I had this dream a while ago, and thought I'd turn it into a story. And then I got another dream with the same thing only from another point of view. So you can expect a second story.
Maybe even a series!
Chrysta tucked her hair into her hat.
Third times the charm.
The line moved slowly towards the gray building with large letters. She thought them rather obnoxious.
Only the brunettes could go to official school. The black haired ones were the artisans and the red haired men and woman were the monarchs of the lands.
The blondes were the slaves. Excuse me, I mean free labor.
The sixteen year old girl appeared to be average among the many other sixteen year old's waiting for their turn through the Gene Tracker. The Gene Tracker, as you would have guessed from the name, tracked what your genes said the color of your hair was. It was like a huge scanner. Chrysta decided if she wanted to get in, she would have to sneak through as someone else did and maybe be read as a recessive gene. The very tall teenager in front of her would do nicely, seeing as though she could hide behind her.
Here it came.
Chrysta drew in a breath.