I no longer wanted to exist in a world that required guns on rooftops and police guards in the streets. Sirens had always been my lullaby. Haunted by two groups of people I had never wanted to be a part of was keeping me stifled inside myself. I wasn’t allowed to express my opinion in public. Death was the universal penalty. I feel mute. And deaf. But not blind. No, I’m not blind. I can see all of the ignorance. The sun and moon are blind. That’s why the world is so distorted. I never spoke up, and for that I was ashamed. Nor did I listen to those around me, for the exception of Aden. Aden made so much more sense than anyone else. My parents would try to shove opinions down my throat and would walk away as I choked. I formulated my own opinions, and Aden is the first person I’ve ever met that shared the same opinions. We were Unaffected, but we weren’t entirely unaffected.

It was today that I decided to get a good look at the place I had escaped to. Refuge was bigger than I would have imagined, seemingly more open when you walk inside. I stepped into the desolate elevator and peered at the writing on the buttons once again. Awareness. I vaguely remembered being told to investigate this floor. I pressed it softly.

Immediately after I stepped off the elevator, I could tell something was different about this department. It was deserted. Not a single sound echoed, an obvious contrast to the lobby. The hallway contained several rooms. The doors were marked by small numbers and nothing else. As I glanced through the window of one of the doors, I saw a classroom setting. Every person listened intently, as though they were hanging onto every word spoken. If they missed a word, nothing would make sense. They had to be alert. They had to be attentive. They had to save their energy until the day they would speak up. That day was always soon for everyone.

“I’ll do something tomorrow.”

“I’ll do something today.”

“I should have done something yesterday.”

I knew that’s what everyone thought. To be the hero was to achieve the prestige that every human naturally strived for. The risk, however, was too involved. Life was too precious, too easily taken away. Yet, what was there to live for? Your impressions on others were typically temporary. Unless you made a major impact, the world would erase you from its history. The memories of you would die out with the people who knew you, causing the extinction of your existence. That was the ultimate decision. Live forever or live one more day.

It was at that moment I made my choice. I was going to live forever. There was no use in living in a world this dark, this inhumane. I would be the one to change that. I would be the heroine. I didn’t want to die. I grabbed the edge of the wall to remind myself of my solidity. But this life wasn’t enough. I wanted to live many lives by way of my actions.

While this was my decision, this was also the first time I felt true fear. Life is your biggest responsibility. The blood in my veins ran cold. What if I was making the wrong choice? What if I made a mistake and wasted my chance for change? You only had one try with life. If you screwed up, you were thrown in hell, which just might be where I am now, or heaven if you’re lucky. Things weren’t this way when I was born. I was born during a slight calm. Hostilities were not as high, hence why my parents got married. That proved to be fatal. Needless to say, my family gradually grew more apart, and I felt myself growing evermore independent. I was driving at the age of thirteen. I dropped out of school at around the same time. Most education after that point was based on philosophy and religious beliefs; consequently, school’s became outdated and replaced by institutions sponsored by The CA or The ATL.

Soon enough, matters were insane. One of the only things left that we owned was our own names, and not even that stayed concrete. A law was passed forcing everyone to discard their current names and adopt a letter-number name when they turned eighteen. I was named “U-976” based on the fact that I was registered as an Unaffected. The number was chosen randomly. I never really put up a fight about it, though there were many rallies supporting the values of individuality and ethnic pride. I just fought for myself. I fought for being Unaffected. That was my main focus for quite some time, along with trying to find a decent place to stay. My parents were unbearable. I was independent and strong in my opinions. I grew in a rough environment, never able to cry for fear of being beaten. I was a stone and I showed no feeling whatsoever. The kids at school always thought I was sick, as I was, at least emotionally. I was numb to pain, despair, and hope, which spiraled me into indifference, which is worse than pain and despair combined. I was doomed to seclusion.

My whole life I had had my share of thoughts and feelings, but I wasn’t allowed to express them. They were stored away and forgotten by others, but they were bursting inside of me. While I slowly felt these intense notions rising within me, I heard a succession of gunshots. My jaw dropped in an instant, and there was a sudden clamor from inside of the classrooms. It sounded as if there were a stampede of people trying to get out all at once, like a funnel full of sand.

Knowing that hesitation would mean being trapped, I sprinted to the elevator as it filled up in seconds. When it finally reached the lobby, I heard more shots being fired, most sounded like they were outside, a few from the roof. My heard raced and almost leapt out of my chest. I felt a strange emotion at that moment, one involving the disability of my brain. I realized that in this time of panic, I could no longer think straight. The Refuge hadn’t been attacked since it was destroyed. I wouldn’t let it be destroyed again.

That’s when impulse took over. I, as well as a flood of people, left the Refuge and tried to find a source of the shooting. The first thing that caught my eye was the crimson-stained streets. Several people were already dead, and there as a general moaning sound from those who had been wounded. There was Aden. He had just climbed onto someone’s front porch nearby, a rifle in his left hand. He fired it once into the air, wanting only to get everyone’s attention.

“Stop this madness! There’s no need for murder!” Few people took notice and continued to fire at one another. He shot three more times, gaining several more gazes.

“Stop! So many people are dying! Everyone just needs to calm-”

Those were the last words that Aden said. A bullet had entered his chest, and his blood was already soaking is clothes. I felt my heart stop. I was no longer conscious of anything but of Aden’s limp, falling body. When he hit the concrete, I cried. I cried more than I had ever cried before. So many tears had been locked up inside of me. My cheeks had never felt this much moisture. I found myself struggling to reach him, but there were too many people. Too many oblivious people. The sky was dark, and so were the people’s hearts. The streets were no longer littered with trash, but with wasted lives.

I decided to make sense of the situation. I had to do something. I saw some of my dad’s friends. It was the CA that had started this massacre. I was immediately infuriated. The machine guns would not rest, and I felt that I had to do something. My foot hit something solid on the pavement. I reached down and picked up the machine gun, feeling suddenly empowered. An opening suddenly appeared, and I went for Aden. I stood on the same patio next to his cold body. He was a martyr. I would avenge his righteous death. This was the catalyst I was looking for.