I couldn't see the morning light that other kids saw upon waking. I couldn't see the clean stream of fresh water that allegedly ran from a fountain. I couldn't see that sun that I had been told about as I was trapped.
By choice- no.
By birth- yes.
As an invincible, I was exiled by the government that gave me bread. I was locked in a world where my entire presence was hated and despised.
As the days of my execution drew closer I looked at the walls marked with painful records. Each day drawn with a lazy line of chalkstone. Other days the marks were stained with tears.
But that day it was stained with blood.
YOU ARE READING
200 DAYS
Science FictionI was never afraid of death. I couldn't be. How could I be afraid of it when I'm as good as dead?
