The Hidden Angel

Chapter One: The Program

I never really realized how beautiful my world was until it was taken away from me. I miss so many little things, like flowers and rain and stars and the chirping of the insects and night. These little things, free to the outside world aren't available to me. They are luxuries. People like me don't deserve luxuries.

The floor is cold and hard and unforgiving in my cell. The ceiling is empty and lifeless, the room lonely and dank. My room drains all the life out of me, it is so dark and dreary. A chainlink attached to a females arm is a standard for every cell, as the guards do not want us to fight back and bruise or hurt ourselves in any physical way.

You may think I'm crazy or special or dangerous, and that's why I'm here. Sadly enough, thats not true. I'm desperately normal. Just like every other girl here, desperately, desperately normal. I'm here for a different reason entirely.

My name is Sierra, but nobody knows that, and I kind of like it that way. A name is the first thing somebody knows without just simply looking at you. It's entrusted to anybody, all they have to do is ask. Such a common thing to know, yet it has become my only secret. All of the guards have a sheet with all the information they would ever want to know about me, all they don't have is my name, instead they assign me a number. The guards don't care enough to ask my name, and my future husband won't care, he will call me what ever he likes. My name is my secret, my only secret.

I dreaded my being a woman. I never wanted to be apart of the program, I never wanted to go through the system. Graduation had become my biggest fear.

Yet here I am. Facing my biggest fears, but not by choice. If I could, I would run from them, but I can't. I just have to face my future.

I try to look on the bright side. I'll be leaving the cell soon. This dingy little home hasn't  exactly been pleasant, in fact it's been the opposite. It's really simple, just a mattress on a steel frame, a sink with a scratched mirror, a bathroom cabinet, and a few inches from that, a stall with a toilet and a plunger behind the door. An escape proof window (I've tried everything, trust me) is my only look to the outside. The side of the room with the door also contained a window, but it wasn't a window for me. A large pane of one-way glass made up most of the wall and served as a viewing station to guards on the other side. I could never do anything wrong, because I never knew who was watching. There could be someone staring in on me right now, so for good measure I stare up at it and give my reflection my best attempt of a death glare.

I don't know my fate, nor does anybody else, I suppose. There are a lot of "graduates" from last year leaving this month. I can tell from the female sobs I hear almost daily now. Sometimes they are happy cries. Other times- not so much.

As I've already told you, my name is Sierra. Sierra Holcomb. If my surname sounds familiar, well it should. I'm sure your familiar with Holcomb Industries? If your not, they are a company that provides digitalized books, mind communication chips, motorized dogs and much more.

I'm sure you've heard the story. My father went off to fight in the war. My mother knew that if they found her living alone with just me, they would put me either
A: In a holding cell ( like the one I'm in now)
or B: I would be sent to live with my uncle who would takeover the family business if my father didn't come back.

We didn't like either of those options, so we fled. My mother and I wandered the streets, afraid to go home in fear that when we did, we would be separated.

Two years later the war ended. My father said that if he was
alive he would be at home, sitting on our doorstep with roses and open arms.

He wasn't. All we found was a letter in the mailbox informing us of our loss and expressing condolences. My mom and I ran into the house to grab a few things to help us continue are life on the streets.