Reasons #1
So, since this reminds me way too much of live journal, pulling one of my old stories off.
Dreams
Backwards, Backwards, forward, forward, keep your eyes straight forward. You don’t want them to know, if they find out that you’re actually really weak, that’s when it all will begin. Keep your mouth closed, your eyes peeled, you don’t know what could happen, it’s dangerous here. My mother says there are three rules to staying alive, don’t be too friendly, don’t speak unless spoken too, keep your heart out of everything. We were all programmed anyways, they would know if you disobeyed their command. The new chip they’ve recently injected into us, has turned each of us against one another. I wonder if my chip actually worked, supposedly some of these chips, were like sugar pills, just pieces of metal stuck under our skin with no communications to the upper power. My mother said she didn’t expect this to happen, that had she expected this she would have aborted me, and killed herself. “It was so quick, we were there, and now we are here, that is all you need to know!” Mother would say impatiently everytime I asked her about home. I didn’t know what home was, I wanted too. Some of us were born here, others have been transported here. If you walk around the Dome enough, and sat in a corner you would hear crazy, wild stories about living in freeland. I would let myself escape to a fantasy land, where life was normal, (as if I even knew what normal was). “Kassi!?” mother yelled, from the down stairs area of our apartment. I just made it home, my feet were sore, my eyes burned from the cold the last damn thing I wanted to do was walk down a flight of steps. My heart strings pulled, mother hated being alone since they came and got my dad. I untied my shoes, atleast fingernail polish was still allowed, my mother said as a child girls could wear and dress however they wanted, and no one dared to speak against them. This was before the Freeland revolted, and the uppers took over society. I walk down the steps, one day I’ll fall through the weak wooden steps. They’ve been dampened by the leaky roof, I peer up to what might have been once a beautiful window, it was bordered it up with black tar and shingles. That was mainly for our safety, but sometimes I think it’s not. None of the buildings have windows, that’s one thing I do remember, windows, peering out of it as a young toddler as we would go down the high way. I remember asking my mother, what clouds were, she would tell me the Angel’s cushions. Shortly after we were taken into orientation, for the new command, I was stripped down by men, and checked for my marks, which they found, like my mother and father both. I remember my father and mother arguing one night, about getting them removed, but my father being the strong activist he was refused. He would always tell me to be proud of who I am, and never doubt my own faith. I look at my marks everyday, and I hate them , they’re the reason my father is dead. I look down at my feet, because I can feel the bottom of my socks ripping under the wooden splinters, I would have to hide these from mother. Once, I get down the steps, mother is sitting at the table her brown face worn with a permanent frown engraved on her lips. She points to the chair in front of the metal table, her hands are trembling around the mug she’s holding onto for dear life. She looks old, and she was only 16 years my senior. I look down at my brown hands and wonder will they always be this soft, will they too turn wrinkled with stress. I pull out the chair, and turn to my mother. I see a tear drop down the side of her eye. She looked as if she had seen an angel, only to have found it to be a demon.
I haven’t seen my mother cry, in as long as my young eyes have seen. It startled me, but then something in my stomach began to churn, and I felt as if the world had just stomped onto my stomache, and in reaction my lips spewed blood. She grabbed my hand with teary eyes began to explain the reason for her misery. “They’ve called Kassi, you will pack your bags and attend the next process, you will not fight their will” her lips trembled as she spoke this, her eyes pleading that I run, but we couldn’t speak that, our walls weren’t safe and haven’t been for awhile, but now out own thoughts and kinds have betrayed us. My lips tremble, and I can feel my mother’s eyes sharp on me. Rule #1 Don’t show them that you’re weak. My mother did not give breath to anything weak, be it from the whiskey she claimed she used to brew, to the breath she gave me. “I will do as I’m told, but with every part of my body I will plot my revenge if they touch you, and I hope you hear that, you scum!” I yelled at the ceiling, as I abruptly got to my feet. My mother unaware of how to respond scrambles to her feet, and grabs me by my ears, and in a blink of an eye, she disclosed the most important information in my ear that would keep me alive through the rest of my peril. After telling the secrets of what they call the God’s she turned her back to me and walked up the stairs to the main house. As soon as she was out of sight, and I could no longer here the pitter patter of her heels on the stairs my legs crumbled under me, and I hit the concrete like an egg being dropped off a 1,000 footer bridge. My hands find their way to my tear soaked face, I lay on the ground, alone, at the beginning of what I was sure to be the end. I wasn’t strong as the others, it was a hit or miss in this situation. You lived or you died. I wouldn’t prefer either, to be honest you hear stories about both evils. You live to watch the people you love die, and