It was that time of year again, when the Kamshu were chosen. Every one was on their best behaviour; every one knew to be a Kamshu was to be royalty. No one knew who the choosers were they just knew it could be any one. I remember one time, Sophie, who used to be in my class was chosen, imagine the shock she found when the person who chose her was her sister Chelsea who was three years older. Chelsea wont pick again you only pick once, you’re only chosen once because once you’re chosen that’s it, its final. I’ve never wanted to be chosen I like to have my own options, not have my fait sealed in a second. But there are others, others whose whole existence has been to get in; I think that’s a sorry way to live. For one thing I know that the Kamshu is not a fun thing to be apart of you go to meetings plan rituals but the worst thing about them is there slaves. Only three people benefit completely out of it and those are the leaders, the leaders are chosen every fifty years and you can only be chosen if you’ve been apart of them for ten. I call them slaves because they have to clean the secret sanctuary which is rumoured to have 20 rooms and there not small. They also have to do what ever the leaders say even if it’s as brutal as murdering someone. This is why I am not at all fond of the idea of being chosen, or having my friends chosen.

As me and Charlie, my best friend, walked to school we chatted about the idiotic things people were doing to be chosen.
"Billy is already acting as a servant and doing whatever any one asks him, just in case there a chooser." she told me as my hair was blown across my face by the autumn wind. Charlie was always jealous of my hair she said if she had hair my colour, a bright blond, and style she could not just let it hang by her face, as she claims I do, I don’t see what else I’m supposed to do with hair, I tied it up one day and she all but pinned me down to take the bobble out, I never made that mistake again. Yet she still insists on buying me straighteners and curlers and all sorts of hair products.
"I find it so annoying, it’s just stupid the way every one is so ready to sell there souls." I ranted but Charlie was used to my rants this time of year.
"yeah yeah I’ve heard it all before" she replied in a bored voice, I scowled, how can she not take this seriously if she were to be chosen her future would change and not for the better but for the worse.

Each year five are chosen, no more, no less. Within the first two weeks three were already chosen, Billy who was ecstatic as they took him away halfway through school break, holly a girl in my geography class was taken of the bus on her way home she seemed shocked but please like they all are and finally Chloe; a quiet girl, a little older than me who likes reading, they took her out of the library. All three of these people’s lives and the ones around them were changed in that one instant.
Being chosen can be terrifying, or for some an enjoyable experience. When a tall mysterious person, in a purple cloak glides toward you as grace full as a swan or as if their gliding on air and says the words 'you are chosen' in a voice that carries loud and clear then you find yourself rise to you feet and follow your chooser as if in a trance.

One morning during the last week of choosing I saw one, a chooser with their purple cloak and a mysterious demeanour. I felt sorry for the person who would be chosen and pure undiluted hate for the chooser. I was with Charlie we were heading toward the park and were almost there, as the chooser kept walking so did we; I did not want to see someone’s life end, well in my point of view it ends. I started getting worried looking at the path the chooser was walking, they were heading straight for us, but I still hoped it was some one in front or behind us. Closer and closer they came. They now had Charlie’s attention; she stared in awe as he came and stopped in front of us
"Charlie Watford, You are chosen" they spoke clear, sending a chill up my spine.
"No! not her please, please" I tried to grab her arm and keep her from going but as if she were the tide and they the moon she was pulled toward them.
That was the last time I spoke to Charlie it’s been a year now and my hate for the Kamshu is stronger than ever, this time things will change.