The Guardians

Chapter 1

Just a little bit farther. That's all, Sage told herself, the cool, crisp air of early spring making her shiver from her fuzzy gray beanie on her head down to the black slip-ons on her feet. She had been traveling for several celestial rotations, but it felt like moons and nearly every muscle in her body ached with exhaustion. Sage watched the bright glowing lights of the many cars zipping past her. Should I risk the safety of myself in exchange for some rest? She pondered the lingering thought, creeping collapse outweighing any reasonable thought in her head until she had no choice but to attempt a rest.

Every pump of her arms synced up with her heart until they were both going at a rapid pace that made her feel like she was about to explode.

The road here was long and hard; no end in sight. They say that life is a winding path, and every choice is another fork in the road. To Sage, the road was nothing but endless forks.

The breeze that had been blowing turned into a weak wind, just as a vehicle of choice came smoothly into view, sleek and shiny in the watery sunlight. In the distance, it was like a bright star, shooting through the street. The sun rays flashed off of it and into Sage's eyes, nearly blinding her. It was a red Cheeta180, the fastest and most expensive car on the market, being a hover-car and all. They were nearly worth 250,000 Leafs on the market and very high tech. When it sped close to her, she clumsily leaped onto it, thanking the stars that there had been a notice for the highway to proceed slower. She hoped the occupants didn't notice the thumping noise of a 15-solar-rotations old hitchhiker on the top of their expensive mode of transport.

Being marked was difficult enough. But being the kind of Marked Sage was made life all the more difficult. As she twisted around in her grand seat of honor and watched the passing hover cars, one of the engines blew dust into her eyes, making them water and burn. So she lifted up one of her two wings to shield herself. But still, out of sheer boredom, she continued to watch the passing cars from behind her weathered sleeve. As she continued to gaze at them, Sage saw the same pattern in every single one. The most impressive and expensive were either driven by Blanks, or by their Marked Chauffeurs. The vehicles that drove in the slow lane were basic. Rusted, broken, dusty. In just about every one of them was a Marked. Off to their low paying jobs, in a crooked society. One nearly clipped an expensive looking Parikeet as the driver shouted something at the Blank. The Parikeet owner seemed outraged, coming close enough to knock the enraged driver off the road. Green lights flashed warningly behind the pair, another Officer. Both drivers turned their vehicles away from one another, a reluctance hanging in the air. The Marked driver decidedly making one last stab at the Parikeet. Gunning the poor worn out engine, it sputtered and leaped ahead of the other, rubbing in the metallic "Marked as Equals" sticker. This seemed to be enough reason for the Officer. The green lights flashed again, all the more menacingly as the siren gave a wail. As Sage passed, the Marked driver was facedown on the hood of his vehicle with a gruff Officer relaying his no doubt ridiculous "reason" for the arrest. The Parikeet owner already out of sight. Sage slightly shook her head at the unfairness of it all, but kept her head down, not wanting to draw attention from the already aggravated Officer.

A gust of warm wind blew across her face and she settled back into a comfortable position, still thinking. Something needs to change. But how can it with Blanks fighting and prosecuting the Marked for being different every chance they get? Just the thought of it made Sage uncomfortable enough to reach down (for what felt like the millionth time) and adjust her black, worn out slip-ons. She had come across them, lying in the street. They had been fairly new, and still in the box, so at the moment it had seemed like a waste to just leave them there. Of course, she smiled, settling back to lay against the bright red top of the car and stare up at the baby blue sky, they fit at the time. Besides, the injustice of the world didn't impact her directly as of now. It wasn't her problem to fix. They would just have to manage alone, anyone who tried to fix another's problems would just get taken down as well. A lesson learned by most Marked at an early age. As her favorite writer, Chat Tomas would put it: