I got a genius idea for a dystopian future story in yoga class on Friday. It will probably be the most crazy story you’ve ever heard, but I think you’ll like it.
Dysyogia, Chapter 1
It is Friday afternoon, and I am on my way to yoga class. Yoga class is my favorite part of the week. I just started taking it on my 12th birthday, just like every other citizen of Townville. It makes me feel at peace and like I don’t have a care in the world. I approach the studio, remove my socks, shoes, and glasses, grab the mat in the cubby labeled Kaili Harper, and walk into the incense-scented yoga room.
After I finish the Stretches I was taught in the Pre-Yoga Orientation last summer for everyone in my Division, my teacher, Camille, walks in the sliding wooden door. “Hello, students,” she greets us as usual.
Along with all of the other girls in my Division, I stand up, walk to the front of my mat, careful to make my big toes touch. “Good afternoon, Camille,” we greet our Instructor. Class has begun.