The Golden By: Morgan Pletcher

Rule #1-

Never doubt the Golden

Rule #2-

The Golden are always right

Rule # 3-

The Red are inferior

I read from the list on my mirror, just as I’ve done every morning since I learned to read. Everybody does, ever since the Oriane Empire was founded 50 years ago.

I can’t help but imagine my pale skin with golden ink gleaming across my neck, and a crown in my honey blond hair.

Those who are deemed Blue are high class, the superior. Everybody only dares to wish to be Blue, but I want something better.

The Golden rule over Oriane as a group of kings. There are currently twelve, and never before has there been a woman as a Golden.

I belong with them.

I will be the first.

“Cleo!” My brother calls from outside. Luke, the son my parents always wanted. Their favorite to say the least.

The golden child, if you will.

I unlock my bathroom door, heading into my small bedroom, ignoring my brother. The bed shoved into a corner with an overflowing desk next to it. There’s a small rack of hand-me-down clothes acting as the only decoration.

“Cleo!” he yells again.

“What?” I reply annoyed, walking over to the rack, pulling out an oversized red shirt advertising one of the only bands the Golden granted a permit.

I can hear their screaming through the thin wall between Luke and my’s rooms.

They’re not good.

“Did you fill out the entry form?” He asks through the door.

Did he seriously not do it?

You need it for the Prism.

“You need it for the Prism!” I call out.

I’d like to say I’m surprised, but he always does this with school work.

How am I twins with him?

The top student and the failing one being related is surprising, but being twins is downright embarrassing.

At least for one of us.

And yes, Luke being born seven minutes earlier than me qualifies for hand-me-down clothes.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” He tries, “You’d do anything for me.”

“Since when?” I mutter.

“Luke! Breakfast!” Mom calls from downstairs.

“Cleo. Breakfast.” I say to no one.

I sit at the couch, reading and eating a granola bar, while Luke eats french toast at the table.

“Are you ready for the Prism?” Mom asks, my head snapping up.

The Prism, the day our role in society is determined.

Every sixteen year old undergoes it on the nation’s anniversary.

“It’ll be easy.” Luke replies, his mouth full of cereal.

“This decides your future, I don’t want you throwing it away because you were cocky.” She says, the striking blue gleaming on her neck. “We can't have a Red as a son.”

Red, the ones who failed.

I will never be a Red.

I refuse.

“Honey, come here. I have a thought.” She says sweetly. Luke goes to her, still holding his plate. She whispers something in his ear, his eyes glint with shocked betrayal. A sad look settling in as he looks at me.

Worry blossoming in my gut.

“Are you really not nervous?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

How could he not be nervous?

He lets out a sigh that sounds like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

Though, more accurately, it’s a jacket he’s holding.

A Golden issued jacket.

It’s seams are painted in blue, etched along stiff black fabric.

Were in a room, awaiting the prism.

It’s small and more bare than my bedroom. The walls a dull gray, the chairs cheap metal. There are two partitions propped in opposite corners.

The only thing of note being the prism shaped chandelier, decorating the wall with rainbows.

Okay, maybe my room is actually more bland.

“You never answered my question.” I say, looking at Luke. “Are you nervous?”

He looks away.

Fine, be like that.

See if I care.

I turn and walk into one of the changing spots. There’s a large mirror leaning against the wall, and an outfit hanging from the wood. The pants a perfect match to the jacket, and the tank top a shade match to the wall.

Putting all of my nerves into pulling the shirt up, over my head.

“This is the most nerve racking thing I’ve ever done in my life.” Luke says, just as my shirt gets caught, half over my head.

“What?” I ask, as I engage in battle against my shirt.

“If I mess this up,” He lets out an exhausted sigh just as the collar slips off my head. “I mess everything up.”

“Then why act like you don’t care?” I ask, genuinely confused.

I’ve never been one to hide my feelings, wearing my heart on my sleeve ever since I was a kid.

And no this is not some attention seeking method, patented by the forgotten twin.

Oh wait…

“You wouldn't understand.” I can picture his look, a mix of his ego and his fear.

“Try me,” I mutter, pulling the tank top on, it goes on without a fight.

“They expect so much from me,” He says, sounding woeful. “I can’t mess this up.”

This stirs something in me.

Has this been an unconscious motive for me?

No, that would be far too cliche.

“Why wouldn't I understand that?” I ask, emotion finding its way into my voice.

