Dark World: The Surface Girl Read Free

the fetus is problematic rather than making us suffer the emotional consequences of having to put a defective baby to sleep after its born. No one is allowed to live unless we have the potential to be a useful, functioning member of The Complex. The good of the many outweighs the importance of the one.
                  My name is Ruby but my ID number identifies me as Complex Resident R-1046. I'm almost sixteen years old. Last year after genetic testing, I was assigned C-2246, otherwise known as Connor, as a future mate. I don't know anything about him and I am expected to spend my life with him. This “sense of security” does not comfort me like it does so many others. I already resent Connor just for existing. I know that isn't fair but neither is the fact that I have no say in the matter. The government uses Doctrine to control and dictate our lives. They can put us to sleep, smack us with rulers and force us into visible compliance, but they cannot go into my head and take my dreams and feelings away from me. I won't let them.
              My mind still asks questions. I still want something more for myself than the life that is being forced upon me. Maybe I got my unwavering desire for adventure by holding on to Grandpa Logan's last words, or maybe that longing has been in my heart since the day I was born. Lately, I feel endlessly torn between wanting to sooth my mothers constant fear for my life by outwardly cooperating with “simple expectations” like accepting without questioning, marrying Connor and having my own child with him, and wanting to know more, be more, see more, and do more. Grandpa Logan was the one that told me one day I would change the world and I wanted that more than anything – I just didn't know how. Even though I had learned to keep my mouth shut, my eyes were always open. The only question now before me was if an opportunity to change the world ever presented itself during my lifetime, would I have the courage to take it?

Chapter 1
 
                  When I was twelve I asked my mother if she thought I would have a chance at someday being chosen for a shuttle mission. Her eyes immediately narrowed and her lips pressed tightly together like she was trying to hold back an explosion. Anxiety displayed itself as lines tightening across the corners of her mouth and it frightened, and guilted me.
              Another question I shouldn't ask. Noted.
              Sigh.
              It wasn't that my mother's paralyzing fears about my discontented spirit finally broke my naturally adventurous curiosity, but I learned that the more complacent I appeared to be, the less likely people were to keep a watchful eye on me. If everyone assumed I finally accepted my virtually meaningless life they wouldn't feel the need to pay me any special attention. As I got older my questions and dreams, although still very prominent in my mind, had to settle for resting behind a false smile and an obedient nod.
              I knew the geological facts about what happened to our planet after the invasion. Nothing currently remained on the surface above us but darkness and the possible terrifying living mutation, and on the other side of the planet, fires that spread far across the land. My only real chance to escape from the confines of The Complex would have been landing a spot on one of the five-year shuttles, but last year my genetics were found to be compatible with someone in another division. My inevitable destiny to marry and mate with Connor C-2246 made me want to throw up in my mouth. Being mated meant that any chance I had to be chosen for a shuttle mission was officially extinguished. I hated him for that. His very existence was a snake wrapping itself snugly around my lungs and squeezing until I could no longer breathe. Those who were chosen for missions were often found to have minor but not life-threatening