Charlotte
Growing up, I was always sheltered. My parents were so afraid of me dying that they barely gave me a chance to live. They thought that spending my days cooped up inside the city under their reign, gossiping with girls my age about who kissed who and who had the best hair was something I should be extremely grateful for. I did not share their opinions.
I doubt my parents will even notice I'm missing today. They're in some stupid board meeting. They never bother to tell me what they're about. They never bother to discuss anything serious or important with me. Mom would rather ask me about my friends or if my grades in school are good. Everything is very on the surface with them.
I remember the first day I went out on my own, outside the walls. The freedom I felt, the rush of adrenaline that reappeared every time I slipped out unnoticed. Because out there I could finally breath. And the more I went out, the more I craved to stay out.
The experience was like none other, even if just for a few moments at a time. I was smart enough to know that I wasn't safe, but still, it added to the effect. The danger, the rush it gave me is what made it quite so appealing. I was addicted.
I was also smart enough to learn how to protect myself from the danger and scum that lurks outside the city. Maybe I wasn't quite smart enough.
Red, orange and gold leaves crunch underneath my boots as I tramp through the woods. The signs of summer ending are everywhere, something that would have upset me in my younger years. I was completely obsessed with spring and summer because of how bright and seemingly perfect the world appeared to be. Now I love the fall time, the sign that it's okay for things to die sometimes.
My crossbow, small in size, and gifted to me by my father on my fourteenth birthday, jostles against my back as I move. I remember when he gave it to me, the surprise I felt. I suspected he would never be ready to accept that I was growing up. I was determined to learn how to use it to please him. I demanded lessons from my Uncle Daryl until after many empty promises, he finally showed me how to use it.
I lightly smile when I find the thing I was looking for. I dared to venture further away from the city then I've ever went before with the directions of an old map I found in the library.
The old store has plants growing up the side of it and is terribly run down. I'm told in school that it used to be called a gas station. We don't use cars as transportation anymore, only horses.
I shuffle my way over to the door and examine the plants. They've grown thickly over the door, making it nearly impossible to open. I take out my knife and begin cutting them, trying to work the door loose.
I've nearly gotten through them when a large black dog comes charging at me, stepping in front of the door and barking viscously at me causing me to drop my knife. I scream. If there's one thing that's always terrified me, it's dogs.
The dog continues to bark, stepping towards me as I whimper and back up. I'm so tempted to turn and run, but I have been warned my entire childhood not to. Never let them see your fear. Never let anyone see your fear.
I begin racking my brain and trying to go through the general safety course that was taught in school in hopes of remembering the animal section.
Suddenly, I hear a sharp, shrill whistle, and the dog backs off. Shit. The dog has an owner.
I grab my crossbow from my shoulder as fast as I possibly can, my hands fumbling as I frantically attempt to load it. The dog growls at me and steps towards me again. I feel something wet drip down my cheek on either side and I realize that I'm crying. Pull it together, Charlotte. You can't let your emotions get the best of you. Don't feel.
