I have four more days of life. Four more days of solitary confinement. Four more days until I get to see my father again. Four more days until I die. I am known for my legendary escapes, but this time there is no escape. I was Society's most wanted criminal. Oh, they wanted me alright; they wanted me to die in front of an infinite crowd. They call me a bloodthirsty renegade, even though I have never pulled a gun on them in an attempt to kill anyone. Call me what you will, but there are limits to what I will do. Killing is useless because that's what my enemies do and I never want to be like them. I don't need to steal because I can get my money the hard way. But no matter what, I always try to make them look as stupid as possible.
I live in the Great Societal Union of the Americas and Collective Colonies (that's the reason that the name is shortened down to just Society); it's the only place on what's left of the desolate planet Earth where the government and military get extra bonuses to kill their own people. Drop a few hydrogen bombs on a country and look what happens to its government. My country has been in The Great Demise War for well... way longer than I've been alive. Not only that, but let's just say I'm uh...not really that helpful in the war efforts. Only if you mean by stopping them, then yeah I'm pretty good at that. Before anyone goes making any accusations about me (because I've got so many pinned on me now), I'm going to say one thing and one thing only: I have my reasons and they may not be as malicious as they seem.
In the background, a single gunshot breaks my train of thought. I try not to let my mind wander about the sequence of events that have recently happened, but it does anyways. I close my eyes, stand up, and pace my tiny imprisonment. I try to push the thoughts of destruction I have caused out of my head. No luck. I press my palms to my temples in attempt to stop the gunshot from replaying in my head.
The gunshot breaks the unofficial start of my last four remaining mornings. My scarred hand is throbbing for some reason, it does that some times. I look down at my hand; the long diagonal scar runs down my right hand from my thumb to my pinkie. It is a reminder of my bleak past, Society's lies, and my first act of defiance. They tried to poson me, but somehow I lived and climbed the fence to freedom. I growl angrily at the very thought of what happened back then. So much death, so much killing.
I analyze my surroundings once again to make sure I'm not missing anything critical. I'm in a reflective metal room with nothing in it, a lone window serves as my light source, and the door is titanium plated with a rusted iron barred window that way they can talk to me and not put their precious lives in jeopardy. Yep, they consider me that dangerous. I don't understand why; I didn't murder or kill anyone. I may have gotten into a few fist fights, but my point still stands. Outside the door, is a laser-scanning device to make sure only people with military clearance can get here. I still think that the whole situation is stupid.
I look over at the window covered with a filmy lair of dust, and think about the past prisoners who had the same cell. Most of them were probably POW's from our neighboring countries Admark or the United European Nations otherwise known as the UEN. Most of the prisoners did nothing wrong and they will never see their country or family again. Society killed them in cold blood, but nobody cares except for me.
I stand on my tip-toes and pull myself up to the window. They told me I would be punished if I looked out the window, later I will though. In my case, rules were meant to be broken, and break them I gladly do.
I know my interrogator will be here any moment. I sit down and fold my legs in a complex butterfly, close my eyes and pray. I pray for God's will to be done, even if that evolves my death. I shudder at the word but continue to pray for forgiveness and discernment between right and wrong. As soon as I whisper amen, I hear footsteps echo up and down the corridor. I don't know why though; I'm the only prisoner on this hall. I'm alone here because capturing me was their one main mission in life and now I'm their pride and joy. They can't wait to finally kill me. I take in a long breath and think about what death feels like, what it feels like to feel a billion eyes glaring at you, waiting for the bullet to come out of the barrel of the gun, and for you to fall to your knees and sink into eternal oblivion.
I have evaded death too long. I always knew they would kill me, I just didn't expect it to be now. I hum a verse of some song I heard on the streets my mind still on my execution, and then decide to try to fall asleep again. My attempt at sleeping is a failed one. Someone knocks on the door as if they think I can open it myself; my eyes blink open.
“Get up,” a voice harsh, cruel, and bitter says. It reminds me of a man on the streets that once tried to kill me. Oh, he was an interesting man. I snap back into reality as the voice snorts. “It's time for your interrogation.”
“Oh joy, time for ya to beat me to a pulp because I won't tell ya the answers to the stupid questions you ask me. Such fun,” I snap back at him with measured sarcasm. The speaker just sighs.
