Blood of Mortals

Journals

I couldn't sleep.

I'm not used to sleeping next to someone.

Sitting up and going through an old box behind my backpack, I looked through the labels.

2142.

2138.

2137.

That's the one.

It's my journal for my life in the year 2137.

It's also my first journal, given to me for my 14th birthday.

I opened up to the first page.

13 - 3 - 2137

Mom and dad gave me this journal for my birthday. They said it would help me go through my teenage years. I think they're just overreacting. I'm not like other teens.

I smiled at this entry. A kid with dreams, smiling so brightly, believing in a better world ahead.

Skipping a few pages, I read the next entry.

15 - 8 - 2137

I thought these android bodies were meant to make a better world. Why are they forcing everyone into it? This isn't a better world... it's an oppression hole. Those mindless androids just killed my cousin's family. Because my cousin was over 16 and refused, they just shot him there then took his sister to a house where she'll be transferred to an android body when she's of age. She's only 5 years old. They said we'd be better humans. If you ask me? They've rid themselves of their humanity physically and mentally.

Tears dropped as I read that one.

Why?

His sister was killed for attempting to escape.

Flipping a few more pages forward, I came to one with bloodied fingerprints.

23 - 10 - 2137

Those mindless robots killed my parents. I HATE THEM ALL SO MUCH! ISN'T BEING IN AN ANDROID BODY ENOUGH?! Must they force every human being on Earth to become a forsaken pile of nuts and bolts?

My anger burned reading this.

Then tears flooded out more.

Tears dripped on the dark red fingerprints of the journal.

That's the only thing I have left of my parents, their blood from my fingerprints.

Closing the journal and staring blankly into space, I pictured what this junkyard looked like when I first arrived.

I just escaped from the house where they put all the orphaned kids in.

I was living on the streets, broken and bruised from constantly running away from every arrest.

A young girl came to me and brought me here.

Riyola.

She was kind and brought me into a thriving community of refugees.

I pictured her and me sitting by a pile of scrap metal, teasing and shoving each other with laughter.

Kids were running around.

Adults were working on the plants and talking to each other.

In my imagination, armed men stormed in and began shooting everyone and dragging children away.

I remember what happened that day.

I was running away, dragging Riyola behind me.

She stumbled, but I only realized that when I was already hiding.

From my hiding place, I watched Riyola fight back, then pinned down.

She was shot in the head moments later.

I remember how the men left the dead bodies here, left for me to clean up.

If I wasn't so frozen in fear, then maybe I could've saved her.

Maybe I wouldn't be so alone.