I wrote this to help someone else out with a story they were working on. Figured I would just share it with you. I think the concept for the story is really good and am hoping to one day have the opportunity to read the finished product.
He ran his thumb over the nametag on his uniform blouse, feeling the thread from the embroidered stitching as he smoothed out the material. He curtly pulled at the bottom hem, pulling out any remaining material that might cause his uniform to look out of sorts. As he did, he gave himself one last glance in the mirror, a quick skim of his outfit to make sure everything was in place and that no wrinkles or bunched cloth would cost him a mark on the inspection.
The uniform was crisp. The grey material contrasted against his pale skin. His bony fingers down by his side reflexively scrunching as he fought against the rise of anxiety that started to creep in. His eyes, blue and sharp, stared back at himself. He thought “Get a hold of yourself, they mustn’t know you are nervous. You will become a Weed if they see.” Just the mere thought of Weeds set his mind to thinking of the 6 dozen or more failed members of his class.
Originally they were 150 in Echo Class. Over the last 3 years, that number had been moved down to the 54 that remained. Some were dropped for medical reasons, a few had died in training, but the Weeds, the Weeds were the ones that were pulled because they just didn’t measure up. They had flaws. Some of those flaws were physical in nature, some of them were academic, but the majority of them were emotional. The inability to control their own emotions when completing a task. Something the Academy frowned upon greatly.
A chime announcing that someone was coming into the room rocked him back to the present, knocking the thoughts of Weeds out of his head. He quickly snapped to attention and did an about face maneuver to face the door. Only a moment later, the door hissed open and slide into the wall. In the doorway stood an older man, a stern look upon his clean shaved face. His greying hair was cut short and tight and his dark blue uniform had the markings of a Commander. Commander Greyson, to be exact, Administrator for the Academy.
E-0-0-0-E-G’s mind raced. What was he doing here? He never made visits to the dorm. His mind was so fixated on the thought of being weeded out that he almost missed the other two men standing behind the Commander. He fought back the rush of emotion, stuffing it down into the space he could contain it. He checked his breathing to make sure it was normal, he kept his eyes straight ahead, looking passed the three men, but assessing his situation.
The Commander took a step back out of the doorway and spoke, his voice old and gruff. “Step out her son, we need to talk.” Fear rushed into him, almost overwhelming him to the point of faltering. He breathed, then mentally forced his left foot forward, hoping it would obey and then the right would follow suite. Finally, his body responded to the command and he made his way out of the small dorm room and into the hallway.