AVENIR

Introduction: Part 2

TW - Dystopian violence

Gone. My brother had quite literally disappeared into thin air. But this was no magic trick. Screaming his name, I propelled myself off the ground, clawing, grasping at thin air. He was gone. I was about to scream his name again, but then I remembered where I was and that the police were not my friends.

I quickly put out our fire – if you left a trash can fire burning too long, it was like a beacon of light for the police, saying Here are a couple homeless kids! Come and dispose of them while you can so your society can feel even more perfect! I knew if I waited for my brother to return, he would know I had seen him. So I went back under my flea-bitten blanket and closed my eyes, my heart still thumping inside my skin like a helicopter thup-thupping.

As one can very well imagine, I didn't sleep well that night. My eyes were closed, sure, but the image of him rubbing that strange piece of metal seared across my vision, the golden light surrounding him...had the light come out of the metal, or had it come out of his fingers? My brain stayed awake all night until I heard a familiar pair of feet walking towards me. Faking sleep, I stayed still so I didn't seem suspicious. My brother curled up beside me like nothing had ever happened, and fell fast asleep. I stayed still, too scared to speak.

The next morning, I woke to my brother's complaints. "Get up, sister, what is the matter with you? You're never one to sleep in!"

I ignored him.

"Alright, up, now, come on!" I continued to ignore him as he prodded me with his feet. "It's not funny, come on! We have to get mov-" He stopped mid-sentence. My eyes snapped open.

"Wha-?" I began.

"SHHHH!" my brother turned to me with a look of pure horror.

I started to sit up. "Come on, now, what's going-"

That was when two cops rounded the corner into our alleyway, guns pointed. "Don't move. Put your hands up. You are under arrest. Don't move, and you won't get hurt."

It was the end of the world. It was time to put my training to use, for the inevitable day had arrived.

My brother became one with the shadows, and they lost sight of him, yelling at each other and barreling forward to try and find him. I was still in shock, wondering how on Earth they could have found us – we were always so careful and we had never been jumped before - when they suddenly sent me flying to my knees and wrenched my arm so high up my back that I heard something pop. I cried out, and I heard a loud crack and a flash of light. Fog. Darkness, and fog. I couldn't see, but my arm was once again my own. I jumped up and ran into the shadows. When the smoke cleared, I saw my brother standing in the light, holding a gun, and the officer who had knocked me down was lying sideways at his feet. All I remember that day was wondering why my brother had shown himself; why he had come out into the light. He had always taught me to fight from the shadows. I remember hearing a second crack, and seeing a second flash of light, but this time, my eyes were forced open. I saw my brother fall, almost in slow motion. I saw him crack his skull upon the paving stones. I ran towards him, but I tripped and fell. I sprawled out next to my brother on the pavement, and someone grabbed my ankle from behind. I slammed my foot down, and I heard a deep voice yell with pain. I must have crushed someone's hand. My brother gazed gently over at me; his dilated pupils seared across my vision. Time stopped. He smiled and opened his mouth. His eyes never leaving my sight, he spoke the words that were to haunt my brain for the rest of my life. "Remember what I told you! This isn't all there is!"

I was dragged away, and, frozen in shock, I let them take me. As I was thrown inside the squad car and as my head hit the seat, I heard the same voice cry out, "There is another...!" Another popping noise, and this one shook me to the core, the sound reverberating through my body as though I had been the one they just shot. Then, silence. A door slammed shut, muffled. Shouting all around me, also muffled. A step on the gas, and we were gone. My brother had been killed right before my very eyes.

I was ten years old, the day that it all happened.

I was brought to the police station. I don't really remember what happened next, just that they searched me, put me behind bars for a night, then called me into the sergeant's office early the next morning. "Wait here," the officer who brought me into the room said, pointing to the chair facing the sergeant's desk. "The sergeant will meet with you, however, there was an emergency in Sector 32, so he will be back momentarily. In the meantime, touch nothing. We will know if you have touched anything." He left, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Two hours passed. I cried until there was nothing left, mourning the loss of my brother. I was all alone now. My grief, at times, was animalistic, as I slid to the ground, tearing at my hair, punching the floor until my hands bled from the pain. Three hours passed and still no sergeant entered the room.

Was this a test?

Four hours. Numb with pain and loss, I turned my attention to the sergeant's bookshelf. There were five shelves of books. I was in awe, remembering how my brother would sneak me into the public libraries we would pass on our travels so he could teach me to read. Most of the libraries we passed were all but remains, ever since the government released the decree that no books were to be released to the public except those written and published by the government. But this was different...five rows of ancient history! Books with the covers peeled off! Books with no spines! I listened intently for any sounds in the hallway outside; everything was deathly silent. I got up off of the ground, slunk over to the shelf, and picked the biggest book off the shelf. I took it back to my chair, blowing dust off of it and opening eagerly to the first page.

I read the title: Les Misérables.

I turned to page 1.

The doorknob turned.