Don’t even.

“They adore you, you're their favorite.” He says.

I laugh.

I laugh at this ridiculous lie.

Me, their favorite?

That’s ridiculous.

“Anyway, I should go,” He says.

“They hate me.” I say, changing into pants. I hear the door behind him. “You hate me.”

“All participants are bound to the rules of the Prism, all cheating will result in an immediate ranking of Red,” the proctor says. I do my best to shove all thoughts of the previous conversation from my mind.

I have to focus.

“We will begin with the physical test.” She says again. Her hard green eyes landing on me.

We’re split into three groups before they take us into a dark room one by one.

We’re all required to wear the Golden issued uniform, consisting of a jacket with blue streaks across the seams.

I enter the room, one of the first to do so.

Three glowing streaks being the only source of light.

I had no clue what to expect, they change the test every year, and I admittedly still don’t know.

“The Golden are not responsible for injuries or death,” the woman says over the loudspeaker, ominously. “Good luck.”

My nerves spike at her words.

I wonder why, I think sarcastically.

My heart is in my throat when the lights flick on. Revealing a large room, a set of Monkey bars suspended over a large pit.

It’s terrifying and surely deadly.

It’s beautiful.

Beautiful and deadly.

“You have three minutes starting now.” The voice says again. “Your future depends on this, good luck Miss Magnus.”

My heart races with her words, my eyes fixed on the gleaming rungs.

I climb up the ladder to reach, grabbing the sides to steady myself.

A startled, embarrassing, sound escapes me when my skin meets the metal.

It’s boiling hot.

Okay, this complicates matters.

My fears keep rising.

My life is staked on this,

Everything is staked on this.

I need to think this through.

Okay so what do I have? I ask myself, making a list in my mind.

A Golden issued outfit

Three minutes

And a flaming set of Monkey bars

That would be the name of my band if I had any musical talent.

An image of me in a leather jacket and teased hair fills my mind.

Wait, the jacket.

Could I use the jacket to protect myself?

Yeah that’s my best option.

I slide the jacket off, the blue seams acting as a pattern to tear along. As I do, my eyes fall to the clock.

Two minutes left.

Where has the time gone?

I frantically wrap the destroyed sleeve around my palm. Pulling the jacket back on, it could still be useful.

I climb up the ladder again, having taken over half the time to end up at the same spot.

I have to hurry.

I grab onto the first rung, digging my teeth into my cheek to stifle a groan.

The pain will all be worth it when I’m in a crown.

I skip the second rung as the clock ticks down.

“60 seconds, 59,” The proctor says from the safety of another room.

Seriously!?

I skip another rung, only three left.

“46, 45,” The lights shine red.

This can’t be good.

I grab the next rung, not having enough time to ponder the meaning of the red lights.

It’s probably nothing.

I grab the next rung, just as I do it slides free. Swinging to the right as my hands slip off.

NO!! Definitely not nothing!

I’m so close.

I desperately flail my arms out, hooking onto the vertical support.

A shout of pain escapes me as my bare flesh sears.

“25, 24.”

Not helpful!

I’m at the end, I just need to escape this deathtrap.

First, I have to turn around so I’m facing the platform.

“20,19.”

I swear she’s skipping numbers.

My heart speeds up as the time ticks down.

“13,” I put my foot on the ladder. “12,”

I spin around grabbing for the other side, my forearm burning.

“The Golden are not responsible for injury or death.”

Yeah, that makes sense now.

“6, 5.”

No!

The lights dim to black.

No, No, No…

My heart picks up to a pace I didn’t think possible.

“3.”

I jump into the inky darkness, falling to my knees when I hit the ground.

“Physical challenge.” She pauses. “Pass.”

I stumble to answer questions about Oriane’s history in the written portion of the test, bandages wrapped around my arm and hands, the stinging fading in and out.

The rest of my group has finished with the physical challenge, all with varying degrees of injury. Luke has a large burn across his face, I don’t even know how he did it.

Nor do I know why he’s avoiding my eyes.

“Pencils down,” the woman says just after I mark my final answer.

It was easier than I’d expected.

She pulls out a device.

“We shall begin grading,” she says, walking over to me in the front row.

My heart picks up.

She holds the familiar machine by the handle. It’s small with a camera at the bottom and a sensor at the top.

It’s an automatic grader.

She lines up the lens with my paper, her expression giving nothing away.

