The Takeover | Yoongi

Chapter One

I look down at my black, scuffed up combat boots kicking the pebbles in front of me. I find a large rock that must've been left over from the storm big enough for me to sit on and rest.

I've been walking for hours now searching for nothing, just hoping to find something different. Something unfamiliar to me. Everything is the same now.

I really don't want to be in this world anymore. I have no purpose. I'm hungry. I'm cold. I'm alone. Yeah. I'm alone.

Next to the jagged rock sat a pile of broken glass left over from a broken mirror. Or a beer bottle. It was so smashed up you couldn't tell what it was anymore. There's been trash all over the town lately.

The piece of glass I decided to pick up was larger than the rest. Why I picked the glass up; who knows. At least I found something. The glass accidentally rakes across my finger tip making me bleed after wincing in pain. I don't really care though. I'm already all scraped up and dusty and dirty from the days I've been traveling alone.

Without realizing it, I begin to squeeze the glass tightly in my fist. My knuckles turning white, and blood beginning to pour out the side. In deep thought, the pain began to feel nice. I felt something different for once.

Finally releasing my grip on it, I stare at myself through the glass. When I look into it, my face looks odd. I see what other people used to see when they look at me. My kind hazel eyes with specks of blue in them. My long hair and sharp facial features. I observe my outfit which I've been wearing since basically forever. My combat boots with black leggings that go just below my knees with holed ripped in them, a tight black short sleeved t-shirt with a red and black plaid flannel tied around my waist. Some people might've even called me pretty once.

But sadly all I see is a broken girl with a sunken face, no family, and basically no life. Absolutely nothing to live for.

Being pretty isn't what you look like. It's the risks you've taken and times you've been through that make you up as a person. So therefore, I don't know if I'd necessarily call myself pretty. I've never done anything courageous or heroic, nor do I want to. The things I've seen has sent me through rough waters that made my edges more jagged than this stupid rock.

I wish I wasn't living in this world anymore, but at the same time, I want someone to notice me. To help me. Too bad there's no one around to do so.

Ever since this madness and destruction, nothing has been the same. Nobody would ever understand what I'm talking about, but it's okay because neither do I, really. I can't help but think back to year 2048. The year of the Tornado. Yes, capital T in Tornado.

The start of all this insanity. That was the start of the Takeover.