it, nor did I want to again.
The crowd cheered, my brothers and father included, as the Watchers removed hot pokers from a small fire pit on the platform. The poker was pressed into the first man’s skin. He screamed. There was something wrong about a grown man screaming like that. His body shook as he fell onto the platform, and I had to look at the ground. One by one, the other eleven men were branded with an X on their right shoulders. I was thankful the cheers from the crowd drowned out their cries. I kept my eyes focused on the ground and away from the monitors. I couldn't bear to watch their pain.
The X would seal their fate. Foragers didn't have many years left, and that particular group would spend the remainder of their years as slaves, working in the Mill under watchful eyes, shoveling and transporting the very lifestones they had come to steal. I was sure the men would have probably welcomed an execution instead.
Once all twelve men were branded, the cheering escalated.
"This is what happens when they mess with the Grim!" Dunningham shouted. The Grims roared in agreement. The men were led off the platform and Dunningham dismissed us.
I didn't like everything about being a Grim, but those gatherings—I hated them.