Reviving the Truth

Chapter one: Memories

I stumble as my arms are grabbed hold of by the soldiers' strong grip.

I jerk my arms around, flailing to keep my feet intact with the ground.

My head slams into the pavement as I force myself not to move.

"Get up," one of the soldiers spits out and reaches for my hair. He yanks me up, causing pain to race through my head.

The cloth clamped around my mouth is tied loosely. I maneuver my head around, managing to make the cloth hang around my throat.

"But my family," I say. "Are they ok?"

If I die, I'll die knowing my family is ok.

The soldier, the one with a ring in his eyebrow, pokes me in the stomach with a stick.

"We got a scrawny one. Did your family stop feeding you when they found out about you?" He taunts me.

I have no idea what they are talking about, but I'm even more alarmed now.

Is there something wrong with me?

What does he mean by 'when they found out about me.'

I've made many feeble attempts to escape from their arms, but the handcuffs digging into my wrists would disable me from even moving my hands.

It's not like I would make it far out on my own.

I've only ever had the comfort of my home and family, but I couldn't go back there.

That's the first place they would look for me.

It's clear they have no intention of answering my questions so I keep quiet the rest of the way.

We've been walking for an hour now when we come upon a large, concrete building surrounded by electrical fence.

Is this a prison?

I'm certain I haven't committed any crimes, not that I know of.

One of the soldiers places his hand on a sensor, granting us access to enter the building.

A lady with large spectacles sits with her back hunched at a round desk surrounded by paperwork.

Many by passers shoot me sideways looks and turn their heads away as if I'm some sort of infection.

Most of the doors are white and similar to our doors at home, but a few here are metal as if they're keeping something contained within them that they don't want getting out. They lead me to a metal door with many dents punctured into it.

A soldier unlocks the door and shoves me in. I slam into the hard wall, the impact knocking the breath out of me.

I turn around, hoping for a key to take these horrid handcuffs off but all I see is them slamming the door and locking it from the outside.

I'm locked in. Banging on the door would be useless and calling for help would just be ignorant.

I need these handcuffs off.

I look around me at the room, the walls, the ground, and the small glint of light shining in from the tiny crack in what looks like a boarded up window. I scan the area once again then realize: I'm not alone.

Someone, a boy, sits with his head turned towards the wall and his face buried into his hands.

I stare at him wondering why he's doing that or why we are here, and does he know why? Another thing: Does he know how to get these handcuffs of of me?

He turns around, revealing a scar across his lip and onto his face. A few strands of his dirty, brown hair fall into his face. He brushes them aside and reaches into his pocket.