I wish I could tell
you that I had the perfect childhood--that I spent my summer days playing in
the pond with the other children. But I was raised in prison, so it’s rather
obvious that I didn’t have the perfect childhood.
How did I get in prison, you ask? Was I born here? Nope! I’m in
prison because I’m a mistake. I’m not just a child born out of wedlock--though
I am. I’m a literal genetic screw-up.
There’s a legend that every child has grown up with--a twisted,
terrible tale--about two young people who fell in love. Their love was
strong--or so I’ve heard--but against the law, for they were of two different
clans of element powers--Oriflamme, or fire, and Galere, or water. They hid
their affair well until the girl stupidly got herself pregnant. For some
useless reason, they thought no one would notice, and that the kid would have
orange or blue eyes, like one of the parents--that’s how clan origins are
determined. When the kid was born, it didn’t work out like that. The ugly child
was a mutant, with one orange eye and one blue eye. It was a hybrid between two
elements, and that obviously made it a horrid baby monster. They killed
the father, the mother died, and the little week-old creature was thrown into
prison.
That’s my childhood. It’s pretty miserable. Every time I’m
ungrateful of my generous circumstances, I’m reminded that I should have
been drowned in the well long ago.
This is the reality I wake up to every morning, and this morning
wasn’t different. I opened my eyes to the dull gray concrete ceiling of my
cell. My thin cot called out for me to stay nestled in its warm, comforting
arms, but I had to get up. I had something to do. I swung my legs out of bed,
flinching as my feet touched the freezing floor that was as gray as the dismal
ceiling. As I stood up, I faced the mirror on the wall--one of the only pieces
of furniture I was allowed to have.
This was a daily routine of mine--standing there and emotionally
destroying myself. It’s easy. I’m not beautiful. My skin is darker than everyone
else's, my heterochromatic eyes are too big, and my body is flat and bony from
malnourishment.
“Ember Merikh,” I started in a whisper, just like I did every
morning, “look at yourself. You’re sad. Pathetic. Unwanted. Worthless. I hate
you. I hate your stupid curly black hair,” I tugged at a thick tangle. “I hate
your stupid clothes,” I straightened my ragged tank top and shorts. “And I hate
your mind. I hate that you think you’ll escape, every day, but have you ever
succeeded? No.”
I paused. “But here goes another attempt. You’re probably going to
fail, like always, but you’ll fail with dazzling grace.”
The old iron door of my cell was heavy, creaking, and had
twenty-one locks--one lock for each time I had escaped. By this time, I was an
expert at picking locks. I tugged a pin out of my curly black hair, ignoring
the wild, stray strands, and slipped it into the first lock. It took me only
seconds until I heard a satisfying click. I moved on to the next one, and
twenty more clicks later, I felt the door shutter and slowly creak open.
“Perfect,” I grinned.
The door groaned as I opened it. I cringed, hoping the Sentry
wouldn’t hear. “Slow footsteps,” I whispered to myself. “Slow, quiet
footsteps.”
I tiptoed down the corridor, past the fourteen other cells, their
occupants sleeping soundly. I giggled when I saw the clock on the wall, its
fluorescent blue display reading 4:06am. This was the perfect plan.
“Ember!”
“SHHHHHHhhhhush your mouth!” I hissed, spinning around to face the
traitor Brek Haddock.
“Sorry!” He whispered apologetically. “Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“Where?”
“Out.”
“Ember.”
“Brek.”
“C’mon, you can tell me! I won’t tell the Sentry! I swear!”
“No. Now let me leave.” I started walking in the opposite
direction.
“If you don’t tell me where, I’ll scream.”
I whirled around. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
I gritted my teeth to keep from cursing and marched toward him.
“Fine! Fine, but you know why I’m telling you? Because you’re a sad, pathetic
low life whose execution is in two days.” I lowered my voice. “I’m going to the
Wanderlands.”
Brek laughed out loud. “The Wanderlands? Darling, that’s
past Brume! That’s past the Illecience itself! Honey, you won’t last a week out
there!”
I smirked. “I’m up for the challenge. I know how to navigate a
forest.”
“Not the Illecience. That monstrosity is alive. It plays with your
mind.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know that’s just a myth. Myths don’t tell
the truth.”
“Honey, you’re a myth.”
“Exactly. I won’t be totally defenseless, you know, I’m fit enough
to survive.”
“I think you’ve forgotten that you’re frail as a baby mouse, and
the forest spares no one. Especially not the weak, tiny teenage
children.”
I scoffed. “Excuse me? I am not weak, and I’m twenty, for Eukhia’s
sake!”
Brek clicked his tongue. “Language, Ember. You look twelve. Please
get your ugly little form out into the Illecience so you can die and get out of
my way.”
I rolled my eyes, took a deep, resigned sigh, and punched Brek
squarely in the nose. I grinned triumphantly as he fell backwards, unconscious.
“You’re welcome,” I smirked. “I’ll get my ugly little frame out of here, but I
will not die. I’m not weak, and I’m not small. You’ll see.” With that, I
spun on my heel and dashed as fast as I could out of the prison.
The chilled wind nipped playfully at my ears as my bare feet hit
the rough brown cobblestones with muffled thuds. My unhealthily thin legs
pumped as hard as they could and my lungs sucked in the cold fresh air that I
hadn't tasted in months. I passed by cement tower after cement tower, their cold
metal doors glittering insultingly at me. As I neared the dirt road that marked
the border of my city of Sonder, a faint bird’s song danced daintily across the
breeze. I could see it--the end of my captivity and the beginning of my reign
of freedom.
It’s been said that you become immortal in the embrace of the
branches of the Illecience. All worldly needs are disbanded and you live
forever in a state of endless bliss. For me, someone who has been locked up and
starving for years, the Illecience sounds like a dream come true.
“Hold it right there!”
Ah right. The Sentry, doing their royal duty and protecting Sonder
from unwanted nuisances--like me. They think they can catch up to me. How cute.
I ran faster, ignoring my burning muscles and heavy lungs. Except
running from the Sentry every now and then, I don’t get any exercise, so
I’m not an athletic person.
“Halt!”
“Nope!” I yelled over my shoulder. I was so close! I closed my
eyes, feeling the wind on my face as I ran far away from the prison. My freedom
was so close. I could taste it... I could feel it... I could--
SNAP
Pain darted through my body as the serrated metal teeth of the
steel trap tore through the flesh on my leg. I screamed as my momentum carried
me further, ripping my skin off in strips. I fell to the pavement, ignoring the
tiny, razor sharp rocks lodged in my feet and now my hands, and dared to look
back at my leg. Long, deep gashes raced from my knee to the bottom of my foot,
where ragged pieces of flesh hung limply. Blood gushed from the wound, staining
the cobblestones under me with crimson pools.
“Ember Merikh. Surrender.”
Alarms finally blared and I watched the solid, thick metal gates
shut, blocking the Illecience’s trees from my view and shutting out my hope of
freedom. I cried out in pain and frustration, falling onto my back, wincing as
sharp rocks and tiny flecks of metal sliced through my tank top and into my
back.
A female Sentry approached, her sword drawn and pointed at my
throat. “Ember Merikh, surrender.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I groaned. “Sure. Arrest me.” I could barely see
through my pain.
She waved over one of the male Sentries, who scooped me up in his
arms easily. I flinched as the female unhooked the trap from my leg, the
serrated teeth ripping through my muscles as it slid out. Pain shocked through
my spine, my body spasming. It flooded my head. My vision tunneled and I let my
consciousness slip away, welcoming the cold, emotionless darkness.
