Hallo! Ik schrijf al een tijd lang in het Engels en had recent een ingeving waar ik een verhaal op wilde beginnen. Ik heb nu twee kleine stukjes geschreven die in dit verhaal zouden komen en in mijn portfolio, om een idee te geven van schrijfstijl en globaal idee van de story.
Het thema is dystopian fiction rondom een extreem individualistische wereld waar kinderen worden opgevoed door de staat zonder ouders (dat begrip bestaat niet meer in de 'normale' klassen) en worden geplaatst op een specifieke school die hen opleid tot bijvoorbeeld tot arts of atleet naar aanleiding van hun sterke punten, die aan het begin van hun leven dmv ingewikkelde DNA technieken worden bepaald. Hun gedachten worden gevormd door hun omgeving, waar hen wordt verteld dat zij allen de meest geschikte opvoeding krijgen om tot waardige mensen op te groeien, maar natuurlijk blijkt niks minder waar. Geld bepaalt nog altijd alle aandelen in de samenleving, en ondanks wat er wordt verteld aan het overgrote deel van de samenleving, is niemand gelijk bij geboorte. Goed, ik kan het niet bepaald goed samenvatten tot een kort stukje nu 
De kern van het verhaal draait om familie en de betekenis die deze banden hebben in je leven, ook al zijn ze niet altijd even goed.
Alles is dus in het Engels geschreven (:
In elk geval, dit zijn de stukjes. Tips zijn zeker welkom, maar houd het gezellig en opbouwend.
There isn't even the slightest hint of an apology on her hard features, worn and creased by old age and decades of excessive smoking, while I stand immobilized by utter shock and disbelief.
I have no name. This simply can’t be true, it must be a nightmare I’m stuck in. I close my eyes. Behind my back, I pinch my skin between my thumb and index finger until it surely hurts, and unwillingly force myself to open my eyes with vague hope that maybe I dreamt the pain. Two frigid blue eyes stare at me from behind the pair of classic scholar's glasses she wears on the tip of her nose, accentuating her harsh and indifferent look - I can tell she’s judging me. Somewhere hidden behind her indifference, there is a trace of concern, though I'm most certain that particular worry is not meant for me as she averts her gaze and impatiently taps the tip of her ballpoint pen against the bland, sterile white table she's sitting at. My attempt to awaken was in vain.
"There are no certificates left to be awarded, M37." Her voice sounds as painfully hoarse as it would any other day and the biologist in me would pity her lungs for a moment, if it weren’t for the sting I feel when hearing my code. M37, that’s me. Officially, the full code is F04-1570574-I20-M37; M37 merely indicates that I am the 37th child raised in the relatively new M-department of our carefully designed institute. The fact that she tresses my code only adds insult to injury, and my disbelief grows by the second.
From the day I was born, I was assigned a purpose in life. Today is the moment everyone has waited for since birth, it is the day we receive our identity, this day will define our life and the success we will have in our careers. A name is more than just a word, it’s a prediction. Without my name, without an identity, my future wasn’t looking good…
My eyes are glued to the young girl running around what looks like a large, well-maintained garden area. The grass slowly sways in the soft summer breeze, its colour as green as the plants in those outdated pictures of my biology book, something I thought no longer existed in my world. The far side of the lawn is adorned with plants in the widest range of colours and shapes I have ever seen together in one place – various small plants growing tiny violet flowers, bushes with millions of yellow petals. A couple of blossoming trees stand tall near the corner of the rather imposing brick and stone edifice, their branches reaching out towards the sky and presenting their humble yet beautiful white flowers as if pleading for those little blossoms to grow into fruit.
The view is breathtaking and otherwordly, but my eyes can’t focus on my surroundings for long. It’s the brown-haired girl with her soft white dress, running around in the luscious grass of the garden while laughing and giggling, who has captured my attention. Her dark chestnut ringlets bounce around with every step, enjoying their freedom like the child herself. Strangely enough, I find myself turning jealous almost instantly, even though I have no right to be.
“Mommy, hurry! Catch me!” She yells in between her laughing, and an adult woman with the same dark chestnut curls and light skin comes running after her. Shouldn’t she be in school? The woman has no difficulties reaching the small child, and once she does, she lifts her up in the air and twirls her around, the girl squealing and giggling all the while. They seem so… I can't find a word to describe it, but the longer I watch them, the more intense my longing becomes. Free? I am sure they are related, they look so much alike. Mommy must be a short form of the old word Mother… This is the most confusing, otherworldly scene I have ever witnessed in my 17 years – which isn’t at all that long, if you think about it, yet long enough to understand this wasn’t right. It doesn’t look wrong. I can’t argue with my own interruptive thought, but all my nerves are readying to bolt if necessary, in case I get caught watching something illegal.
I’m watching a movie, it seems, or maybe an old picture is coming to life – it’s all history and biology book material. Ever since I was a young girl, I’ve been told that where we are placed is the most optimal environment for us to grow and become happy, intelligent beings worthy of participating in today’s society. They showed us the many pictures, stories and videos of children who were forced to grow up in poverty or with drug-addicted, abusive or incapable parents, and I can’t imagine having to grow up in a place like that, with no real perspective. The Organization for Successful Optimization always selects capable people to raise and teach children the most valuable lessons in life, as well as keep them safe. It can’t be right though. Why would I feel this way? Why are they laughing so much if growing up like that limits our potential and threatens our safety?
