Violet Eyes

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I was always a light sleeper. The riots and gunshots would always wake me up, constantly tormenting me with the loud blasts of their pistols or the rebelliousness of their shouts.

Tonight was different.  Tonight I wasn’t awoken by loud riots or deafening gunshots.  No, instead I was awoken by the sound of my best friends being murdered.

 I once heard that before the Crash, cops would knock at your door and weren’t allowed inside unless they had a piece of paper saying they were allowed to do so. Now, they just kicked in the door when everyone was sleeping; sleepy, surprised criminals were easier to arrest than awake and alert ones. They drag you out of your bed in your pyjamas to bring you outside. Once outside, for all your neighbours to see, they would shoot you once in the head, and once in the heart for a certain kill. They left your body in the street for the garbage to pick up the next morning.

As soon as I heard the door hinges creak and the door collapse onto the floor, I immediately knew that they had found us. I always knew it would come. Leaders of the revolution against the government were high up the “wanted" list, with large amounts of money on their heads; most of our suburb were constantly searching for them.

Little did they know it was the well liked twins and their little sister with the greenest lawn, the perfect rose garden and our suburb's flag hanging on our porch that were in charge of the riots. They never did expect the hardworking orphans to be the cause of all the havoc and chaos in their cookie-cutter, government ordered suburb.

I quickly dashed for the closet a d closed the door silently. It was the best place able to contain my almost kid-like stature. Being small had one advantage- being good and "hide-and-go-seek". I waited in the darkness.

They searched my house, looking for evidence of our association with the organization of the riots. I knew they found it when I heard a gunshot. Another followed quickly. Grief stricken sobs cut through the darkness. Emilia's, i thought, them being the sound of pain and loss beyond belief, but they were quickly shut up with shots three and four. I breathed slowly and silently. I wouldn't let the Body Trucks pick up another body in the morning. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of catching the rebel leaders.

The adrenaline flowing through my veins kept me alert and ready to fight for my life at any moment in time. I strained to hear, except the only thing I could hear in the closet were footsteps. They were all up stairs. Loud, heavy, intruding footsteps.

Suddenly they got louder. They were searching the basement now.

As the heavy footsteps walked across my room, I froze in fear.

I heard the door opened and I stopped breathing, afraid to make a sound. The door knob twisted and the door creaked opened.

I looked up to meet my capturer’s eyes. They were a brilliant green, more vibrant than any other green I had seen. They were kind eyes. They were eyes I knew, but didn't recognize at first.

When I did, I impulsively jumped up and hugged him. Memories flooded back. They were memories of years ago, when we were just two kids, and the world was a different place. We met when the Crash happened. The market crashed, leaving all of the average families dirt poor and all of the very rich, filthy rich. Families left their homes, not able to pay for them. Most quit their jobs because they didn't want to be found by the banks, collecting their last pennies. People stopped paying for things, stopped paying for taxes. They stopped believing in money.

With no want of money, the government had no control over its civilians. They couldn't threaten to take away their homes or their hard earned money in fines- they didn't want money anymore. The government needed power and control, so they sectioned off the country into small suburbs, controlling what we listen to on the radio and watch on the T.V. They banned any contact to other suburbs, afraid that with phone calls and E-mails, they would revolt in unison.

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