She grabs my hand roughly, bringing it close to the machine before she pricks my thumb on the needle.

Sixteen years of this, and I still can’t look at it.

She flicks her hair back, revealing the metallic blue.

The goal.

She reads the screen carefully before speaking.

“Cleo Magnus, it’s been determined.” She pauses before running the device across my neck, marking me.

My heart beats wildly.

This is it.

“You are a Red.”

My heart drops.

Red-

In a group of 30 people, 4 people were Red, 25 were Blue, and 1 was Golden.

Guess who it was.

“My baby, a Golden,” Mom says, hugging Luke, sending bile into my heart. “We knew you could do it.”

I dig my fingernails into my skin.

They’ve been like this all day.

I can’t deal with it any longer.

“I’m getting some air,” I say while standing up.

“Have fun, Clementine.” My dad says not looking up.

Cleo, it’s always been Cleo.

I close the door behind me, their full attention on Luke again.

I sit on the small railing of our porch. A small tree and a few rose bushes being the only real things about this place.

This can’t be real.

I’m meant to be the Golden one, the Golden shouldn’t make mistakes.

“Tough luck,” a voice says from next to me.

I almost fall off the railing in fright.

Who would scare someone who is clearly wallowing while sitting on a thin railing?

I look and see Ronan, the neighbor I’ve known all my life. His hair is hidden in a black beanie, his collar high to disguise the color ranking, no doubt intentional.

My heart would be skipping beats in front of Ronan had I not been so miserable.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, slipping over the railing separating our houses, “you were screwed from the beginning.”

“What? No, the test is always right,” I say, no doubt in my voice. “Rule #1 - the Golden are always right.”

“They're frauds,” he says, leaning against the pillar. He sounds so casual like we’re talking about the weather.

“Rule #2 - Never doubt the Golden,” I say, frantic.

“You still believe them?” he sounds genuinely shocked.

“Don’t you?”

How could I not?

“I was trying to comfort you, but I guess you’d rather believe their lies.” He walks off through the gap in the fence, of which we’d both ignored until now.

I don’t want him to go (whether from curiosity or his strangely attractive bad-boy vibe, I’ll never say).

“Wait,” I say, standing up by habit. I fall to the ground when my feet only meet air.

An embarrassing sound escapes me as I fall into the bush.

“Cleo,” he sounds the closest to worried I’ve ever seen him as he pulls me from the bushes. My already burned arm scrapes across leaves, making it sting like heck. “That looks painful.”

“A bit.” I say, not wanting to admit the amount of pain I’m in.

“Why don’t we talk inside, unless you want to fall into the tree too,” he jokes, gently leading me inside.

My skin aflame where he touches.

I struggle to wrap my mind around his words.

It contradicts everything I’ve ever been told.

“So let me get this straight, to become a Golden, your DNA has to fit a certain criteria?” He nods, just as another thought crosses my mind. “Then how are Reds selected?”

He smiles like this is fascinating to him as my world falls apart.

“They get 100 percent on the exam. Their intelligence scares the Golden, they could see through the lies. Well I guess not,” His eyes fall on the mark, my cheeks aflame with embarrassment. “They’re hoping the population discredits their words, given that they’re “inferior”.”

I take in a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

So, I did it.

I got 100.

Little did I know, it sealed my fate.

“What about the Blues?” I ask, wrapping a shirt from the floors around my hands. The messy surroundings of Ronan’s room doing nothing to calm my nerves.

“I wore that last week,” he says, leaning back in his chair casually.

I stifle a gasp as I throw the shirt to the floor, trying to pretend like I had no interest in keeping it under my pillow for years to come.

“Anyway,” he leans back in the desk chair, “the Blue are the only people the Golden actually rule. That’s why they are the largest.”

“What could we even do?” I ask, a sinking hopelessness fueling me.

He smirks wickedly.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“God no,” I mutter to my reflection. The girl dressed in a pink dress with silver earrings cannot be Cleo Magnus.

And the girl referring to herself in the third person can’t be me.

I’d never worn a dress before, it was my mothers.

She thought it was worth me getting dressed up for Luke’s coronation.

It should be me on the throne.

I hate the lies they’ve told us. I hate the Red on my neck, the mark of my dream and naivete.

And I hate that because I’m a sixteen year old girl, this all sounds petty.

“Cleo!” Luke calls from downstairs, for some reason it angers me.