The titanium door creaks open and the speaker steps in. The outside lights partially illuminate the cell and momentarily blinds me. The light, go towards the light! A boy seps in front of me and blocks me from running into the light. The boy is probably my age with raven black hair that sticks up in the front. He wears a standard issue five-star status full black military agents uniform; Society's royal blue, emerald green, and ruby red seal litters his right sleeve like a piece of garbage. A belt around his waist is adorned with keys, handcuffs, a baton, and a revolver designed to take someone down with one measly shot. A bunch of painful memories bombard me at the thought of his revolver; I just push them away for now. If under different circumstances, I would have thought the boy to be dull and stupid and quite easy to pickpocket. Now, I just laugh at those thoughts. It takes me a second to realize I was actually laughing and now I've got a psychotic smile slapped across my face. This does not help my case because some people pleaded for my release by saying I'm mentally insane. That one just hurt.
He mutters something about my sarcasm under his breath and pulls out the pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Now Sky would you like to do this the hard and difficult way or the smooth and painless way,” he says.
“Whichever way I have to,” I retort with a smile. Smiles always make it interesting. I grin mischievously and nod as he carelessly bends my arms behind my back and snaps the handcuffs into place, pinching my already black and blue skin.


This is the tenth interrogator I have seen this week. Out of those agents, I have had constant beatings. They have gotten nothing out of me though, not even my real name. Now that I think about it, I haven't heard my actual name since five years eleven months and twenty-eight days ago on my birthday, when Society dragged a ten year old boy from his ramshackle house in front of his family, and tried but obviously failed to kill him. I promised I'd come back for them, but in my current predicament I don't think that's very likely. As I said earlier, I'm supposed to be dead. When scanned, my fingerprints mach up to a person who died around five years ago from allegedly some virus. They haven't figured any of this out yetbut they also haven't ran my fingerprints, it's a tradition to do that the day before the execution.
My eyes dart back to the door then to the agent, my street instincts scream at me. RUN! Why aren't you running you idiot? While my newfound pessimistic instincts say: why would you even consider that as an option? No way you can make it; he'd willingly shoot you dead in an instant.
Now he continues, breaking my train of thought. “Are you going to cooperate with me?” I just give him my famous mischievous grin that is present in all of my mug shots. It answers the question for him without me having to waste my breath. “Wrong answer Sky.” He pulls out the gun from his belt and whips me in the face. My bangs fall down in my face blood fills my mouth. I gag at the repulsive metallic taste. I want to spit it on his shiny polished combat boots; I won't though. I will not drop myself to that level. I take a deep breath and swallow the nasty mixture of blood and saliva. I shudder at the taste and almost choke.
I bite my lip until it draws blood. “Are you all good? Had to get your anger out by beating me?” He rolls a bullet in his hand and shoves it into the cartridge. His gun clicks; the one shot reminding me to behave.
“Now let me ask you once more; are you going to cooperate with me?”
“Whatever floats your freaking boat.” I reply stubbornly. It's just easier when I lie like that. By the time this is over with, he is going to be wishing that he had quit years ago.
“That's more like it. Cooperation is always a good thing, cooperation leads to unity. Let's start with an easy question. How old are you?”
“Okay I'll tell you this one; I'm fifteen.” I'm still dwelling on his words. “Cooperation leads to unity.” Cooperation doesn't lead to unity, it leads to utter devastation and mass destruction.
“New question, do you work alone?”
I want to use this opportunity to purposely smart off to him. “Yes, I have a partner in crime,” dramatically turning my head as if he's found out my secret. Which to tell the truth kinda is true, but I'd never rat them out, they know too much about Society and me more importantly.
“Really,” he asks intrigued, “go on.”
“Um... how about no,” I say knowing that I'm going to get a beating for this. He slams my head against the wall; for a second I go blind. A sly smile creeps over his face, telling me that he loves this part of his job. My head is spinning like a top and a blaring headache rips through my skull. I want to scream but I won't give him the pleasure of hearing me scream.
“Now, I believe it will be a much smoother process if you will just work with me. Cooperation leads to unity.”
“Uh-huh” I utter through my pain, “that's what they all said.” This is the truth. They always say that, but they know it's a lie and I do too. He punches me in the jaw for the remark, making my head spin again and intensifying my throbbing headache.
