Destiny

The beginning

"Project 1-7-9 put your hands up and move into the enclosed room to your right."

As I follow the orders of the bulky tanned skin, black cropped hair guard next to me, I step inside the dark suffocating room with no air travelling around and no place for me to look out at the creation that I created. Most of them designate it as trash. I call it unique and believable. Dozen or so ropes strangle me as I try to tug against the rope. Each tug is getting tighter around my neck. I decide to stop. Stop from being caught, stop from dying, stop from being me just for a few minutes, just a few minutes. 

The creation that I created is one of a kind. Created by just my hands. In this underground military, we have no freedom at all. A lot of us have been taken as kids or some of us were abandoned on the streets. We had to be taught how to create unique things so we were able to assist the soldiers with their missions. They never told us what it was for. Many of us couldn't take it anymore. With our freedom taken, I knew I would never get vitamin D again. I've never seen anyone normal. That is because we aren't normal. We are a bunch of nobodies, a bunch of orphans who landed upon our graves. A destiny that was chosen for us and that to a hideous disgusting one. 

I couldn't take it anymore. That is why I created a machine. A self-improvised machine that would be able to detect sudden movement and would discharge at any time. They thought it was shut, that it wasn't on. My name is carved onto the machine in big bold writing so that they would know their killer, Mae Ventura. Just a few more minutes and their bodies would explode into tiny fragments of disassembled molecules, all scattered on the floor.