It would hurt to see my own family burn at the stake. My family hadn't believed in many things, but now it was time to believe that something was coming, and it was approaching us all fast.
At exactly six in the morning, I roll out of bed, the sheets tucked into my pajama bottoms. My eyes droop over, layers of the morning sun blind me, and my hand crosses over the shade and pulls it back to cover the sun from creeping in. My eyes glance over a hairbrush that still had hair remaining on it. Red, brown, and even blond hair was collected from the small bristles of the brush.
I brush thoroughly, causing more strands to fall and lightly land on the floor from the strong grip of my left hand brushing through it. My room is lit by only one candle, it flickers on and on for days, without going out. The room is dense, and humid. Humid from the hot summer days and dense from the two extra beds that were slightly close to my bed.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow go passed my bedroom door that was ajar. Snickering from the other two that lived in my room came from the hall. I reach down to pull my white tank top over my head, and dried out, over worn jeans over my waist, and tie my boots up. My hair is then tied tightly into a high ponytail.
My eyes glance side to side as the brown walls begin to open up into the outside. We lived in the middle of the forest. Our territory had stretched four miles out; our territory stopped at the borderline of Wisconsin.
"If you must, can you please spare us another story, Cori?" The two boys from the hall spoke at the same time.
"I suppose," I moved my hands over to the small bench that is near the house; it was near the point of collapsing if one more person sat on it with me. Luckily, it didn't this time.
"What story would you like to hear?" I ask, my eyes closing for a slight moment.
"How we all formed. How the government fell apart, and we are all savages now." The ginger boy, who I nicknamed Cheeto, spoke.
"Alright," I sigh, "Grab your friends, and I will tell you."
The two boys broke off in search for their friends. Although I am a liar, I managed to sneak away this time, and get away with it.
I sneak behind the rustic cabin, and grab an ax that the men of the grounds are supposed to use to collect firewood during the winter, and to create new homes for newly wedded couples. Our village has a population of exactly five hundred and fifty four.
Smoke from a nearby fire is peaking and the smell of pig drives through my nostrils and causes my mouth to drool.
I run, my feet balancing each step I take. Each stomp causes a noise, and each step makes the hunting easier, since it alerts the others in the territory over ours to come out and look for any wanderers to kill.
Inside my head, there is a game of hangman going on, and this version of hangman doesn't include filling in letters, it includes finding a way around the territory to get my reward-which is the pig.
My body falls behind a tree, no scars on me, but my head is alert, and it forces my brain to translate messages to each part of my body; making each section be prepared for combat. I yawn lightly, letting the sound only be heard by me.
I listen closely; there are footprints, and an ax is laying only inches from me. My hands creep over, small bits of sweat beating down, and my heart is pounding; its beats feel like rocks being tossed at me. I see a body move through the grassland, and the trees are camouflaging me. I can see him.
The ax, planted in my hands, goes swinging, and deep into him it goes; the body falls, the blood dressed over my clothes, and the weight that was crushing me before was now gone. I pull the ax out, and it is now quiet. The smoke is still in the air, and the fire is only three feet from me. I can smell it, and I could feel the burning sensation from the fire in my hands. I licked my lips, and walked towards my reward. I pick it up and run back before anyone else could see me.
The backdoor to the cabin crashes into the wall, as I quickly run to the kitchen, and throw the pig into the small fridge. No one else is around me, I feel discouraged but happy for what I did. Although I didn't set a good example for any of the kids in the territory, I did however capture dinner.
Inside of the cabin, there are exactly three bedrooms-one for children, the other for weapons and food, and the other for adults and scavengers that we find while hunting for food. We eat like savages, and we live like savages.
"Corina," a light voice calls from behind me.
"What is it?" I snap, but as soon as my body turns, I am met with a face that frightens me.
"What have you done?" The man, about twenty, asked. His hair was shoulder-length, it had lacked a trim, but it was washed.
"The pig?" I question.
His eyes roll back, and he crosses his arms making a broad statement. "Why did you take that?"
"What else was I-" he raises his hand.
"Don't give me that same crap; I don't want to hear it." He calmly rests his hand on my shoulder and guides me to a table with two chairs. "You know hunting is not meant for you women, it is only meant for us men-that is what the treaty states. If you want out, then you know we have to kill you or sell you to a territory as a slave." He moves his hand down to my wrist, and he begins to thumb it.
"I can't be a housewife forever; I need a hobby." I spoke.
A slap went across my face, and a stinging sensation came after the hand struck me.
"As your husband," he wagged his finger in my face. "I am bound by this fucking treaty to keep you out of trouble, and to keep you and the boys safe. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go and return that pig back, and try and figure out a punishment."
He gets up, and raises my chin, but I turn away. He grabs again, this time his fingers forcing pressure onto me, and kisses me lightly. "That's all I wanted," he walks out then. His head is stiff, and his eyes are a remark of the devils.
His name is Pierce; we were betrothed. Our parent's didn't arrange us, but the community did a while ago. Many families were murdered, and many children were kidnapped. Luckily, I wasn't amongst the few that were taken. Pierce came from a family that was big on the marines, and every vacation they took was to a base camp, where they had learnt all there was to surviving the anarchy, and to surviving the fall of the U.S. government.
Most of us weren't ready, but we had to prepare quick while we were on our own in the wild. What we have started isn't a war, but a new way of surviving rural America.