“Moving on now. Did you purposely and willingly destroy seven airships carrying ammunition, weapons, and food rations to the warfront?”
I shrug and smirk. “Okay, it was willingly and yes I did it. Your point is?”
“My point is that you purposely destroyed billions of Societal dollars and not to mention created on your sentence seven counts of vandalism, robbery, war crimes, and eleven counts of the high crime of treason!”
“Okay, ya got me.” I put my hands up in mock surrender. “I stole a couple crates of food to feed starving poor families. Fight me.” He doesn't say anything, but just rolls his eyes in disgust. As if he knows anything about the streets of Aurora and Paisley. They'd eat him alive.
“Next question you should remember it, at least I hope so. Who are you Sky?”
He's very persistent I'll give him that much. I laugh dramatically. “I'm Sky; of all people ya should know that.” He rushes toward me, trying to use his standing-factor againstme. I try to throw off his balance by rushing forward and ducking; a trick any street kid would know. It doesn't happen. Any thought in my mind that he was a rebel here to save me is gone. He lifts me up by my shirt and slams me against the metal walls. I grit my teeth in anger and throbbing head pain.
“Listen up, I want answers! I don't know if you think this is funny, but it's not!”
“You're right it's not funny; it's absolutely freaking hilarious!”
He continues to talk angrily. “In about four days you're going to die, you might as well tell someone who you are!” Oh great, another reminder of my rapidly approaching execution. He leans forward, so close to me that I can see my reflection in his pupils. All I see of me is a total mess. “You might have fooled the others, but you will never fool me! Let me try this again, this time more slowly. Who are you?”
This time I don't need any encouragement to fight. My Aurora street kid instincts kick in. Next thing ya know I have a tiny flicker of hope that soon turns into a wildfire blaze of hope. “I'll tell ya who I am!” I wedge my knee up between us and kick my leg up with the rest of my strength. It hits him square below the belt. He lets go of my collar and I fall. It stuns him long enough for me to stand to my feet and grab the handcuff keys attached to his belt. I grab the door and yank on it. It's unlocked? Why is it unlocked? Is this Society's smartest agent they could send me? I slide through the door and rejoice at my newly won freedom.
“Freedom!” I shout not knowing or caring that I said it aloud. I snap the keys in the handcuff lock and turn. I hear the all too familiar crack as the lock pops open. I toss them in front of me breaking the window's glass.
The agent stumbles out of the room in an urgent attempt to look injured. I mean he probably really does hurt because I kicked him as hard as I could. I smirk a little at that idea.
“Wait,” he desperately pleads with me. “Who are you?”
I stop running and smile. Who am I? Really? I'm escaping right now before your very own eyes, and you're going to ask who I am? Wow, this is new. I'm used to having to doge a bombardment of bullets, maybe this is the beginning of something big. He does nothing, except rise to his full height, apparently no longer injured. I freeze, turn around stare directly into his charcoal black eyes and hiss.
“I am Society's most wanted, I am defiant to your laws; I am the one and only notorious Sky.” If there are any hidden cameras in here I hope they caught that line and know that they may have beaten me, but not broken me. If I somehow survive this, I know what's going to be the headline.
The agent's face is calm and fixed on my eyes. I detect a small amount of movement; my head slowly follows the direction of his hands. They fall slowly to his belt that houses a revolver. That's when I realize what his next move is. I turn and start running frantically away from my capturers. Towards my freedom. Towards the window.
I turn and take a risky look behind me; he takes perfect aim with the revolver as he's been taught in training. It's clear that I'm not going to make it to the window, and what's scary is that he knows it too. He is going to kill me in cold blood right here, right now.
“Stop, stop in the name of the glorious Society,” he cries.
“I'll never surrender!” I defiantly respond. I quicken my pace, just a couple more feet until I'm at the window. Keep running, one foot in front of the other. I have to remind myself or I might turn around and confront him.
The agent snickers and rolls the bullet into place. “Fine, you brought this amongst yourself,” he warns. I take another risky look behind me just as he pulls the trigger.
