Resolution

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Perched on the edge of a small, withered oak tree, the sparrow drops again; skillfully spiraling through the air without a care in the world. Before I could even blink, it was back on the tree again, chirping in melody with the rest of the birds around him, until it finally flied off into the one thing I wish I could have. Freedom. The freedom to travel to where and when I want. The freedom to fly in the air, forgetting the bounds of Sector 45, and being able to explore the vast abyss of the sky. 

I realise the time, and shake myself into reality. I rub my eyes, and ruffle my hair, hoping this strange ritual will wake me up. No results. I drag myself into the wash room, filling a basin with cold water to wash my face. I looked into the mirror, and stared at the image before me. Some people call this image Jake, but all I see is an average teenage boy. Every morning I just can't help but to look at what I have become. My brown, slightly bowl cut hair almost covering my green, glowing eyes. I rub my eyes for the third time to bring myself back into reality.

I drag my tired body into the kitchen, and look through the various cupboards to try and find sustenance. My stomach growls, and I begin to feel desperate. No food. Just thinking about the prospect of having no food sends shivers down my spine. But the thought of starvation was not the only thing on my mind. I look around the room with a false sense of hope. I missed my brother. Steven, my brother, has been part of the military since I remember. After my mum died giving birth to me, my brother was left fending for himself and left with the burden of looking after me. At the start, Steven was paid well for his military service. But as the war overseas escalated, he began getting paid less, up until the point it became a duty rather than a job. I began seeing less and less of him, and by the age of 9, I spent months on end alone, fending for myself.

Even though I had adapted to life without Steven, there was still problems with my day to day life. For years now, any attempts by the law and order forces of the city to control crime and poverty in the poorer sectors have been futile. The sector I live in is filled with various gangs, some smaller gangs own small businesses or streets, or larger syndicates can control entire sectors. The government have long since abandoned most sectors, deeming them hopeless. Unfortunately, the poor slum like sector I live in is owned by smaller gangs, whose constant rivalry fills our lives with murder, violence and fear. No one can travel to the shops without being mugged, or, if you are unlucky killed. My journey to the store was so dangerous, I was usually robbed heading there and back. I decided to take a different route from my usual, as this trip would decide whether or not I die of starvation. I look around the kitchen to find the box where I hide all the food money that my brother had left me. I open it up and feel around to find nothing but the bare wooden sides of the box.

Suddenly, I panic. I half-jog, half-sprint to my bedroom, and frantically open my first draw, hoping to find some money, but I find none. I open up the second, empty. I move onto the third, on the brink of giving up hope I hear the slight chime of coins hitting each other, and the panic slowly settles. I count it up, and to my shock I count £3.10. I will be eating well tonight. I looked through my wardrobe, and put on a dark brown trench coat, and some dark blue woven pants. The coat is worn but it will do. I root around the room, and find a small, easily concealable knife, that I had spent weeks working on. The hilt of the blade was carved from branches that have snapped from the oak tree on the street. The rest was fashioned from odd metal that I had found at the scrap heap, and melted down on the fire, modeling it into a blade-like shape. I hide the money I have in one of the coats inside pockets.

I walk down the hall and open the door, swiftly closing it behind me. As I walk down the overgrown, desolate garden, I look back to the bleak, run down shack I call my home. Whatever character it once had has corroded away, and all that is left is a mess brick, wood and tiles. Since I can remember the house was like this, even though Steven had tried desperately to make repairs. But even with the repairs to the house, it had fallen to ruin, and nothing can change that. I finally leave the garden, and make my way up the faded street. Steven used to tell me stories that mum used to tell him. When almost every household had a car. But now, the low hum of an engine means only two things, the rich, military or gangs. As I exit the street, I turn and look at the old oak tree that sits, isolated at the end of the road; hoping to see the sparrow again. I don't.