Author's Note: This is my first FicPress story here. So, if you don't like my story or whatever reason, please be gentle to me. Also, I would like to improve my writing abilities. I would appreciate it if you comment; I'm kinda doubting my skills. Thanks you for reading.

Indie

A loud noise, my mother's scream, woke me. My eyes opened as wide as the sky. Parting the blankets, I swung over her bed. I looked in a quick glance that it is still nightfall. Then suddenly a scream entered my ears once more.

"Mama," whispered I.

I bolted from my room, ripping my nightgown slightly from a loose nail from the floor, and crossed the threshold to the living room. A group from The Resistance has invaded my home. It took two men to pin my father onto the floor; even then they had a hard time keeping him down. And there was one man that held a knife at my mother's throat, threatened to expose crimson.

"There's the girl," said one of them.

"Get her," ordered another

"Run, Indie!" mother demanded.

After the man that had my mom head-butted her with the handle, I ran out the door. My insides twisted with worry for my parents. The only thing that prevented me from turning back to save them, even though I'm a weakling, is the command that has been given from mother. Adrenaline rushed through my veins like a stampede. Struggling breath for breath, I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. My lungs and legs burned. My long black hair resembled ravens in flight.

I tried to figure out who is the traitor that turned me in. Was it Nadine and her husband Jesse, our closest neighbors? Sure they lived miles away, but our lives were weaved like blanket. It could be. They needed the money, especially since their baby boy was sick.

It doesn't matter now, I thought.What does is my freedom.

Turning my head, hazel eyes spotted the charge of The Resistance with my parents at hand. Now, facing forward, I noticed more of them ahead. They surrounded me, not willing for me to escape their grasp.

Knowing there is no hope for freedom, I sprinted to my parents, hoping to at least say goodbye. I heard the loud footsteps of the people rushing behind me. My heart pounded against my rib cage hard enough to scare me that some ribs might fracture.

My parents managed to take the lead and rushed to their daughter. With my legs ready to collapsed, I pushed through the pain, knowing that this will be the last time I'll see their faces. "Daddy! Mama!" I called for them with both arms stretched. They called back. The distance was closing in.

Just as I was about to touch my mother's hand, The Resistance behind me captured me. The same happened with my parents. I called for mom as I fought to break free while still extending one arm. My mom, reached for me as well, kept calling my name.

The Resistance won. They dragged me away.

"I will come back!" I promised them.

"I will find you! I swear I will find you!" my father vowed.

I watched the other men hauled my parents back into the house; they barricaded the door, making sure they wouldn't come to collect their only child. Tears stung my eyes, blurred my vision.

"Mama!" I scream, sitting straight up from bed. A six months old memory of when I was taken flashes back again. Father's declaration echoes in my head. I cry as many tears as there is a rain storm.

Letting the tears of the past memory fade, I get out of bed and stand before the sink. I look into the mirror. It has a crack that starts at the upper left hand side then slither to the bottom right hand side, parting at the middle. At times, I feel like the mirror. Broken. Disoriented. Unwanted.

I miss them so much, I think.

I twist the knobs. Water spills out the faucet. Cupping my hands, I collect the water and wash my face. I dry my face and hands on my nightgown then look again at the mirror. Crimson circles appear around my eyes. Even though I have been here for about six months, my white skin still clings to remain pale. I'm also one of the skinniest girls there; however, unlike them, I don't always get to eat because I being forced to be something that I'm not; it overwhelms me. It rages inside me like a storm. With these emotions mixed surging in me, I clench my hand into a fist and punch the mirror. Some of its shards fall like broken teeth.

My knuckles expose blood as a result. My hand throbs. After screaming in pain, I turn on the faucet once more and wash the blood away. Then I tear a portion of the bed sheets and wrap it around my hand.

A bell goes off in the hallway, a five minute warning to get dressed and wait outside the door for dress code check. Skipping brush my teeth, I rush to my closet and pull on a grey shirt and skirt.

Everyone must wear the appropriate outfits when it comes to a certain point of the day. Men must wear nice shirts and pants and women must wear a dress during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. During training, men must wear casual shirts and pants. Ladies, on the other hand, must wear a shirt and a skirt. And we have to wear pajamas when we go to sleep. Anyone who does not abide by the dress code may not eat or may be confide to solitary. And everyone must wear grey, even the officers. Period.

Five and a half minutes later, I stand in the hallway. In this hallway alone, there are at least a dozen or so girls. Though we possess different gifts and personalities, we have two things in common; we are teenagers that have been stolen from their families, and we are all psychics.

It is the same about the guys.

One by one, a Resistance officer inspects each one. I take a risk by taking a fleeting glance at them; you must look straight ahead. The officer arrives at my room. She writes a check beside my name and moves on to the rest of the girls. When she has looked over all of them, we move in a single filed line to the training grounds.

