The sky was gray that day. Not that it was any other color any other day, but on that day, it seemed especially dim and colorless. That was the first thing the young Yellows in house fifteen noticed when they were suddenly awakened by The Warden’s urgent knocking. They scrambled out of their bunks to their feet quickly. A few softly cursed, climbing down from their thin, stiff, beds, their pale, identical yellow tunics dragging swiftly behind them. A few were slower to their feet, but got up quickly nevertheless. A few mummers were spoken as they stood up at the end of their beds with varying heights and ages. They looked at one another with foggy eyes, addled by their sudden rise.
“Entering.” The Warden announced, clearly and routinely. The young Yellows ceased their conversation at once. In perfect unison, as if rehearsed millions of times before, they responded with clear tone, “Enter.”
The faded wooden door opened swiftly. Their chins pointed down immediately. Their long hair fell over their shoulders as their eyes faced to the floor; Hands were fastened behind their backs instantly and backs were straightened almost robotically. The Warden, wearing the required symmetrical black uniform, walked slowly into the room. All Wardens’ hair were short, but this Warden’s hair was particularly short, nearly shaven bald at the nape of the neck, and there was a thick accumulation of hair that rested under his nose. Broad shoulders pulled back and chest puffed out strong. His hands were straight at his side, holding a leather folder as he examined the room with keen, examining, authoritative eyes.
Seemingly satisfied with the scene in front of him, after another moment or two, he spoke, “Rise.”
“Rising,” The young Yellows spoke as they raised their chins, as they were now allowed to look up. Their soft, youthful faces turned towards the much older Warden. He clearly had an announcement but waited another few moments before he decided to speak. After another moment or two, The Warden’s chest sank in slightly as he lifted the folder to his face.
“When called you will have seven minutes to wash and collect yourselves. If not ready in precisely seven minutes after the call, you will be left behind and will have to wait until the next call. Nod.” The Yellows nodded in unison. The Warden looked up from the folder, then back down, pulling down spectacles to the bridge of his nose. “Called numbers are as follows: Loww-WO2, Loww-COR, Loww-CR8, Loww-D71, Loww-75Y, Loww-F21, Loww-978, Loww-JYA, Loww-FO4, Loww-DAM, Loww-CA8, Loww-DRU, Loww-CUR. Your time begins now.”

If you are not confused by the preceding events, then there is a very likely possibility that you have lived in it. You see, The Society was split and organized into classes assigned by color. Your class could be determined by the color of your clothes, or the barbaric rings of tattoo ink The Authorities had mandated on your left, middle finger.
The Authorities were the only ones without class. They held the most amount of power in The Society. So much so that they were offended if even thought of as a class. You could think of them like a government, however though they made the laws, they were never subject to follow them. They did not have to create loopholes for there were never any conflicts that they had to loop themselves out of. Except for Challenger-14823 but as far as anyone knows, that never happened. Despite this, they were still mandated to receive the tattoo upon initiation, in which they could be identified with the color black, for it is easily recognized and unmistakable. Wardens were part of The Authorities for they were the regulators of the classes.
The highest class below The Authorities, and the least classy, were the Reds. Easily identified with a deep and alarming scarlett band of ink wrapped around their finger, the Red class was nothing short of horrifyingly wealthy. They could spend a seemingly endless amount of money and never run out. This factor also contributed to their lack of class. Most received a stellar education, however never worked a day in their lives. Most were snobs with contorted faces, yet they somehow remained desirable. Never having faced a problem and live it out to its resolution, they instead opted to force others to deal with and clean up their messes. And though The Authorities regulated all classes, it rarely ever seemed like they had even touched the “Red affairs”.
The middle class, and the least important, were the Oranges. Now I say the least important, but what I really mean is the least paid attention to. To the higher classes, the Orange class never seemed to produce anything of use or worth, so they were viewed as filler for The Authorities to place between the Red and Yellows. However, they were actually crucial to The Society’s continuation. They were the working class, the one who woke up every morning to keep the The Society’s economy rolling and businesses open. Even then, the Oranges followed the same routines, never really trying to step outside of their own boxes; Hardly ever socialized with anyone other than the ones they already trusted – which were very few – and were just very untrusting to begin with.
That brings us to the last and lowest class. The Yellows were the most attended, concentrated, organized class in The Society. A nice sentiment for they were the ones with the least amount of money. They were provided communal housing, granted they were not allowed to leave unless ordered to. They were provided food and soft clothing, though if they wore anything other than the few items of clothing provided then a remprimandment would be ordered. Sanitation each evening was a requirement, which they were only allowed seven minutes. Same amount of time applied to getting ready in the mornings.
