Unworthy: Marked to die. Raised to survive. by Joanne Armstrong Read Free Book Online

making myself eat every kind of food available to me, and had no reaction except violent vomiting to a bunch of red berries. After I recovered Grandad tore strips off me and showed me how he distilled it to make a kind of perfume that the young women liked to wear to attract suitors.
    There aren’t many Unworthy in my hub. Most don’t survive their first twelve months. A teenager with the mark died when I was still a youngster. There was a girl in my class when I first started school who also had the Mark, but she got sick over that same winter, and she died too. I see a man from time to time around the square who is also Marked. No-one talks to him, either. I’m guessing that most of the time an Unworthy baby has the grace to die when it is first exposed to the world.
    This is why I fiercely cling to my twelve. My sisters and brothers. They are all still young, but seven are still alive.
    I asked Grandad when I was six years old why there were so few of us.
    “Why are there no others like me, Grandad?”
    “That’s because you are unique, Dia.”
    “But why does no-one else have the unworthy mark? Is it just me who didn’t pass?”
    He had sighed. “Lots of babies don’t pass. Lots of babies are marked. It is a terrible thing, but they are usually very weak. They are susceptible to diseases, which means they catch colds very easily, and this can kill them.”
    “Will a cold kill me?”
    “No, Dia. You are very strong and there is nothing wrong with you. You have been given a huge challenge - to survive. That is your mission. It’s all that matters.”
    “Grandad, why do they mark the babies if they don’t think they’ll last very long?”
    “That is a very good question, Dia, and one day you should ask someone who can give you the right answer.”
    I’ve never gotten my definitive answer, but I have come to learn it well enough. I live it every day. Why do they mark babies for death? Because after the Marking, the Polis can step back, its job done. They can leave the rest of the alienation up to the hub; the child’s own kind. Being marked as different is enough to set the child on a road of loneliness. Not all survive the ring, but for those that do, the Mark makes them downright unattractive. I think of my survivors. Their only hope for acceptance is from each other.
    For those who aren’t Unworthy, there is still no guarantee of health. Every year, mainly during winter, the medical centre is full of hubbites and Firstborn desperate to get hold of medicines that will assist them through their illnesses. However, Polis medicines are in very short supply, and some have more right to it than others. Death is simply a part of life here.
    A greenmouth darting through the water brings me back to the task in hand. There are a few of them round the rocks. The fish here are so rarely disturbed that my satchel is quickly full. I have three large greenmouth and four fairy fins when I stop for a breather, and dry myself on a large boulder. I pull my tunic back on and a woollen wrap for warmth.
    I’m sitting on the shore cleaning the fish when Bastian drops down beside me. When he’s in Greytown his time is divided between working at the recycling plant and reporting for duty at the garrison. I can tell today has been a garrison day because he’s in uniform.
    Bastian looks at my face then picks up a greenmouth and starts to gut it.
    “Do you want to talk about last night?” he asks.
    I shrug. There really isn’t much to say. But I can’t hide that it’s bothering me. I put down the fish and stare out to sea.
    “I think I’m going to be told not to come back to the cheese shed.”
    He pauses and looks up sharply from the fish. “What happened?”
    “Something went wrong with the cheeses today, and I guess they needed to find someone to blame.”
    He sighs. He knows better than to tell me it’s going to be okay – I don’t need to hear that right now. We pack up the fish and start back up the