I see the gun kick and a tiny puff of smoke is released into the atmosphere. My vision goes hazy. Pain grips my shoulder like a vise. Wow he almost killed me. The key word here is almost; if I don't get out of there I'm dead for real. As if I finally realize that I have been shot, I touch my right shoulder and scream in agony as I fall to the floor. There is a strange metallic red liquid that is all over the floor and me; it smells morbidly strange. I want to just lay here and let death take me away from this dreadful place. My body aches from head to toe. You must get up; your life depends on it! Come on Sky, move your legs! Life is so much better than death!
I drag myself to the window ledge and sit there thinking about what to do next. There's no fire escape, no rope, it's raining, I'm sixteen stories from the ground, and I'm bleeding to death. My options are diminishing by the second. I look once more at my options. Behind me is Society's death a certain slow and painful death, or bellow me there is the dark abyss a not as slow and painful death. I have heard that when people jump out of buildings to their deaths that they die of heart attacks before they get a chance to hit the ground. The abyss is my best option right now.
Across from me, I see something that catches my eye. There's an old apartment complex abandoned from structural support, with a narrowly opened window and an old, greasy, black charred lantern that strangely looks like its just been lit. That means that there are people in there. Perhaps they could help me or they could be smart and take the reward on my head.
Now I know what I must do. I gauge the distance and decide that I can clear it. I stand up, bend my knees, and spring off the window ledge. No turning back now. If I miss the window, I'm a dead man. Who knows; if I make the window I could be a dead man. My odds are fifty-fifty. I hear the agent's steel-toed combat boots click to a stop he reaches desperately for my duct-taped sneakers and finds nothing but air.
“No,” he pleads as if I'll jump back to him so he can capture me again. I would've laughed at him but in my certain situation I'm not in that good of a state either. Time is so slow. My world goes into even slower slow motion as I fly closer and closer to the window.
I close my eyes and cover my head with my arms as I am thrown into the not so narrowly opened window. I made it to safety I think. I hear glass shatter and a woman shriek in horror. I admit that I would scream too if a kid flew into my house and laid bleeding and dying on the floor. I open my eyes and wince in pain. Millions of tiny glass shards surround me. I see the agent, his hand still reaching for my sneakers gasp and run away to his superiors. I am a bloody mess from my wounded shoulder and glass cuts.
I gently swipe a few glass shards away from my already scarred hand and shake some smaller shards out of my hair. My previous headache is worse; I can feel it pounding like a drum, only intensifying as I lie here. I want to scream because it feels like my head is a ticking time bomb and is about to explode any second.
The woman grabs a slightly smaller figure next to her. My vision is getting even hazier and now I can only make out the shapes. “Do you now who this is?” One of the figures exclaims it with a sense of foolish pride. Oh great, so now they know who I am? Wonderful this day is just full of amazing surprises and it's only morning.
I hear a heated debate between the figures. The smaller figure steps forward and shakes her head at me. “Addie you're going to get us into a whole load of trouble.”
So, this is how its going to end? I'm going to bleed to death right here on this dilapidated tile in the poor muddy outskirts of Society. “I can't keep my promise I'm so sorry,” I whisper. “I'm so sorry I couldn't come home,” I cry into my hands. The day I was taken from my family runs through my mind like a broken record player. It still freaks me out; it reminds me of the constant darkness of Society. It is the topic and focus of my always-reoccurring nightmares. My life flashes before my eyes, all of the lies, the trouble, sins, escapes, and most memorably my family.
I gasp for air, feeling the life slowly drain from me and know they've finally done it. They've finally killed me; onto the next victim. For a moment, I feel like my family is right in front of me with outstretched arms welcoming me back into reality; into the darkness of the world. I let myself dream, something I never let myself do because returning to them is a too sweet fantasy. I remember my mother's caramel hair and olive green eyes, I remember my twin, my gentle KIA father; I remember everything that I never let myself remember.
This is it I'm going to die right her on this bed of glass shards. I regret only one thing, not being able to see my family one last time. Good-bye world, I'm sorry I couldn't make a difference. Dear God, please find the grace to forgive me for my wrongdoings. In a few seconds I will finally be with You until eternity. Goodbye world, goodbye everything and everyone. When I open my eyes, I will no longer be here. With that optimistic last note I squeeze my eyes tightly closed and let the darkness and pain overwhelm me.