Not all lives destined for greatness start out extraordinary. For her, it began in a humble townhouse on the outskirts of a town poorer than most. Life was boring, dull, slow-moving, and in no way worthy of the television screen. At least, that’s how it felt when he wasn’t around. When he was, life was a movie; she the main character. The character blessed with the ability to overcome every obstacle and vanquish all adversity, the character destined for the happy ending planned out right from the beginning.

And right now, she was in that movie.

Heat bloomed along her skin and trailed down her waist in fiery rivers, every small graze of his fingertips sending sparks of electricity through her body. The feeling fluttered in her chest and surged in her heart, fireworks popping in her gut. Their mouths moved in sync, a dance they’d recited their whole lives - this, their grand performance.

His hands, calloused from countless hours of labor, scraped her midriff in slow, fluid motions. She shivered beneath the touch, the tempo of their kiss increasing alongside the intensity of the contact. His hand was soon upon her thigh, gripping it tightly as he pulled her closer. She knew what he wanted.

And she wanted it, too.

“Eric...” she murmured against his mouth. The boy only pressed his lips harder, gripping her thigh to the point where it hurt. The action was enough to set her loins on fire.

She wanted to do it. So bad, she wanted to do it. But she couldn’t -- not here, not now.

“Eric,” she tried again, firmer this time. “Eric, we can’t...”

The boy pulled back, releasing his grip. She missed it almost instantly.

“We can, Sabrina,” Eric urged, his ice-blue eyes boring into hers. When she didn’t respond, he grimaced. “I’ll be quick; we’ll be done long before your mother gets home--”

“It’s not even that -- what if someone catches us? What if I get pregnant?”

Eric’s gaze faltered. It was Ameon law that one could only lose their virginity post-wed. Being caught breaking that law -- be it by pregnancy or someone catching them in the act -- would end in a trip the flaying block. Eric knew that perhaps better than anyone, and yet he continued to hold Sabrina’s gaze, something like determination hardening his features. She could see the cogs turning behind those glassy eyes. It was no wonder he’d scored high on the Ameon IQ Test.

A small, sly smile began to break out across his lips, and Sabrina knew what that meant. She was about to lose.

“It’s not illegal if we don’t get caught...”

He hovered his hand above her inner-thigh, caressing oh-so-near that sweet spot. A sudden, primitive desire took over, and she wanted nothing more than to surrender to him - to let him do whatever he desired to her pretty little body. She swallowed the feeling. Sabrina opened her mouth to respond when she was interrupted by a loud slam.

“Shit!” she hissed, hopping up from the bed. Its mahogany frame banged against the wall with a denouncing thud, and the silence that followed was deafening. Her stomach dropped.

“Sabrina?” a voice called. She whirled on Eric.

“Quick-- hide!” Sabrina hissed, and the boy wasted no time. Upon silent feet, he slipped down from the rickety bed and slid underneath. Sabrina quickly rearranged the covers, propping herself up against the yellow-stained pillows as though she’d just woken up.

A loud succession of bangs sounded as someone ascended the stairs. Sabrina had just enough time to drape the duvet over one side of the bed before her door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. Its white paint cracked and flaked towards the floor, leaving a knot in her stomach.

Looming at the frame was a rather tall girl. Her platnium-blonde hair was done up in a painfully tight bun, gleaming like ice as though a physical manifestation of her cold temperament. The white netting that secured it in place looked far too soft and lacy for the girl’s hard-set features, appealing more to the steely pins pressed against her locks. Flimsy nails, which had been filed down in a futile attempt to hide all the cracks and imperfections that came with life in the Stix, dug into the blue material of her hips. Her ice-blue eyes burned into her soul, and Sabrina couldn’t help the small shiver that slithered down her spine.

Delilah, the family prodigy -- the sister whose features were about as cold as her personality.

“Why are you still here, Sabrina? You’re supposed at your lessons!” She scorned. When Sabrina didn’t respond, she scowled, sauntering towards the mahogany drawer propped against the yellow-stained wall. Long ago, the wall may have looked nice with its striped patterns and flory accents. But now it was nothing more than a stained canvas, the markings barely visible under the layers dust and wear.

With a frown Delilah swiped her fingers across the top, dust coagulating upon her fingertips. With its scratched timber and dull handles, it only made sense that the behemoth should live out the rest of its days collecting dust. It seemed her older sister didn’t think that way, though, for she only crinkled her nose in disgust.

“Look at this mess! For god’s sake Sabrina, try to be tidier?”

Sabrina rolled her eyes. It seemed her sister often forgot they were Proletariats -- people with no more worth than anyone else. Despite that, the girl insisted on acting like an Elite, the people in the higher-class who exploited to Proletariats for their own personal gain.

It wasn’t so much the fact that Delilah wanted to act like an Elite, but more she expected everyone else to act like Elites too. Sabrina didn’t even know where her sister had acquired such an attitude -- it wasn’t as though their mother endorsed it.