The Yellow class was split into houses, of which there were 32 of, and each house was organized by category. There were infant houses, preliminary houses, nursing houses, chasity houses, detention houses, maturity houses, matured houses, and octogenarian houses, of which there were four houses to each category. All of this was attended to by the Wardens and the Keepers, both parts of The Authorities. Wardens were regulators, assigned to keep the Yellows in order. Keepers were nurses and cleaners, assigned to keep the Yellows tidy.
Each Yellow had a number, an identification code in which the Wardens used to keep track of each individual. Each code started with four units, Loww, followed by a dash, then three randomized units of letters and numbers. No real names were issued to Yellows, not even upon birth. The only form of identity being seven units and one dash long.
In The Society, as Yellows you had to be called upon to marry. Men from the Red and Orange classes would declare themselves ready for partnership to The Authorities, and then they would send a message down to the Wardens to select thirteen randomized Yellows of varying ages per each Chasity House call to go and meet the men. The men would then choose their partner out of the lineup and marry them within the month.

This story focuses most on Chasity House Fifteen from which we left off. Thirteen Yellows from age twelve to twenty-five were frantically running around their dormitory, trying their absolute best to look as attractive, as beautiful as possible before the Warden returned.
Out of the four Chastity Houses, House Fifteen was where the younger, more rebellious Yellows resided. Loww-D71 was one of the older Yellows in the dormitory. With a tall figure and soft face, D71 was “utterly desirable”. Which is why they were on nearly every call list. This call was their seventh.
Despite this, Loww-D71 was what you would call an “odd duck”. To The Authorities, D71 was a delinquent. “Unable to keep regulation.” For example, by “regulation” Yellows were not permitted to trim their hair any higher than the tip of their shoulder blades, but one night D71 had suddenly risen from bed, grabbed a pair of scissors, and began to cut. Only satisfied when their hair had reached about seven inches too short from “acceptable”. This also made them “unattractive” to marry, and viewed as a lost cause. At twenty-three years of age, Seven men before this day had rejected them, claiming that they were too unruly or too rebellious, too strong headed or too ambitious.
Three minutes had passed since The Warden had begun their time. Nearly all of the Thirteen Yellows called compiled themselves in the shower room, getting ready as quickly as possible under dull yellow light. A few gathered in small groups, talking excitedly about who their potential husband was. For most, this was their first call. D71 saw their faces, the sparkle in their eyes when they heard their code. It made their heart drop.
One of the groups, consisting of a few of the older Yellows, all stood cluttered around a mirror, applying powder to their faces to smooth their already pale complexion. D71 sat on a bench nearby doing something or another, mostly waiting, when they overheard a part of the groups’ conversation. They must have believed they were talking quietly, but in reality, they were quite loud.
“I just don't get it,” Loww-WO2 sighed, “ . . . play sports. Like the ones we used to play in Preliminary House. Sometimes, I hear they actually play it with them.”
“With the toddlers?” Loww-CA8 questioned incredulously. “No one in Chastity House, or in their right mind, would ever do such a thing.”
“Well that's just the thing, they're not in their right mind. Not in the slightest.” D71 and Loww-JYA did not have a very close relationship even though they knew each other for the longest, previously having been in Preliminary House Six together. JYA was older, about the same height, and much more blonde than D71
“They’ve always had to be the loud one, the clever one. The one who didn't need a man. That's why they cut their hair like one. And my god, isn't it hideous? Doesn’t it just make your blood curdle? It's lucky they’re pretty, that's the only reason why they keep getting called to the Reds.” JYA never liked D71 very much, though D71 could not find sense in why. And though JYA always had a criticism for D71, they were hypocrites for thinking that it didn't apply to themselves either.
“Maybe this man finally knock some sense into D71 and forget all the . . . rest,” CA8 added. The group chuckled slightly.

By the time that the Warden had reentered their dormitory, the Yellows were lined up, clean and dressed, sporting soft, pale yellow skirts and dresses that hung down to their ankles. They were led out of the building quickly, single file, led by The Warden and followed by a Keeper.
The pavement was even and the ground hard. There was no grass as far as D71 could see, which was not very uncommon. They walked across town, crossing over both the Yellow and Orange town lines and making their way through the Red section. A few of the Yellows muttered excitedly when they had entered, huddling together in their nervousness. D71 saw them out of the corner of their eye and heard their buzzing like chatter. D71 smiled for a moment, remembering that feeling the first couple of times, the fluttering. But it doesn't last forever, they’ll learn that quick.
Upon entering The Red Section, you couldn’t see past two or three houses at a time. Not because it was overcrowded, but because of the sheer magnitude of the gigantic houses and the amount of space needed to separate them seemed immeasurable.
