Once upon a time there was a town called Silken. The only ruler of this town was a governor: Governor Mackerel.

Now, this particular governor was a very unfair ruler. Just listen to his housing system! If you were poor, you got a small, one- to two-room house, with an outhouse included. Space was limited, and so was money. You could never get any privacy, and to top it all off, it was stinky. It was very sad.

If you were middle class, you got a house with a kitchen, bathroom ,two bedrooms, and an extra room. There was always just enough space, so most people were content with their homes.

But, if you were rich, you got a huge manor with soaring ceilings. There were two floors that contained: a large kitchen (as big as two!), six bedrooms, a large office, two parlors, a sun-room with enormous windows, a study (with a desk included), and a library with a glass-domed ceiling.

In the outskirts of the town of Silken, there lived a poor girl named Coral Greene. She had 11 siblings (six boys and five girls), all squished in a one-room house with a tiny, barren lawn. Coral was strong-willed, and hated Governor Mackerel and all his ideas and opinions.

So, one crisp autumn day, when the Governor was to give his annual “fall goals for Silken,” she decided this was her chance. She waited for him to end his speech by asking the audience if anyone would contradict him. And so, when the Governor asked, “Does anyone disagree?” in a stern voice that would scare anyone in earshot, Coral stood up and yelled over the gasps of the crowd,

“Yes! I do!” A strange, almost forced look came over Governor Mackerel’s face. “You treat anyone who doesn’t have the same amount of money as you like dirt! My family has to squeeze into a one-room house, and there are 14 of us! My parents can barely afford to feed all of us! And you call that fair?”

As soon as her words died out, chaos resigned. The poor were yelling in agreement. The rich were screeching their disgust. And the middle class was just standing there, unsure of which side to take. And, through this cacophony, a scream pierced the air.

Everyone froze.

The silence was as thick as mud. For there, on the stage, lay a lifeless Governor Mackerel, his face pale, his eyes wide, and his mouth open in a silent scream. Blood seeped out of an open wound in his chest.

Quick as lightning, everyone was on the feet and running away from the scene. Coral’s parents were looking everywhere for her, but to no avail. Later that evening, she was found underneath a weeping willow, her ebony locks spread out around her head like an eerie halo, the earthen folds of her dress around her, no life left in her, along with no wounds on her body.

They buried her there, under the arched boughs of the willow. Her gravestone read:

Coral Greene
Trusted herself

Then I awoke. My heart beat the way it does only when I’ve had a nightmare. Once I caught my breath, I sat up and looked to my left. 11 children and two adults lay, asleep, on thin mats beside me, like the one I was sitting on.

I sighed, then got up and walked over to a cracked mirror that hung on the wall. When I looked in, Coral’s face looked back at me.