It hurt more than I had anticipated. My pocketknife tore under the soft skin on my cheek, carving the mark of the one who shall be exchanged. I couldn't comprehend whether the pain was mental or physical. Was the anxiety and grieve of giving up my life causing the stinging sensation? Or was it merely the blade piercing into me? Beads of blood trickled down the dagger. The pain was worth it.
I peered into a near by puddle, and saw my reflection. The hideous x scarred across my face was unbearable to look at. The running blood turned into tears.
The sky was grey and gloomy, as it always was. Yet hidden behind the dark sky was a beam of light, trying to break through. This little light gave me a token of hope. Perhaps there is life after death.
But this token was destroyed by a shadow. The shadow of a long pole was casted upon me. Nailed to the pole was the leather box. The exchange box.
My fingers slipped through the slit on the lid of the box, and out came a crisp ballot. Hand shaking, palms sweating, I carefully printed "Elle Harris. Harris Family. Oaks Family." I then shoved the ballot into the leather box, and marched away.
Step Three. Finished.
YOU ARE READING
Exchanged
Teen Fiction"The young people's curiosity poses as a threat. Yet the elderly know too much...."