They don’t notice me, luckily, and I keep myself hidden behind the fence while I study them. The mother, or at least I assume that’s who she is, has hugged the girl to her chest and her nose is buried in the girl’s hair as she gives a few soft kisses to the side of her head. Hugs and kisses… I wonder what they feel like. Intimate contact has always made me uncomfortable and my caretakers were very busy with their jobs, naturally, but the face-splitting grin on the girl’s face makes it seem so pleasant. My memories of my first caretakers, Mr. and Mrs. Tennin, are hazy and distant anyway – like all other children I moved to the Institute when I turned four.
“I caught you!” I hear the woman say; her voice has such a cheerful and soothing sound to it, like Mrs. Berry’s when I was hit with the flu again. The flu is horrible, but Mrs. Berry always knew how to cheer us up.
Behind me, the noise of rustling leaves abruptly rip me from my trance. Please let it be an animal. I whirl around to find where it’s coming from, frantically hoping that no one caught me staring, but nearly bump into a man’s chest as I do. Oh no. You are not the friendly dog I was hoping for… This is bad. This is really utterly horrible. The beautiful, lively garden behind me fades from my mind and suddenly the bushes and trees surrounding me look particularly impractical. How am I going to get out of this? My heart has started a race, thrumming wildly as if trying to escape from my chest and my breath hitches. Fear is gnawing at me already, making my limbs tremble beneath the rush of adrenaline. I was never one to handle these kind of situations very well, I preferred to keep myself out of trouble to begin with. Now, I’ve made the most irresponsible and risky decision in my life and karma is coming to bite me in the ass; they found me. They caught me somewhere I’m not supposed to be. Run, you fool! I silently shout at myself. Desperate to get away, I stumble backwards, readying myself to bolt as I had before. I try to turn, my foot catches the root of a tree, and it’s too late. My arms flail as I lose my balance and my back starts nearing the hard, uncompromising ground beneath me. Shit! No!
Suddenly, my upper arm is caught in a firm grasp, squeezed tightly though not yet painfully, and whoever I tried running from yanks me back up on my feet, dizzying me instantly. Surely, that isn’t a good sign. I didn’t mean to do anything illegal… My mind yells at me that I need to fight, but I am frozen in his hold.
“I caught you.” A deep, dark voice with an unfamiliar accent to it murmurs at me, causing my stomach to make nervous twists and flips. Oh god, I’m going to vomit… I believe there’s a hint of sarcasm and amusement to its tone though, but I don’t dare to look up and check my own untrustworthy judgement. He hasn’t let go of me yet. What does he want with me? Is he going to report me? I keep my gaze fixed on the dirt beneath me, though I can’t restrain it from curiously wandering to study the shoes this man wears. They are made of a dark brown leather, tied perfectly with round shoelaces, and from the way they are carefully stitched to perfection, I quickly conclude they must have cost a fortune.
“Are you okay?” This time, I know there’s concern laced into that slightly husky and still amused voice of his. So he doesn’t want to harm me? Finally, I exhale, and only now realize that I have been holding my breath since my fall. He doesn’t mean to take me away. What is this place? The enormous walls separating these rich gardens from my neighbourhood aren’t just physical borders, I believe...
You are brave, come on. Confident that I can handle this now, I force myself to square my shoulders and look up to meet his gaze. Two soft blue eyes – the colour reminds me of the dark, intense blue hue of the sea when the sky is cloudless – stun me momentarily as they gaze down at me from his considerable, nearly intimating height.
Who is he? An amused, I could even say charming, smile lights up his face, giving a mild contrast with the somewhat tousled black hair that I suspect he styles every morning. He’s dressed in an elegant, navy blue button up shirt with a pair of black jeans. Everything about him – his rather neat attire, the stylishly messy hair, even his accent – breathes ‘rich’ in a way I can’t understand. He can’t be older than begin 20’s, and wealth is earned with hard work over the years where I come from. Everyone is made equal at birth, or so I believed.
“Yes, sir, I’m fine,” I answer instinctively. For some inexplicable reason, this makes him chuckle, and finally my arm is granted its deserved freedom. What did I do? What an inappropriate reaction… Or maybe it’s me… It’s already a fact something must be wrong with me according to society, the absence of a name attests to that. My overactive mind and now useless vocal cords aren’t on the same page, and my ability to speak has vanished momentarily.
“You’re from the Institutes, aren’t you?” Is there any other place I could come from? Whoever this man is, it’s already blatantly obvious that he doesn’t obey the law, so maybe he has evaded education. I want to answer, but the power of speech remains elusive and I simply nod. “Ah. That explains it.” It? The hand that held my arm before now reaches up to rake through his hair with his long, slender fingers. I still feel rushed somehow. You can never be too cautious. Those wild seas focus on my eyes again as he opens his mouth. “What’s your name?”
My name… Panic’s ruthless hand reaches out and grabs me by the throat as I try to think of a reasonable answer to a question I have no answer to. I’m nameless. What would he think of me if he knows I’m not even worthy of a name? After the longest second of thinking and considering multiple options, I decide against telling him my code name. What is my name? There is no one to award my identity and tell me if I’m worthy of success, this is my choice.
“Kai. My name’s Kai.” And only I can decide if I’m worthy of that name.
[ bericht aangepast op 14 april 2014 - 20:20 ]
“When people see good, they expect good. And I don’t wanna have to live up anyone’s expectations” - Damon Salvatore
