There are old legends of powerful life forms who travel around, saving lives everywhere. These stories that are passed around, just to keep morale up are sometimes believed. But there are many who don't believe there can be good int his universe, and I don't blame them, for what they've been through. The legends that we're told describe beautiful, unchained planets which still thrive in their incredible nature. We don't see anything like that around here. They describe fights between good and evil, the good always winning.
But I've lived here long enough to know that can't happen.
There's an old man who sits in the corner of my shelter. In the firey wasteland we live in, there are a few kind souls who'll try to support everyone. For some, it's every man for himself. One day, a man walked up to my shelter and asked for a cup of water. I explained to him that we didn't have water here. There were limited rations given out daily, and only the stongest would win the fight for it. He seemed to realize where he was. His name is No. 305.
No. 305 don't think the lengends true. Coz No. 305's been he so long he's given up, waking up every morning to find his nightmare is real after all. Every morning he asks me:
"Is it over yet?"
I reply "Tomorrow."
I think it helps him.
I'm stuck. Stuck as No. 305, because we both understand where we are, and there's no escaping a detention camp. I still know my name, but no-one uses it. Most people have fogotten. There's something about this place which makes you forget things.
It's Matthew, my name. Matt for short.
I was born here, into a war, into confinement.
My mother was killed after I was born. I never met her.
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Born Into Confinement [ON HIATUS]General Fiction
My name is Matthew. I was born out of war and frustration, from what I've been told. I've always lived in this stupid detention camp, for what? I don't know. I never met my family. Maybe it's time to find out.