lirik lagu custom paper drawings - wttm
the sun rose slowly over the county, blanketing the fields in honey~colored light and glinting off the rusted windmills that creaked like tired old men. inside the farmhouse, a pot of something thick and b~ttery simmered on the stove, sending up fat plumes of steam that clung to the cracked ceilings like ghosts. it was augustine’s sixteenth birthday, and no one had mentioned the word “happy.”
yelanda’s heavy boots thudded across the kitchen floor as she shuffled toward the oven, hips swaying in her too~tight denim overalls. she muttered to herself while flipping a tray of golden biscuits. her arms—freckled and soft—moved with the practiced rhythm of a woman who’d been cooking since before augustine was born
“today’s the day, baby girl,” yelanda said without looking up. “you ready to get weighed by the government?”
augustine, perched on the windowsill like a little crow, didn’t answer right away. her bones pressed sharply beneath her thin skin, knees pulled up to her chest. she picked at a frayed thread on her long~sleeved shirt, which hung on her like a sheet on a hanger. “what if i don’t want a category?” she mumbled
yelanda snorted. “well, then maybe you can take it up with president harambe. i’m sure he’ll cancel the whole system just for you.”
augustine rolled her eyes. “i’m serious, auntie. what if they mess it up? what if they put me in the wrong group?”
“sugar, you weigh less than a scarecrow in a sandstorm. you ain’t gettin’ anything but a s number.”
“but i don’t want one,” augustine whispered. “i just want to be me.”
yelanda paused, one biscuit halfway to the plate. she glanced at her niece, the same way she’d looked at dying crops—like she wanted to fix them but wasn’t sure how
before she could say anything, the front door burst open
“birthday girrrrl!” ayva sing~songed as she stepped inside, her skinny arms full of neatly wrapped packages. she wore a lemon~colored romper, her hair tied up in sp~ce buns. her cheeks were flushed from her electric bike ride through the dirt roads
“you smell like dust,” augustine said flatly
“and you look like a haunted mannequin,” ayva shot back with a grin, dropping the presents on the table. “so. what did you ask for this year? besides bone density.”
yelanda laughed so hard she nearly dropped the biscuits
augustine cracked a smile, even though her stomach turned. she hadn’t slept last night. kept thinking about the weigh~in. the words official rank assignment felt like a guillotine hanging above her
today, she would be measured, categorized, and locked into her place on the dating charts forever
the categories had been created thirty years ago, when president harambe rose to power and declared that love was too chaotic. too messy. people were getting their hearts broken too easily. and so, he fixed it—with order. logic. a six~tier system that matched people based on their body mass
love was now neat
and boring
and terrifying
yelanda slid the last biscuit onto the plate and wiped her hands. “alright, sugarcubes. eat now, stress later.”
“i can’t eat,” augustine muttered
“then you better chew on a prayer,” yelanda said. “’cause once they knock on that door with that silver scale, your life changes. forever.”
yelanda was still fussing with the b~tter knife when the knock came
not a regular knock—not three quick taps from a neighbor or the dull thud of the delivery kid with packages. this one was mechanical. four precise raps. cold. uniform. like someone hitting a clipboard against steel
the kitchen went still
even ayva, mid~bite, froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. yelanda muttered something low and country that augustine didn’t catch, then pushed herself up with a grunt
“that’s him,” she said
augustine’s legs felt numb as she stood. her heartbeat thundered in her ears. “him” didn’t mean a delivery man or a technician. there were no government agents this year. no recorded weigh~ins streamed to a central server. no sterile clinics
this year, the president himself was doing the weighing
and there he was
when yelanda opened the door, he filled the frame like a statue carved from pure muscle and denim. president harambe. tall. towering. rumored to have once lifted a cow over his head to save a child from a flood. his beard was thick and silver, trimmed into the shape of a mountain range. his sunglasses reflected the kitchen light, so no one could see his eyes—only themselves
augustine felt small. smaller than usual. smaller than skinny 3. smaller than thought
“harambe,” yelanda greeted with a nod, pressing her lips tight. “didn’t expect you personally.”
“i weigh all the sixteens this season,” harambe said in a voice like a rumble of distant thunder. “new policy. we’re trimming the fat in more ways than one.”
augustine winced
without asking, harambe stepped inside. behind him rolled a chrome suitcase that hissed as it unfolded into a polished silver scale with wires like veins. it gleamed in the kitchen light, humming softly. the county seal was embossed into its center—an apple split in half by a knife
“no time for ceremony,” harambe said. “stand on the platform, girl.”
augustine blinked. “no… clipboard? no measuring tape?”
“no need,” he said. “the scale sees what it needs to. weight. bone density. gut mass. everything you’ve ever eaten, every calorie stored in your cells. you’ve been tracked since you were twelve.”
ayva made a quiet choking noise behind her
yelanda moved beside augustine and put a hand on her back. “you don’t have to be scared,” she whispered, but her hand trembled just a little
augustine took a deep breath
the platform was round, its surface unnervingly warm. as she stepped onto it, it shifted under her weight—not in a mechanical way, but like it felt her. as though it were tasting her through her soles
a quiet beep. then a whir. a scanner unfolded from beneath the platform, circling her feet
“five minutes,” harambe announced. “you’ll get your rank and your id chip. don’t move.”
the lights on the scale fl!ckered into a slow pulse, then a faster one. a tiny red dot passed up and down her body like it was checking for flaws
augustine’s hands were fists. her stomach growled, loudly. harambe raised one eyebrow, but said nothing
“what happens if she’s, like…between categories?” ayva asked from behind the table, clearly trying to sound casual and failing
“she won’t be,” harambe said. “the scale don’t lie.”
yelanda poured herself a glass of something strong and amber~colored, gulping it like it was water
for five minutes, no one said a word
the kitchen ticked with the sound of the clock and the slow inhale~exhale of the scale. augustine stood straight, frozen, trying to disappear from her own skin
she thought of every meal she’d skipped
every night she’d laid awake wondering if she was enough
every time she’d looked at herself and only seen numbers
she thought of the other kids at school—morgan, with her wide sneer and soft arms. the way gerald had looked at her in the lunchroom two months ago like he didn’t care what her rank would be, even though they’d never spoken. the moment passed so quickly she wondered if she’d made it up
she thought about freedom
not being put in a box
and then—
beep
the lights stopped blinking
the scanner shut down
the platform cl!cked
president harambe stepped forward, lifting a small metallic tag from the slot that had opened at the base of the scale. he didn’t smile. he didn’t frown. he didn’t do anything
“this is who you are now,” he said, and held it out
augustine stared at the tag
the number on it was burned into a glossy silver plate
ayva craned her neck to see, but yelanda sn~tched the tag and shoved it into her niece’s palm, covering it quickly
“no peeking,” she said firmly, eyes flashing
president harambe turned on his heel, folding the scale back into its suitcase. “this goes in the national registry tonight. dating restrictions begin at midnight. welcome to adulthood.”
and just like that, he was gone
the wind outside didn’t even stir
ayva finally exhaled. “holy h~ll. that man is like…a fridge that learned to talk.”
augustine hadn’t looked at the tag yet. her palm felt heavy. her throat tight
yelanda was watching her. “you don’t have to look now, sugar. not if you ain’t ready.”
“i’m not,” augustine whispered
ayva raised an eyebrow. “girl. i have to know. like, need to. like, i’m gonna die if i don’t.”
augustine turned away from both of them, staring out the window. the sun was higher now, bright and sharp through the glass
“maybe i’ll never look,” she said
but in her heart, she knew she would
and whatever was etched on that tag would change everything
yelanda’s hand was still covering augustine’s, her palm warm and trembling just slightly. the metal tag beneath their skin felt like it had a heartbeat
augustine hadn’t moved
neither had ayva
“i changed my mind,” she said suddenly, her voice thin but clear. “i want to see.”
yelanda hesitated. “you sure?”
“no.” she bit her lip. “but yeah.”
she slowly pulled her hand out from under her aunt’s, the tag catching the light as it slipped free. it was colder than she expected. smoother. heavier. like someone had melted down a secret and given it shape
she turned it over
three characters. clean. precise
s3
for a split second, she just stared
then her eyes widened
a sound broke from her throat—a shocked gasp that turned into a laugh. a giddy, unbelieving laugh that curled into a full~throated cheer. her whole body jolted like electricity had hit her from the inside out
“oh my god,” she squealed. “i did it—i did it!”
she leapt off the platform, tag in hand, spinning like a ribbon in the center of the room. her birdlike frame twirled past the table, past the window, her laugh bouncing off the walls
ayva screamed and ran to her, grabbing both hands and bouncing with her. “i knew it! i knew you’d get s3! that’s the top, babe! the very top! you’re basically a god now. you’re going to be on, like, beauty pamphlets and government cereal boxes!”
yelanda gave a proud, half~smile as she sat down slowly, watching her niece with eyes that shimmered just a bit. “you’re flyin’ now, girl,” she said softly
augustine was still spinning. “i can’t believe it. i was so sure i’d get something lower. i almost fainted when he knocked.”
ayva shoved her playfully. “shut up, you are a lower weight! that’s the point, twig!”
they both collapsed onto the couch, breathless, still clinging to each other like they’d just been through war
augustine stared down at the tag in her hand again. s3. her name was etched beneath it in small, capital letters: augustine yeardley. born: april 8, 2009. rank: skinny 3
it even had a barcode. she wondered what it scanned to. maybe a dating app. maybe a record of everything she was now allowed to do—and everything she wasn’t
“so what happens now?” she asked, finally settling
ayva flopped her head back against the couch. “now we pick out outfits for school tomorrow and wait for the love charts to go live at midnight. you’re gonna be matched with, like, government officials. i hate you.”
augustine laughed again, but this time it was lighter. she felt free. alive. like the weight of every skipped meal had been worth it
yelanda moved to the kitchen and began cleaning up in silence, humming a song augustine didn’t recognize
outside, the fields swayed gently. the road was quiet again. no more silver scale. no more thunderous president. just augustine, her rank, and the path it had opened
she didn’t know who was out there. who she might meet
and she didn’t yet know the name gerald
but tonight, the matchmaking systems would link them both
and everything would begin
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