Escaping death

Chapter 1

I know what is happening. They think a young kid might not understand what is going on.

But I do.

This gruesome practice has been going on for more than a decade, how can I possibly evade the truth?

I remember, from a young age, my mother has always warned me. To behave well, clean records. It would all help once we'd turn sixteen. She gave me tips, how she had gone through it before. 

Once you'd reach that age, the day where you turn sixteen, Cantholians will take you away. But do not retaliate, for once that happens you are cursed by your fate. No matter how upset you are, you must keep all your thoughts inside, in your mind. You will be taken to President Cantho. Remember- kneel before in your best dress. Show 'em what you got, your skills, talents. It is not difficult. But, keep in mind, if you fail,

You will die.

The last three words. Funny how letters, alphabets can change your life. They can control you, control your mind- your emotions. For me, these words are twisting my heart, deleting my mind of everything I have ever known. Obviously I knew my fate once those words hit me. I had neither skills nor talent, much less getting the President to agree to let me live.

Canothy, a country far more advanced than the rest of the world, the country that still stands to rise above the rest after the World New War- holds a practice so brutal it cannot be stopped.

Every year, children who turn sixteen are taken by Cantholians, the people sent by the government, and sent to the President, where they are rated for the things they can give back to the community. In order to live, they need to have a value of at least a thousand dollars. Considering most people do not make it pass a hundred, few sixteen-year olds actually get to celebrate their seventeen-year old birthday.

Yet, each year this practice is still held, thanks to the 3 generations of governing by President Cantho.

My wrists are sore and bleeding, but I try to control the pain for as long as I can. I sink my teeth into my dry lips, then taste the familiar bloody substance. 

I must stay strong.

Stupid cantholians grab me hard- I feel their nails ripping my flesh apart as they hold me by the arms, then throw me into the brick wall cell. Dust filters my vision. A small bed and an open toilet is what they have condemned me to before my death for two days.

I have to get out of here.