The Map That Leads to You

Chapter One: Illness takes over

My mother blew her nose into a tissue as she sniffled quietly. We were hidden in a miniscule closet that could barely hold my short breaths. My mother struggled to hold in her tears, and begged to God they wouldn't find us while she snuggled my tiny head to her stiff chest. She ran her fingers deliberately through my soft, chestnut brown hair and beseeched me not to make a sound. I remember hearing footsteps groaning on the wooden floor boards towards our small, hiding place. Mother pressed her freezing hand securely against my blue lips. A hand was set on the closet, and mother tried her best not to panic, but before we could do anything, the door was violently swung open.

The men that were dressed in military uniforms grabbed my mother's petite arms and held her hands to her head. Their faces were covered with gas masks; their hands were covered with gloves and their clothes were stained with blood. One of the men injected a serum into my mother's arm which appeared to make her drowsy as she began to choke. I quickly pulled my arm away. I knew what they were doing to my mum was extremely wrong, but I didn't understand what was going on. My weak arms could not fight off the enormous soldiers. I was only ten years old.

Soon after I watched my mother being murdered, I remembered being smacked sturdily in the head and blacking out. I couldn't get the image of my distressed mother out of my head. I didn't know where she was, and this was the first time in my whole life I was away from her. I was tremendously frightened, horrified and strained. I just wanted my mother to be there for me. In my head, I could picture her sitting in a dusky room, handcuffed to some piece of metal. I could picture her rattling her arms, trying to free herself and shedding heavy tears. But then the sound of the heart monitor beside me interrupted my thoughts and awoke me.

The next thing I saw was a colossal, white room. It appeared to be a hospital because there were doctors wearing scrubs and shining flashlights into my eyes. "The hit you gave him could've caused neurological problems. What happened to the 'no violence whatsoever' rule?" The doctor was speaking inaudibly to the soldier. The soldier that smacked me in the head. "I had to do it. We couldn't keep him watching his mother." After that, the anesthetics had started kicking in, and I went back to seeing nothing but pitch black once again.

...

Eight Years Later:

The sun shone luminously through my window as I folded my blanket slowly in my arms and set it down on the bed. Clearly, it wasn't a bed, it was just a sturdy block of metal I laid on whenever it was time to sleep. Whenever I slept on it I could almost feel my spine snap and crush into a million pieces. Philip, Iris, Andrea and Adam had already left to join the rest of the people for the morning jog. It was a compulsory activity, but I didn't go because I had managed to convince the professional athlete I had life-threatening exhaustion. I peeped outside the window, and watched as Iris stretched her arms upwards to the sky and put her brunette, silky hair into a messy bun. She ran into the building a couple of seconds later, while talking to Andrea. Her cheeks reddened as she sniggered at their inside jokes.

"Attention please! All of you may now come to the cafeteria and eat lunch. Lunch is ready. Please pass by Mr. Martin Mane to sanitize your hands before beginning your meal." The speakers blared aloud, commanding us to make our way to eat. I slipped on my loose jumpsuit, which was dark grey. Today was a gloomy day for me. It was November 21st, the anniversary of my mother's death. I tried to ignore my feelings and resume my day, just like every other day but I couldn't stop remembering the memories we shared. I remember the first time we got ice cream together from a little truck outside. It was chocolate and drenched in chocolate syrup. I remember how it dripped down my chin, and on my shirt. And I remember how my mother shouted at me for messing my shirt up afterwards. Good times.