Each of the lawns were perfectly trimmed and pathways perfectly carved, leading up to the cold and canvas white exterior walls. Each house had its defining qualities, for instance the difference between the presented doors and windows and sunset towers (although you could rarely ever see the sun), but as a Yellow, you could hardly see the difference between any of them.
And they walked by each and every one. By this point, the others had stopped their frizzed whispers because their feet hurt too much to think about anything else. The younger Yellows standing in the back of the line had begun to drift away and farther back, causing the Keeper to snap at them and push them back into their place. Even D71, who had made this trip seven times, began to drift. Hypnotized by the gray sky above their fragile skulls.
After walking for what seemed like an eternity, The Warden suddenly stopped in front of one of the houses. They all turned to look at it and became overwhelmed by the incredible appearance of the white house. Taken aback by its gargantuan vastness and they walked closer to the entrance. Coming up upon the house, it was so white that D71 could practically see their reflection on the exterior walls with no glass.

Sounds of footsteps came descending down from the staircase and a figure began to emerge. He was tall, dressed in a linen shirt, fastened by a form fitting red waistcoat. His hair was dark and eyes were bright enough to see from twenty feet away although they were brown. Uncommonly broad for a man in the Red class. Not handsome, but not unattractive. By his physical appearance, he looked like he belonged in The Authorities more than he did his own class.
He was young. Older than D71 by a couple of years at least but not as old as the men from most of the other calls. His parents awaited his arrival at the bottom of the magnificent staircase. His mother smiled proudly as he came down the stairs, though he did not seem to reciprocate her cheerfulness. His footsteps were heavy as he descended, and his arms swayed carelessly. He barely even bothered to look up.
His final step echoed throughout the enormous room, leaving a white silence in its wake. His mother instantly grabbed his hand and whispered something feverishly in his ear, most likely an opinion about the Yellows or a comment on his lax choice of apparel, but he didn't seem to be listening. So he stopped her, whispering “Alright mother,” into her ear and smiling ingeniously. He turned towards the Yellows, only taking glances at each one, hardly examinations. And thus the choosing process began.
During the choosing process, the Yellows were not permitted to introduce themselves nor request an introduction of their potential partner. And the choosers were only ever allowed to ask for age and select, impersonal questions which did not reflect any sort of selfishness. The whole process remained particularly and perfectly anonymous, tailored to find the perfect match. And at the very end, the chooser would select a suitable name for their partner
He began his line of questioning at the bottom of the line, starting with Loww-FO4. The youngest in the lineup, FO4 was a quiet, small Yellow with blonde, wispy hair that would barely grow past their shoulders.
“How old are you?” He questioned skeptically. His voice was smooth, untampered and unused, as if this was the first time he had ever spoken in his life.
FO4 voices got caught in their throat, unable to respond in anything much louder than a whisper. “Twelve.”
He instantly looked away, waving his hand in their general direction and claiming, “Too young.” The Officer next to FO4 grabbed them by the arm and led them to the parlor to wait with The Keeper.
He moved up the line, dismissing a few just by their build or the over-eager look on their overly youthful faces. He paused at Loww-CR8 who stood closer to the end of the line, only one person down from D71.
“Who are your parents?” He asked, though it sounded much more like a demand. It made sense for him to ask this question. In The Society, even if you were a Yellow and did not have very much authority, your lineage was a very important and valuable asset when being chosen to marry. It suggested of which class you descended from and how capable you would be in the class you were being chosen for. However, this aspect did not work in CR8’s favor.
“Gretchen and Dean, Orange-3256,” they replied. See, Reds rarely ever chose Oranges as their partners for it never truly benefited them. So CR8 was dismissed, and so was Loww-978 next to them for no apparent reason, only leaving three left out of the thirteen options. Loww-D71, Loww-CA8, and Loww-JYA.
He came up upon D71. They stared at each other for a moment. He seemed perplexed by them. The only one he showed any amount of interest in even though his face seemed more smugly puzzled than attracted.
“What’s your-”
“You're not allowed to ask me that,” D71 interrupted him, hoping to cause a reaction but he remained still.
“How did you know what I was going to ask you?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. Context clues?” they responded, earning a warning snap from The Warden’s fingers and a “Oh dear God,” from JYA.
“Your sarcasm is not attractive.”
D71 scoffed incredulously, “Your selfishness is not called for yet you continue to be.”
Ignoring her comment, he changed the topic. “Who are your parents?”
This did not work to D71's advantage. So they clenched their jaw and reluctantly answered, “Florence and Constantine, Red-64.”