Then again, their mother didn’t seem to endorse anything, she thought bitterly.

If Delilah noticed Sabrina’s internal musings, she didn’t let on. Instead, she glared daggers in her direction, whirling on her heels to storm across the room. “You have five minutes -- get changed, get ready, and get your ass out of that bed!”

With that, she strode out the door and slammed it shut, the house trembling in her wake. One of these days her sister’s tantrums would cause the house to collapse, Sabrina knew.

Certain she was gone, Sabrina sighed. “You can come out now, Eric.”

A tuft of brown hair popped out from beneath the bed, quickly followed by a lean body. Eric crawled to his knees and whirled to face her. “Dear god, she’s scary,” he murmured, eyes wide. Sabrina nodded. “I never knew she could get so aggressive -- I always thought Delilah was just the aloof type.”

Sabrina snorted. “I wish that was the case.”

They shared a giggle, and silence promptly followed.

“So, are you going to get ready?”

“Hmm?”

“For your lesson.”

Sabrina sighed. All Proletariats over the age of sixteen were expected to require career ‘lessons’ which, if you hadn’t been classed as intellectually viable, you would spend your hours slaving away in a sweatshop. The ‘lucky’ ones were sent off to university to study for higher-order jobs, though Sabrina really didn’t see the point. A doctor was paid as much as a labourer -- why waste your time and energy when not bought no real reward?

Either way, all Proletariats were expected to be working by twenty -- a thought that filled Sabrina with much anxiety. She turned twenty in a couple of months, and she could barely stand the thought of working in the factory for the rest of her life, creating useless merchandise for the pompous Elites who’d never know the suffering that came with such labour.

“Sabrina?”

Eric’s voice snapped her from thought. She whirled to him. “No, not today. Escape through my window and meet at the The Barrel; I’ll be a few.”

A large grin spread across Eric’s face as understanding dawned on him. Sabrina smiled, too. With that, the boy stalked towards the four-paned window and shoved it open, straddling its sill and kicking his leg over the other side.

Taking that as her cue to leave, Sabrina shot up and strode out the door. She sauntered across the landing, sparing a few moments to look beyond the white-painted railing towards the room below. Up there, she had an unrestricted view of the kitchen and living area. The kitchen’s green-painted tiles were cracked and scratched, beige counters in no better condition. Even so, the surface was neat and sparkling, with the exception of a cracked porcelain vase holding a flower from the yard. A small ways to the right sat the three-seater family couch, its dark-green material was snagged and torn from years of wear, cushions stained and saggy. Upon it sat her younger sister, Ciara, who watched the black-and-white box television with wide eyes. Ciara had certainly attained her mother’s looks -- porcelain-white skin and auburn hair with ice-blue eyes to match. Fortunately, it seemed she hadn’t attained the sleazy personality, which Sabrina supposed was a small mercy.

There was someone else down there, too. Someone sitting at the other end with a wine bottle in one hand, television remote in the other. Sabrina watch the woman take a swig, auburn hair falling in erratic waves across her back with the motion. Her skin was etched with countless lines, and if Sabrina didn’t know her personal, she would’ve thought to be at least fifty.

As she stared at the woman, she couldn’t help the slight disdain that formed in her gut, the resentment flickering in her gut. Scowling, she tore her gaze from the woman and focused on the door ahead, a persistent thought nagging her. She’d overheard conversations at her lessons, how the other girls’ mothers were hard-working matrons or aspiring lawyers.

And Sabrina’s was indulging in alcohol, always present but never really there. Though Sabrina had known the women her whole life, in other ways she felt like a complete stranger.

Sighing, Sabrina turned the knob and entered. The bathroom was in no better condition than the kitchen. Once-white tiles lined the walls, now greyed with age and riddled with fissures. The bath and toilet had suspicious stains within their porcelain surfaces, rust coating the edge of their steel handles and chains. She watched the grimy ceiling lamp sputter to life, illuminating the scratched counters and dusty sink in a dull yellow. Grabbing a wooden hairbrush from the timber surface, she positioned herself in front of the mirror.

Despite the grime caking its edges, Sabrina was able to discern a viable image of herself. Her unruly black hair was in knots, falling down to her shoulders in erratic waves. Her silver-flecked storm-grey eyes gleamed dully in the grimy light, resembling the dreary clouds that accompanied an overcast sky. Her navy nightgown hung loosely from her shoulders, its material riddled with holes. Sabrina smirked. She looked a right mess.

Brushing out her unruly hair and taking a short shower, Sabrina wrapped a flimsy towel around her waist and stalked back to her room. In haste, she donned herself in the usual black pants and white tartan shirt, along with a pair of supple leather boots. They were perhaps the most expensive articles of clothing she owned -- it was a miracle her mother let her buy them.

Grabbing the leather pouch on her bedside table, she lifted the window and straddled its sill. With great precision, she shimmied down the near-by drain pipe and landed upon the sun-baked dirt below. Without another thought, she made her way into the main streets.