“I’m coming!” I call back.

It’ll all be over soon, for tonight we reveal the lies.

The event’s crowded with people, all shoved into a large gallery. Even with the large skylight and high ceiling, I feel trapped.

The Golden’s divided the room into four parts. The Golden sitting high and entitled on the stage. In a small area sits my parents, the family of the rising Golden on display.

It angers me that I couldn’t be there. Reds have to sit separately on the balcony, displaying us like examples.

Like a warning.

Leaving the rest of the large hall for the Blue.

The doting followers.

The sight angers me more.

They lied to us about everything.

“Today we are honored to have a new member rise to our pristine ranks,” one of the Golden says.

He has honey blonde hair, a perfect color match to mine. He carries himself with such confidence like he can do no wrong.

He looks like an older version of Luke.

“To be a Golden, your DNA must match a set of criteria,” I remember.

Oh my God, how did I not think of this before?

We’re twins, our DNA is almost identical. The main difference being chromosomes.

You really are naive.

The answers’ obvious as I stare at the rulers.

They’re all men.

I never had a chance to begin with.

“The divine, Luke Magnus.” The Golden says, his face shining with a false smile.

Luke walks toward him, dressed in a new suit, a nervous smile on his face.

“We are honored to welcome you into our ranks,” he continues.

He loves hearing himself talk.

“However,” he pauses, the Blues hanging on to every word. “We are short one thing, or rather one person.”

A ripple of gasps from the Blues.

I missed that.

“Ronan,” he calls out.

What?

It can’t be him, it must be someone else.

The lost Golden enters, holding a gold crown.

It’s him.

His hat is gone, revealing the same long blonde hair. His choker is gone, no longer hiding the gold mark.

Ronan, he’s a Golden.

Golden-

The traitor,

Was he lying this whole time?

Was any of this real?

God I’m so clueless.

I want to get out of this place desperately.

I want them to hurry up and crown Luke, ending my public humiliation.

“Before Luke’s welcomed into our ranks, we will take a brief break. It is a tradition.”

How convenient. I think bitterly.

I rush from my seat immediately, heading downstairs.

I want to go outside, get some fresh air, when somebody grabs my wrist.

“Cleo.” It’s Luke.

My anger builds inside me. All I want to do is escape him, escape this place. But when I see his expression, my anger melts away.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I need your help.”

Magnus-

I’ve dreamed of this day my whole life.

My destiny.

I kneel before the Kingdom of Oraine. Faces staring at me with enjoyment. A sea of Blues and Reds.

“Luke Magnus,” the Golden continues.

My heart swells.

“I declare you.” He pauses. Ronan places a sturdy gold crown on my head.

Even he can’t ruin this.

“King of Oraine.” It’s just as I imagined, only they would say my name,

Cleo Magnus.

A Few Minutes Earlier. . .

“You sure about this?” I ask him through the mirror.

He swallows, his eyes locked on the gold mark.

“Yeah,” he pauses, “I never wanted this life.”

His eyes lock on me.

“You don’t have to do this,” He says.

“I want to, this was my dream.” I smile for the first time in awhile. “Well, sort of.”

He laughs, relief flooding his features, before the stress comes back in waves.

“They told me the truth, you know.” He looks guilty like he was the one lying to a whole kingdom. “You don’t deserve to be a red.”

He buries his face in his hands, ashamed.

I smile. I’ve wanted to hear those words from my family since the Prism.

My brother was always there for me, even if my parents weren’t.

“Did you mean what you said?” I ask, my voice betraying me. “Before the prism.”

“I don’t know.” He admits. “I was angry, I thought they were lying about the prism being rigged. I was hoping that they made it up to mess with me. I know it sounds stupid.”

He looks down, defeated.

The confusion fades, leaving behind a strange confirmation and hurt in my heart.

“I can change it,” I promise, my hand going to his shoulder in a way I hope to be comforting.

This eases his worries as he uncovers his face.

“Would citizens kindly return to their seats,” an announcer says.

“It’s now or never.” I say.

He pauses before he picks up the scissors, cutting my long hair to match his.

The Golden have lied to us, but I will change the world.

The people deserve the truth.

That’s what they’ll get.

All hail the first queen of Oranine, Cleo Magnus.

RULE #1 -

The Golder have lied.

RULE #2 -

The Prism is rigged,

RULE #3 -

The Red are superior.