RISING

15

New Detroit.

It wasn't a grand city. Anyone who'd call New Detroit a "grand city" is delusional. Every block is home to another house, maybe even several, that have been abandoned, scavenged for parts. Older models of cars were left in the most inconvenient of places, the most popular being the sides of streets. If you peered into a few, you might even see your local homeless person curled up in the backseat, wondering where their life went wrong.

In retrospect, New Detroit, wasn't as bad as I first made it out to be. At least we weren't Virginia...or California One. The real, major issue New Detroit faced was Grey Skies.

Years ago, before I was born, a cloud cover formed, blocking out most of the sunlight. The kicker however, is that it wasn't a natural phenomenon. Despite how many lies the government tried to shell out, every credible citizen knew the truth. The "cloud" cover was actually carbon emissions, caused by America refusing to "go green" when it was necessary. America's trying it now, but it's far too late. The damage has been done.

Now I live in a world with a constant grey filter. The bright, blue sky was a remnant of the past. The green that adorns leaves is no longer as crisp as it used to be. The sun? Gone.

This is how we live.

The school bus slowed down and I shimmied past the kid to get off. I hopped off the bus and stumbled, my shoe getting caught in the uneven sidewalk. When I looked up, I was greeted by an armor plated vehicle. A military vehicle. The world seemed to deafen. Even the kids on the school bus quieted down. I couldn't see them, but I could feel their sympathetic stares on my back. They knew it was time.

Occasionally stealing glances at the vehicle behind me, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and rummaged for the key my mother gave me. After my small fingers closed around cold metal, I pulled it out and stuck it into the keyhole, missing it a few times in the process.

My hands were shaking to the point where I could barely zip by backpack back up, not that it would matter anyway. Opening the door, I could tell that everything was off. Instead of the normal sound of food cooking, the television playing, or adults laughing, the house was still.

I knew how it would go. Every recollection goes the same way, or so I heard. Dropping my backpack off at the front door, I rounded the corner towards the living room. Mom and Dad were sitting on the couch, flanked on both sides by two armed soldiers. Leaning against the wall was who I assumed to be their commanding officer. Upon seeing me, he walked over and placed a firm hand on my shoulder. I could see the reflection of my scared face in his sunglasses.

"Mr. and Mrs. Risinger," the man gripped my shoulder tight, addressing my parents. "We've already discussed the terms and conditions. Now that your child has arrived, we'll be off."

The man twisted my shoulder in an attempt to redirect me towards the door. For some reason, I refused to move. Tears welled in my eyes as I tried running to my father, my mother, anyone. However, before I could take more than two steps, I was hoisted into the air. The man's arms were wrapped tightly around my waist. I kicked and flailed to no avail.

In this moment, it seemed as if time itself had slowed immensely. I kicked, rocked, and screamed, desperate to free myself. Dad only crossed his fingers, burying his face in his hands. Mom's words, however, cut through the blurry haze.

Past my screaming and fighting, I heard her quiet voice say, "Marshall, go."

I stopped fighting and looked at her. I looked at her with all the desperation and fear I felt in my heart, but she only repeated that last, condemning word. "Go."

I ceased struggling as the officer dropped me on the floor. After a very hushed discussion, my mother walked me out to the armored vehicle that would carry me away. As the commanding officer opened the door for me to get in, my mother knelt down and tilted my chin up for me took look at her.