Author: Krokador PM
Year 7 After Split. Gifted with memories of the past the citizens of Inside have forgotten, Shin chooses to join the rebellion in the hopes of making a difference. In a world destroyed by war, her path will be everything but clear...Rated: Fiction M - English - Sci-Fi/Adventure - Chapters: 15 - Words: 80,016 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 05-30-10 - Published: 11-26-08 - Status: Complete - id: 2600922
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Prologue: Flawed Design
The world as I knew it is definitively gone, not that I had much of a chance to look at it. I feel like I've fallen asleep, only to wake up a hundred – no – a thousand years later. All that I ever believed in up to today, was my ability to cope with any situation and moving on no matter what my motivation was. All of this without showing as much as a frown, mostly because I have this permanent frown on my face, anyway.
Now, the only thing I can trust is my utter disbelief in everything I ever thought I knew in life.
War is such a short word to describe all the pain and chaos it can create. Indeed, the most powerful things are the ones called by short, simple, and meaningful words. And there's only one to describe this world as it is now: Dead. How can people still open their eyes when it's a given the pale light that shines down to blind them isn't one they can appreciate? I don't know. It feels like the core of my heart itself was placed into a steel cage at the same time this place was created. I'm not even sure why I'm still living. Why I should play this wordless song through, when I know it's going to end in a broken chord.
Rain is falling in a quiet rustling, the curtain it creates blurring my surroundings as I'm walking towards nowhere in particular, although I am aware of being on duty. What for, I may snarl, why? I keep asking myself these useless questions. Anyone who knows me, sees me as I am, can tell you without a doubt that, although I move, and speak, I am nothing but a spectre. A ghost that keeps going due to a selfish sense of pride. I couldn't live with the guilt of committing suicide, even though I'd be dead. I lie to myself, and to others, aware that they know. Yet, I still can't admit that I don't have to be in control, or pretend I am. What's the point?
Hate is probably the last feeling that remains here. Other than that, everyone is just like this steel-gray scenery; numb, stainless but rusted, solid yet weak. And I am just the same. There's no telling when I'll crumble, or when this place will fall to pieces. The cries of pain of the average population are deafened by the large composite walls surrounding us. The life on the other side, which was a matter of survival not that long ago, is now all about getting inside. There's war, there's bloodshed and there's death and sickness. Yet, I've seen a lot of people cross the border already, in the opposite way. To escape this artificial world, or the insanity of the strict life from Inside. In honest irony, the only thing they are facing when they take a step out is death. Or so we are led to believe.
So I trudge along. My job consisting of mindlessly wandering the Third District's streets, keeping an eye out for intruders - 'unchipped' beings. But I know that a time will come when they'll want me to join the army. I may be overweight, but I'm smart, and in good health regardless. As far as health goes in this rotten place. I don't think I've seen anyone ever escaping that fate. The best excuses are usually vain. Even if I could, I have none to offer. Mental instability has even become a plus for the infantry. It's just how twisted this world can be.
The government hasn't been concerned with anything but armed forces since the Split – an event that should've been called World War III - occurred. As a result of the war, most of the habitable space on the planet was destroyed by a nuclear attack. The elite established their base in the ruins of what used to be a metropolis of great size and power. On the other hand, people judged inept, or too different, were left to fend for themselves in a new, bewildering nature. In short, the Split was really just some sort of Holocaust.
And as a silent reminder of that event, nobody ever pronounces the name of that city we live in anymore. Our place - our world – is only referred to as Inside.
Soldiers were trained for power and control as a precaution. I believe we should've sought out a way to rebuild what we lost, instead. Or rather, what we mindlessly destroyed. But it's all in vain now. We're struggling to keep the people from Outside from destroying what's left of us, as we keep destroying ourselves internally.
You can say my personality is flawed, for all that I care. That I don't make sense, whether I'm coming back, every day, to a home that will never be home, to a friend that I don't feel like I know anymore, or to a bed that serves me no rest. That it's silly for me to believe I have a place in this society when I don't even know my own name. But this world, in comparison, is totally, utterly…