Written words

Insanity

Howdy! This is week two of the writing club assignment. The theme is someone who saves the world. So as I was trying to figure out what to do, I was texting my friend. I asked her who can save the would and how do they do it? Her response was we save them from themselves. My first thought was insanity. So that got me thinking about another story I am writing that is not on wattpad, since I plan on publishing it someday. This story is about a futuristic world that is in a war. With the war going on they have taken drastic measures; they are stripling away people's humanity. They inject them with this chip that erases their memory, takes away their emotions, and feeds them information. In this book there is a rebel alliance. The rebel alliance has an assassin. Their assassin is a nineteen year old girl named Cece. So this is a part of Cece's story.

The water that flows down the drain becomes red with blood. The blood from my hands. I have so much blood on my hands, the kind that will never go away. I lost count of how many people I have killed. I didn't know any of them. They were just people who knew too much or got to close. I killed them without a second thought. I'm not heartless, this is just what must be done.

The war has corrupted us. It is making us do things we wouldn't normally do. But that's what war does. It is destroying Eclipia, just as it is destroying Oasican. The blood that is lost does not matter. Both countries are only fighting to win. They do not care for their citizens. I should know.

"Cece," says a voice behind me. I tense, why can't people just leave me alone after a kill. I turn around and face the person who spoke.

"Cayden," I reply in acknowledgement.

"Are you going to question the prisoner anytime soon? He won't shut up and Winter is getting nervous," he says. I sigh. Winter has been having random break downs since she has arrived here. I don't know her that well but Cayden definitely does. He rarely leaves her alone.

"Yeah," I say. Then I dry my hands on my black T-shirt. I put on a blank expression and walk out the door. I take a deep breath and walk down the hallway where I put him. Slowly I approach the door. I raise a shakey hand and knock three times, alerting him of my presence. I turn the door knob at an agonizingly slow pace. Then I open the door. Stepping in, I close it behind me.

They strapped him to the bottom bunk with rope. I cringe, how could they be so cruel? I take slow steps forward.

"Peter?" I call out.

"Rebel," he spats. I wince at his tone. It's so different from the gentle one he used to use with me. Back when he loved. I go to the edge of the bed and fall to my knees in front of him.

"Oh, Peter," I whisper. I reach out a hand to caress his cheek. He jerks away. Tears push at the back of my eyes but I force them away. I won't cry. "Peter? Do you remember me?" I ask softly, scared of his answer even when I already know it.

"You're a rebel," he states in a monotone voice. There is no longer love in his eyes when he looks at me. There is only the emptyness.

"Peter, please come back to me," I say. He doesn't respond. I take a deep breath. "I know that you can't love me anymore. But I love you. I still do. I always will okay? I am so sorry. I'm sorry for getting you caught. I'm sorry that you were injected. But most of all I'm sorry that it wasn't me instead. I have done so many wrongs and you have done nothing. You are so perfect. You are everything I am not. And I miss you. I miss you so much, Peter. I killed them Peter. I killed your parents. They didn't recognize me, and I panicked. But I couldn't kill you. I should've but I can't. Please break free," I say. My voice breaks at the end and a lump forms in the back of my throat. I won't cry.

He remains silent. I look into his colorless eyes. He stares straight ahead. Slowly I pull the knife out of my boot. I move it closer to him. A lone tear slides down my cheek. The knife grazes his arm, making a small cut. Droplets of blood appear. I suck in my breath and wait a beat, for a reaction that will never come. Then I move the knife again. I press down and begin to move the knife back and forth. The rope starts to fray.