A Rebellion Of Flames

Chapter One

It's cold. I could feel the air seeping through the window. We had tried to keep it closed, and it had but there wasn't much we could do. It had still let the air in. This had been a problem for years, now. The best we did was put a used quilt over the window. I couldn't see out of it unless I pulled it back, but that didn't matter to me. Not then.

The howling of the wind forces me to open my eyes. I was annoyed by this, of course. I wasn't sure what time it was, but I couldn't hear the floorboards creaking so I knew nobody but me was up. It had usually been like that. I'd always been the early bird.

That's what my aunt called me, at least. She said it was an expression her great-grandma had told her. An old saying from over 100 years ago. Of course, it was still in use during the glamourous '20s and '30s but more commonly among older folk. I sat up in my bed and listened to the birds outside. My face was met with a bitter wind but I didn't mind it much. I was used to it. My blanket was sprawled neatly along my bed. This surprised me as I normally moved a fair bit while I slept.

I didn't want to get up, but I knew I had to. I had to get wood and start a fire. Soon, Auntie would be up and making breakfast for us all. I groaned but persisted to remove my blanket. As soon as my feet touched the floor, a chill went down my spine. The wood was similar to the feeling of ice in the winter mornings. I stalked to my dresser, my legs freezing as I did so, and found suitable clothes.

A pair of jeans, a long sleeve sweater, and a fur vest. As well as a pair of leather gloves I owned. They didn't cover my fingers, but they kept me warm enough. Besides, I moved around a lot. I'd be warm enough. I slipped off my nightgown and put on my clothes. I had also found a pair of wool socks that I could wear. They kept my leather boots from making my feet too cold. I was instantly warmed in my chosen outfit.

There was only one mirror in our house. It was in the only bathroom. Our quadrant was poor. They didn't get many products and because of that, we had to pay large amounts of money for them. That was the case here. My aunt and uncle decided we should have a mirror, but that we didn't need one in every room.

If you had a mirror in a bedroom in the North West quadrant, you were rich. If you had more than one building on your property, you were rich. These people would have old garages and convert them into bedrooms or guest houses. It was considered lucky. Only government officials used cars now, and most garages had been broken down in the takeback, anyway.

I needed to use the mirror, so as quietly as I could, I went through my bedroom door, and down the rickety staircase. The bathroom was there as soon as you went down the stairs. Ours wasn't very organized. There were hairbrushes all over the cabinets, medicine stretched out randomly, and our shampoo and conditioner bottles sat on a shelf above the toilet because our shower had hardly enough space as it was.

Taking a brush and running it through my hair, I felt myself wheeze when I got to the tangles. I had to brush it out as smoothly as I could. I had to look as presentable as possible. My hair finally cooperated as it fell over my shoulders like a dark curtain. Quickly, as to not waste water, I turned the tap on, wetting my hands, and wiping my face. I felt pretty clean, generally speaking.

The stairs creak and I flinched. I hadn't meant to wake anybody up. I glanced out the bathroom door and saw my cousin creeping down the stairs. Her straight brown hair framed her face mysteriously, as she looked around, clearly not wanting to be seen. "Alright there, Ember?"

She looked up, her face filled with fright. "Yeah... I just wanted to uh..." she looked down. There was no fooling me. "Damn it, Blaire," she exclaimed. "I was going to find an escape route."

"We're not leaving," I said promptly. Ember just rolled her eyes at me. It was her sister's birthday. While every other birthday had been happy and fun, turning 15 wasn't. You had to serve in the military from the day after you turned 15 until the day you turned 20. "And even if we were," I said, a grimace forming on my face "I already know the way out of here. Stop trying to find it. You won't."