Your Battle, My War.

Chapter 1 - Changes

That was seven years ago. Now I'm sixteen and I'm still running. Still hiding. Still being hunted. The difference now is that I'm fighting back. I kick and scream, shout and swear, I have to win. They must never defeat me. They are yet to discover what they're up against and I'm yet to discover the war at all.

I still like to stand in front of the reflected glass but instead of pretending to be someone I'm not, I look myself over and see exactly what I am now and tell myself not to change for anyone. Ever. I still have my pair of shoes reserved for that special occasion, however the wind up toys and washed up pens I left abandoned in another cave else where but part of me made me keep the string (that is now more like a web) of photos and they drape and dangle around the walls like cobwebs on a summers day.

I've also become accustomed to the constant screaming shrill that splits the hazy skyline and quivers in my mind. What is it? What causes such a sound? Why do I feel as though it's my duty to rescue them?

As the noises eases back to silence. I gaze across the wasteland I must call my home. Through the blackened, twisted trees and over the cracked desert util the peaks of the towers and skyscrapers poke into the horizon. The city skyline is illusionary: hooked on a glance and caught into a mesmerising stare. Until the Amber sun sets between the tallest steeples and cuts the capital in half: leaving parts in a deep mauve colour while the opposite is gleaming and basking in the golden final hours of another day. Strips of pearly clouds cross the atmosphere and watch the bustle of sunset. Part of me is proud to have the ability to witness such beauty everyday while the other half longs for the family and friendship found only within its boundaries.

Some days I believe I could be the only existing person without the boarders to prevent me from being a exactly who I want to be. Other days I feel as if only being within those same boarders can I achieve my full purpose and recognition. Most days however, I'm just lonely. The sad and lost individual without anyone who cares or feature strongly in my life. Everyday I understand my purpose while disregarding my meaning; it's difficult to comprehend but I know who I am but I don't know what I've done or why. The truth is: is that I hold so much trust and love to myself that I need someone to give it to, I need someone to love and who loves me back, I need to realise the urge to take over and let someone else protect me instead of running from my fears. I wonder, do I really run from them? Or do I run to them? I love the energy I get from the chase, the adrenaline. The powered surges through my veins into ever ounce of my mind and body. I feel it pulse in my heart and explode in my soul. The feeling that means I'm in control. It keeps me going, keeps me fighting, keeps me alive.

As I stand in front the mirror today I see a gleam of sunlight bounce off and light up my face. I smile gently. This world is beautiful. Then I hear the click. Click-click-click. It gets louder, faster. I panic, spin and crash into the code in the corner, the space before me fizzles and I wait for the cavern to disappear completely as it does I begin my sprint to safety. I know I always outrun then but I can never hide for very long. The echoing screech sounds again and I feel every bone in my body shake. I fall to my knees and clasp my ears and head. I fold over and screw my face up to try to resist the noises. My ears ring as the noise breaks and the city is engulfed in silence one more. I clamber up and stare into the distance, past where my safe haven lies and onto the horizon. How can I fell so alive when everything around me is so dead?

I drag my feet underneath my body to allow myself to walk until I reach the lake. Some days the water is a crystal clear blue and I see straight down to the bed, on other days the liquid is a murky, sludge brown or green. I love it most at sunrise when the bath swirls and spirals like fire, a sparkling sea of molten gold. I stick my head in and flip back in one breath allowing my hair to drip and I feel the drops of water cascade down my back. I rub my shoulders and massage my neck. I tug on the ends of my ebony hair and pull it all up so I can twist it into a careless braid on my crown. I outline musical features with my fingers, my arched eyebrows and round nose, my chin is defined and my ears poke out gently between wisps of hair. I've Sen the girls in the city with gems and beads dangling from their ears and jewellery hanging around necks and wrists. I wish I had something shiny and precious. Something that made me feel pretty and special.

I watch the water ripple. I thought I was alone. Then the clicks begin once more. The sound of boot heals on cracked soil. My heart races but I know there's not enough time to run. I turn and as I do so, I ball my hand into a fist and aim for a shoulder. But this man is tall and instead I graze his ribs. He throws me into the ground and let's someone else kick me, hard. It's like the life is being beaten out of my body. I double over and attempt to crawl away on my knees but my arms get wiped out from under me and I collapse back on to the solid earth. I've never been beaten. I've been caught and been able to fight them off. Not this time. Something here is different. It isn't normal. I can't move. I feel my ankle being crushed and a hand grips me round the waist. I'm hauled to my feet and try my best to balance but my limbs fail and I topple into someone's arms. I believe children play games of trust, they fall back into a friends arms and allow themselves s to be caught. Their arms wrap my body and I cannot physically move any muscle.
"Are you sure this is her? I thought she was nineteen. She could weigh less than a twelve year old!"
"Of course it's her! Who else could it be dimwit? Yes, this is the girl now sling her over and get her to the blade."

They're going to kill me, death, by being knifed. With a new bulge of adrenaline forcing through me I realise I have to move, and fast. A bring my knee up and force my leg down with as much strength as I could muster. I hear the crunch and a cry of pain, I'm released and swing an elbow at an angle into the taller man. As he bundles on the ground next to his helper, I stamp home hell into his gut and pause just for a second to look at the damage: the first person has blood pooling on their trousers from my kick and is out cold with a bang on the head from hitting the floor. The other he a bruised eye and a bleeding nose, probably broken. As I turn to go I notice the click of a camera and watch a photo shoot to the palm of the photographer, the tall masculine figure. A bloody finger squeezes the snapshot and shoves it between his jacket. The first evidence, I am real, I exist. But now they know exactly what to look for and who I am.
The earth shatters with another scream and I decide that one photo is possibly the only way they have of proving who I am. I leave and run like I've never ran before. I reach my cavern and fold myself into my bed and let sleep take over until the morning.