His bright eyes widened in faux surprise. “You were born Red. To Florence and Constantine nonetheless. They’re practically royalty here,” he replied.
“You don't need to remind me.”
He scoffed, “You have the mouth of a Red.”
“And you have the face of a pig. Funny how that works.” Another snap from The Warden.
He smiled smugly at D71. “I suggest you watch your tone or they may take you out.”
“And?” D71 replied rhetorically.
“You don’t wish to be wed?”
“I've been called upon seven times and rejected seven times. I think that may take some of the excitement out of non-consensual marriage. Don't you agree?” Another snap, though this one was ignored by both parties.
“Non-consensual?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “How can your future be non-consensual?”
“The fact that I am standing here in front of you should answer your question.” Another snap.
“One more snap and you will be taken out.” He stated.
“I know.”
“Is that your goal?”
“I’m not supposed to have goals.”
“Nevertheless, you do.”
“How would you know if I had goals?”
He smiled again, taking a pause before he answered, “Context clues.”

The doors closed behind them. The echo rang through their ears. They did not move. They did not shift or mutter a word. His chin was kept high, D71’s was low and clenched tight. He stood about twelve feet away, hands stuffed into the pockets of his waistcoat and eyes on D71 as if he was waiting to see if they would say anything else. But they didn't, not for a while.
D71 remained standing in the center of the room, eyes to the floor and hands clenched into fists beside them. And although the shock began to set in, they made their face carefully blank.
“This is the part where I show you around, I suppose-”
“Take me back.” D71 interrupted. “Call The Authorities and file a claim stating that you made a mistake and you do not want to marry me.”
He laughed slightly, “You are not in a position to be making demands.”
“You are not in a position to be reprimanding me.” D71 spat, looking up to meet his face. Before, his appearance seemed so normal, his body and clothes were relaxed, but now, his bright eyes had faded into something much darker, his face had somehow shifted and contorted beyond recognition.
“Actually, I am,” he replied, taking a step in D71's direction. “How old are you?” He asked, changing the topic.
Steaming was still flowing out of D71’s ears, but replied through their teeth, “Twenty-three.”
“Ah. I was hoping you would be slightly older,” he replied. “I am twenty-nine. And what is your code number?”
“Loww-D71.”
“D71? I don't like the letter D, never really have. My name is Ira so I suppose your name would have to start with an A . . .”
“What are you doing?” D71 questioned.
“I am naming you and declaring your femininity.”
“No!” D71 exclaimed, “I am happy as I am now.”
“Amile or Adeline would suit you, I think-”
“Stop that now! If you have any ounce of sense, then you will respect that I do not wish to be married and you will call The Authorities and send me back.”
“And why would I need sense to complete this task?”
“Because you would realize that this marriage would not be happy, would not be fulfilled. I would while away my days in the library or in the kitchen or in the parlor, and you would be married to a person who does not and will never love you.”
Ira shrugged, hands still in his pockets. “Doesn't sound too bad to me,” He replied, taking another step forward towards D71.
“What?” said D71 in disbelief, taking a step back.
“I confess,” he began, arrogantly walking forward and throwing his hands into the air as if he were surrendering. “I also do not wish to marry. I only ever made the call to The Authorities because my mother was worried that I wasn't going to find a wife before I turned thirty and never be able to produce an heir. I want this less than you do.”
“S-So what?” D71 stuttered, “I am a vessel to carry your child?”
He looked up for a moment, considering the words, “Well, when you say it like that it sounds inhumane.” He answered.
“It is inhumane! You’re taking ownership of my body to do as you please with it, including producing a child that neither you or I want.”
“It is not inhumane, it is natural,” He had begun to become angry with D71. “A Yellow cannot decide what is good or wrong for themselves. You worry too much about things that do not need to be worried about. Yellows are irrational and emotional, as you are exhibiting now. I decide what happens to your body because you cannot do so yourself. I decide what your name is because you cannot do so yourself. I am the one who gets to announce your femininity because you are too reluctant to do so yourself. I will not call The Authorities because I have not made a mistake, I have made the decision as I should.”
“You are vile.”
“No. I am your future husband. You will marry me, you will bear my children, you will accept it.” His face was dark and his voice was even darker.
“Adine.” He stated, now standing only two feet away from D71. He grabbed her chin with his hand and forcefully raised it. D71 tried to shake free but there was no way she could get out. “Your name is Adine. And once we are married, we will be Adine and Ira, Red-722. Has a ring to it, doesn't it?”
He let go of her chin and she backed away from him quickly. Her back was hunched over and her hand was covering the bottom of her face as she forced space between them once again. He stood tall, looking down at his fiancee with dark eyes.
“You are a doe, I am a stag. Know your place.”