A rebel group of all ages and races come together from all over the world to overthrow their collapsing politicians from every government.
I am woken up by the sound of a pause. Jerking awake, I realize that I had been listening to the quiet plink of the gutter right above my window. There was a crack, which allowed just enough rainwater to slip through one little drop at a time. Suddenly, it had gone silent just long enough for me to realize the hesitation. Slowly I sit up, wincing at the creaking in my bed, and look out my window. In the moonlit night I see what I feared: a group of people barely noticeable in the dark but wearing the dark green sashes around their waist that I've come to dread. I had seen them only a few times before, walking down the street, always together, never talking, but instead gazing at everyone they passed. Never in an inappropriate or rude manner, but at the same time, disconcerting. They constantly seemed to be on the search for something, or as I'm starting to conclude; someone.
And now here they were. A few times I had gone to town with my friends of family, and I had seen them. Every time, they always looked at me as if trying to convey that they were coming for me. Frozen by terror, I continue to gaze out the window, only to see a tall, gruff looking man gesture for me to come outside. The moment his hand moves, I fall back on my bed, pull the covers up, and attempt to believe it's a dream. Not less than 30 seconds later I hear a quiet scratching against my window. My heart skips probably seven beats, and then stops completely when I realize they have forced my window open as I feel the rush of air. Attempting a peek out from under my blankets, I see a thin woman working her way around my room. I jump from my bed, holding my pillow like a rifle.
"What are you doing?" She asks in a surprisingly gentle voice.
"Leave!" I hope that she doesn't hear my voice shake. She laughs. Reaching forward she grabs my pillow in one quick move, and stuffs it into a bag.
"Grab what you need, clothes, personal hygiene items, shoes, and a personal valuable," she pauses, "maybe two if it's small."
I blast towards my bedroom door before she can finish her breath, yanking it open. I feel her hands grab at my clothes, barely missing me. I make it to the kitchen when I hear the woman yelling something outside. I pull the butcher knife out of the knife block, holding it out in front of me with what I hope is a menacing face. She simply smirks, pulling out a gun, and taking the safety off nice and slow so I'll be sure to notice.
All I can think is: I've brought a knife to a gun fight.
I can hear the others moving into position outside my house, shouting orders into the painful silence. I see this as my last chance. I blindly throw the knife at her as I turn and run to the back door. I fiddle with the lock for a second before throwing it open and launching myself out into the darkness.
I'm completely blind except for the weak moonlight that reaches the ground. I dive into the hedge lining the back of our house, and then try to slow my breathing so I can hear. A twig snaps to my right, and I slowly turn my head, trying to see who's there in the darkness. That's when I feel the barrel of a gun pressed to my head.
"Make a sound and it will be your last," a man quietly threatens on my left. I think about calling out to my parents, warning them. It's as if he hears my thoughts, because he presses the barrel harder into my head. Grabbing my arm, he yanks me out of the bushes and pulls me to the front yard. The others stand there waiting, staring at me with hungry eyes. I can't help but feel as if they are sizing me up like a piece of meat. I try to find courage, and am met with it. I lift my head, and feel the adrenaline begin to pulse through me. Without a second thought I begin to ask the question weighing heavily on my mind.
"Are you going to kill me? What did I do?" I address this to the tall man who holds his gun to my side now.
"Well," he begins in a voice fitting his stature, "I can't say that we are going to. That all depends on the assignments you're given, and how much you're hated." His answer gains a nod of approval and some shy smiles from the others.
"Hated? Assignments? What did I do?" I repeat my question again.
"You passed our assessment. We need you to come join our forces. And I regret to say that you really don't have much of a say in it. The only power you have is how you deal with it. Now, we'd best be going." He finishes, deliberately cutting off any more questions. I then find myself in a tight circle of people, leading me somewhere. After a couple of blocks, we come to several cars, which many of them depart into. Another block, and I'm led to another car. And another life.