The Portum (Undergoing Rewrite)

Part Two

My mother sat at her mahogany desk, her computer showed spreadsheets and other things. She had her red glasses on, as she examined the things on her computer.

I coughed to get her attention, and my mother didn't even look at me, she carried on with what she was doing; all I got was clipped, "Hello Rose. Give me a moment."

I sat down on a sofa, looking at her. She clicked off the computer and turned to face me on her office chair. She didn't look pleased.

"Rose, what is the meaning of this? I told the receptionist I was busy..." She sighed, exasperated. "I snuck into the lift and went up, I knew you were going to say no, but I thought I'd do it anyway as it is an emergency."

My mother frowned, "Rose! You need to control your thoughts! How many strikes do you have left?" My mother seemed calm, but her tone was panicked a little. I turned my gaze to my shoes, unsure whether or not to answer. "One..." I mumbled.

She stood up and walked over, she was dressed in her suit, a smart black blazer and skirt with a blouse, her strawberry blonde hair was put up in a bun. She sat beside me on the sofa, pulling me in for a hug.

I smiled, it was the first proper hug I'd had in years from my mother. She sat up, stopping the hug. "What did you need to see me about?" She asked.

I took a deep breath and said, "I need to speak to the investigation leaders, I have to know what happened to dad. And if we're safe ourselves."  My mother sighed, "Rose honey, you can't do that, the government knows what they're doing..."

I bolted up to feet, all my emotions started to pour into one, I was furious, confused and hurt. "No they don't! If they did we would have news by now! They don't care about us, we just make them money! I'm sick of waiting for my life to mean something! I'm sick of being a puppet!" Her jaw had dropped, shocked by my outburst.

She put a hand over my mouth, her gaze flickering to the office next door. She seemed conflicted. "I know you miss you father. I do to. But this is the grief talking sweetheart, you don't mean any of this.

"No mother, I mean everything, I think-I think we should have more freedom and be allowed to think what we want to, it's not fair!" My mother pleaded with me to stop shouting, she seemed worried.

My watch let out a shrill shriek, my mother stepped away from me, shaking her head in disbelief, "You'll be fine honey, the doctors will sort you out, and clearly the grief is affecting your mind."

The office doors burst open and a rough hand seized my arm, dragging me out, I was perplexed, should I fight back or not? My mind was swirling with those thoughts, as I got dragged downstairs, into the lower floors of the tower, the deep underground.

I struggled, trying to pull away but it was impossible with the big brute that was dragging me, I squinted as my eyes started to adjust to the dim light, it was dark. I knew we were in tunnels as I could see that much. A few moments later we stopped out what seemed to be a door embedded in the stone wall, a small lamp hung beside the door. The security person unlocked the door and pushed me inside, causing me to stumble forwards and fall to the ground, if it wasn't for my tear-proof jumpsuit from school, I would have had a few cuts and bruises on my legs from the cold stone floor.

I got up, but the door was locked, I pounded on it with my fists, yelling, "Let me go!" My watch flickered and I glanced down at it, it was counting down in red numbers, it left me frowning and feeling confused.

Footsteps faded away and the guard left. My watch counted down from ten, then when it reached zero, I felt a shocking pain in my wrist then everything went black, the stone floor coming up to meet me as my legs gave out.