Under Ground Read Free

it,
tanned and yet not wrinkled by the sun, and everything about her
face is symmetrical. She has an intense beauty that most people
find difficult to look away from.
    I wish I were as beautiful and
confident as she is. If I were pretty, I'd feel more at ease with
this wedding. Then there would be more guarantees that William and
his family would accept me. But everything I've inherited from my
mother somehow doesn’t look as good on me. I’m not outstanding. My
black hair is long and curly, reaching my elbows, but instead of
falling perfectly upon my shoulders the way my mother's does, mine
is always untamed. It has to be pinned down to be controlled. I’m
short. I have a fair complexion that often makes me look sickly,
and my nose, like my dad’s, is a bit too long.
    I hope William won't find me
plain. I met him a few years ago. I haven’t seen him again since
then, but he was quite attractive at the time. He was tall and
lean, with short blond hair. His eyes were green, and he had
dimples in his cheeks even without smiling. He didn’t seem the type
of person to smile, actually. I’m sure most girls would think
William to be breathtaking, but there was a profound coldness to
him that was unappealing, and the way he looked at me made me so
uncomfortable that I squirmed under his gaze.
    He’s still really young, only
eighteen years old, which is quite lucky for me, I guess. I should
deem myself fortunate that my parents didn't try to marry me to an
older man, but I can't seem to be grateful for such "good fortune."
I still hold this insane hope that William might treat me well, but
I should know better. I have been raised to accept that no man will
ever see me as an equal or treat me as such.

Chapter 2
    At eight
a.m., our maid Emily walks in and opens the blinds. I groan
and pull a pillow over my face. I hardly slept last night, and the
little time I spent in slumber was filled with nightmares about the
wedding. Someone had stolen my gown and exchanged it with another
dress. The replacement was made of plaid, and as I walked down the
aisle, the guests started whistling and booing me. Mother gave me a
disapproving look, and William walked away, calling the wedding a
ridiculous masquerade. I was petrified. I woke up earlier than I
normally do, covered in sweat. It had only been a dream, but I
couldn't go back to sleep after that.
    When the light comes streaming in
through the window, I pull a second pillow over my eyes and try to
suppress the pain already pounding inside my head. The sharp ache
hammering at my skull will last all day because Mother limits how
much medication I'm allowed to take. She claims the system won't
allow her to get certain pills or medical supplies. I know it's a
lie. Mother probably doesn't deem pain significant enough to
"waste" my father's salary on. For sure, my parents' rank gives
them access to all kinds of medicine. We are all well aware that
people from different classes get different rations of food,
medication, and resources. The authorities view it as a good way to
force the civilians to strive for a better position in society.
Despite our upper-class status, Mother insists that my family is
counting on me to help them reach an even higher standard of
living. I personally view my parents' attitude as greed, but I
would never dare voice my opinion out loud.
    When Emily comes to stand by my
bed and glares at me, I push the covers away and sigh heavily.
Today is Monday, a school day. I always prepare myself quickly in
the morning. Every day the exact same routine. I start with a short
shower. Then I put on my school uniform—black pants, a black shirt
and white tie. The result is extremely manly, an effect sought by
the school on purpose. School is not a beauty contest; it’s a place
where young girls learn how to become proper ladies willing to
stand by their husbands without ever showing the slightest amount
of wit. They call it "education." I tend to think of it as
brainwashing