get tested at the world’s dismay, but no on dare speaks up. This was normal for us, or it would become they would say. This was for the best for them and us, because we were different. We were marked, and if you were marked you were considered dangerous a potential enemy to the world. The war happened when I was only six years old, I remember very little beforehand. I remember my father sitting me down, and explaining to me that I was unlike anyone else he’s ever met, at the time I thought every father said that to their daughter, not until years later would I understand the full potential of those words. Mother says in her time the worst thing you had to worry about was color racism, but this was much deeper. Everyone is born with genes, but with us we were born with marked genes, leaving a noticeable birthmark on your body. At one time we were equals, until the humans became afraid of us. We weren’t humans anymore, therefor we did not have human rights, we were nothing more than animals to them. We weren’t sheep though and that is what worried them, we were lions but they have taken away all of our hope, so we lay discouraged as the jews did in the holocaust. They gave us names like sub-humans, perfects, supernatural, we became a new species. We were a new case study, for the psychologist, neurologist, and the government. They didn’t understand how this could happen. They questioned evolution, while conspiracies question government experiments gone wrong. I didn’t consider myself any of those, I was a teenage girl. I’ve only made it to second base two times, and I hadn’t even graduated academy. I wasn’t that special either, I only possessed the power of dreaming, which wasn’t in anyway helpful. I was useless, was there anyway I could even consider the thought of surviving? I had to recollect my thoughts, get my mind in the right place if I was to even consider the idea of surviving, and with me dead my mother was sure to die. I grabbed the cold chair and gripped to it for dear life to balance my self onto the chair. When I finally reached my destination, what laid in front of me was a cell phone device, with the number #223454. Under the phone was a pamphlet and it read in big bold death like letters PROCESSING. When you get processed that means, they bring you in to the commons where you will be sorted female to male. You march in singular file line, then you will be split into groups of four male, four female. If you are not matched into the group you will be placed into another processing line, where you will either be murdered or experiments would be prepared in your honor, your powers at the demand of the uppers either way. It didn’t have much in there besides what not to bring, & how I was only to use this cell phone to contact anyone anymore, if caught using another device you will be imprisoned and re-trained as they call it. The selection process remained a mystery, and the reason of why I was chosen remains a mystery as well. The only good thing is that while I was away my mother would remain safe atleast until selection was over. Some say after you pass their final test they release you to do as you please, others say you will be a weapon for them and you become a sort of gestapo. Some don’t speak about it at all, they pretend it’s fine what is going on, but they’re controlled, they’re afraid.. I was to at one point. I avoided everyone I didn’t consider safe, but maybe I slipped up and said something I should not have. Maybe, the people I considered safe have turned their back on me. Things have gotten bad about betrayal for power around here, since the new laws have been instated. You were now rewarded for turning suspects in, you become an acomplince in the murder. On the last page laid the date of the beginning of my doomsday. I was to depart at 8 am tomorrow. Where I go, I had no idea. “Dinner!” I hear my mother call from upstairs, this would be our last dinner together atleast for awhile or maybe ever. I walk up the stairs, following the aroma of potatoes and meat. I look across the table at my mother as she plays with her food, and stares into what I think a part of space, I’m unable to see. We share no words, instead we share silence, and our vibes say all the things need to be said. I would miss her lovely food, her stern attitude, she would be fine as long as I made it back. I grabbed our dirty plates that litter the only nice thing in our house the antique table. It reminded my mother of home, and at the table she would light up even if we would all only share a piece of bread that night. We never did go hungry, the uppers kept us fed for the most part but I cant speak for everyone. Some, will never be picked for selection and they will die off away in this town. I’ve seen dead people on the side of the road while I walk home, sometimes I guess what might’ve killed them, or had they killed themselves. Some of us, refused to be the weapon the uppers wanted us to be. I kiss my mother on her forehead and ran my fingers through her hair. I loved her, as she loved me so I had to be strong. I walk to the bathroom and rinse my face. What I saw in the mirror was a twenty year old, light skinned with green eye beauty who was cursed with marks, I pull back my hair and their they lay, prominent and what I thought made me unique now it will be the death of me. I pull my hair back into a headband, and press my fingers to the mirror, the wallpaper is peeling behind me. I always wondered who lived in this house, and whoever it was had a horrible taste in fashion.
i wrote this in like earlier 2000s.
before the hunger game faze.
i promise lol
hope you liked it.