We march outside like soldiers. The air smells like summer and potential warriors. It is full of spices, making pearls of sweat flow down my face and back. The light stings my eyes. Faint bird calls gently enter my ears. The grass is the color of a Granny Smith apple.

We arrive at the grounds. Already the boys practice their skills of archery using their bows at the targets. We continue to walk until we reach the line to obtain our weapon. I watch my only friend train as I wait. His strong arms pull the string. The arrow soars and impales the target.

"Hey, you there, it's your turn," says an officer at the makeshift table.

Snapping back to reality, I jump slightly then take a bow. I amble and close the distance of me and my friend. Placing the weapon on the ground, I sneak behind him and quickly cover his eyes with my hands.

"Guess who?" speaks I.

"Um, the most beautiful girl ever is about to hand me a cool glass of water," he speaks.

I chuckle. "No."

I take back the bow and stand next to him. The dark blue eyes that belong to him cuts through my eyes gently. The wind compels his grey shirt, rippling it, revealing the hard muscles beneath. He slips his fingers through his shoulder length black hair. The sweat dripping down makes his white but tan skin glistens.

I take a moment to catch my breath. Being at the training camp for about six months, I haven't gotten used to the sight of him yet; however, I'm not sure how I feel about him. Sure I think of him from time to time, but that is because we are just friends, right?

After putting the bow down, he embraces me tightly. "Good morning, Indie."

"Good morning, Liam."

With his hands resting on my shoulders, he asks, "How are you?"

"I've been better."

His hands slides down my arms and catches my hands. Noticing something feels different, he looks at my right hand. The scrap of cloth is stained crimson at some parts.

"What happened?" he asks.

"Nothing, it's stupid."

Liam waits patiently for an answer

I roll my eyes and say that I punched the mirror in my bedroom.

"You're right," says Liam, "it is stupid. Why would you do it?"

"I relived the memory again."

"Oh…Still, you shouldn't have done this to yourself." Receiving no reply, he adds with a sigh, "Ready to practice?"

Nodding once, I face a target. Liam watches as I lift the bow. As I touch the string, an arrow appears as if by magic. After arching the string, I release the arrow. It's going, going, gone...into the ground. It disappears like it was made up of pixie dust. The red and white circles mock me, showing their circles proudly unscathed. They say to me in silent words, you can't touch me, silly girl.

"Why am I not surprised?" I say.

"You're not doing it right."

I turn to him. "Oh yeah? I dare you to hit the bull's-eye."

Liam smiles. "Alright."

I step away for him to shoot. Rising the bow and bending the string, again an arrow materializes out of nowhere. The arrow escapes and becomes a blur in the wind. It doesn't take long for it to hit the center. The arrow dissipates away.

Liam turns to me, his grin wide. His presence screams confidence and pride. He crosses his arms, inaudibly telling me yeah, that's right, I did it.

"Showoff," I say.

Liam laughs and starts walking to me. "Put your bow back up." When he stands by my side, he raises the bow a bit higher. "Lower your elbow. Now, spread your feet for a better stance. Good. Now, straighten your back." Liam places his hand at the small of my back. I jump at his touch at first, and then slide comfortably into his hand. He smiles and continues to instruct until he is satisfied.

Then he walks to the other side and position his hands upon mine and my shoulder. Electricity stings me where the warmth of our hands collide.

"Focus, breath, and aim," says Liam.

Focus? How can I when you are this close to me? And all the air in my lungs has escaped, preventing me to breathe when you touch me.

Touching and arching the string, an arrow appears. Trying my best to aim, I let go. It flies more true than the previous arrow. In no time flat, it hits the outer circle of the target; it did not strike the bull's-eye, but at least it actually hit the target. It disappears like the others.

"See, you're getting better. Just keep practicing and you'll be almost as good as I am," Liam says.

I softly elbow him in the ribs.

"Oof." He doubles over, even though it doesn't hurt him. "That hurt," he says, teasing.

"I've been working out." I bend my arm, showing off my "muscles".

"Oh yeah," he replies, squeezing my arm," it shows."

I giggle. "Soon I'll be as strong as you."

"Strong enough to do this?" Liam picks me up and spins around. A yelp leaps out of my mouth. Liam just laughs.

"Ahh, put me down!" I beg through the laughs.

"No!"

"Put the girl down!"

Our heads snap to one of The Resistance's officers. The laughter cease. Liam puts me down. I straighten out my grey shir

I clear my throat. "It's your turn."

Giving the gift of a crooked smile, he ever so lightly brushes my arm then takes aim. I observes as he continues, trying to place the puzzle pieces of my feelings toward him.