“Inside, now!” a tall uniformed man yelled sternly, a British accent noticeable in his low voice.
Every person--adults and children, female and male--formed a neat line to a steel door. All the famished people wore the same red and black striped clothes that resembled pajamas. Only one tall young girl stood apart from the rest, tiny twigs and dirt particles tangled in her golden hair.
“Number 129, get in line!” the same man barked, infuriated, as usual.
She stared up at him, standing on his perch proudly. She took another confident step and spat on the ground below him. He swiftly blew a whistle wrapped around his neck for reinforcements. More men dressed in the same solid black uniform covered in badges ran up to the girl and roughly grabbed her scarred arms. They jerked her toward the line of people as she struggled weakly. When they finally got her to the end of the single file, they threw her on the ground, only making her dirtier. One kicked her stomach with a booted foot, not caring if he harmed her. She didn’t make a noise, but curled into a ball, bringing her knees to her chest. Since it was a weak kick, and the boot thankfully wasn't pointed, she just laid there for a moment, pretending she was in pain. She didn't want to acknowledge the fact that it didn't really hurt because, if she did, he definitely would make it hurt. The guards stalked back to their positions at the corner of the dusty field, chuckling to each other.
Number 129 calmly stood up, as if nothing had happened, and patiently waited her turn to enter the depressing gray building. The line moved quickly, though she wasn’t exactly thrilled about going back inside her home.
When she reached the heavy door, another uniformed man informed her, “Sorry, but we’re fresh out of water, sweetheart.” His voice was overly cocky. He smiled menacingly, silently asking for a sharp reply from her.
I've gone a day without water before, and I'm still alive fighting you morons. I think I'll be fine, honey, she thought sarcastically and sourly. As much as she would have loved to produce that answer, she shrugged ever so slightly and glared into his dark eyes, visually giving the sharp reply he wanted.
“I smacked you yesterday, so I’ll let you go today.”
The weak girl eyeballed him, faking a smile at the young beardless man.
He raised his knee, threatening another harsh punishment. “I never said anything about kicking, however.”
She started to walk off, limping slightly. I’ve survived one kick today, so another won’t hurt, she thought bitterly. With that, she walked behind the rest of the imprisoned people.
They destructed the line and spread out, some walking to big metal machines, others slowly walking around without a purpose. Most the children and teenagers just followed the adults, even if they didn’t know them. They had no one else to ask for help or follow around because they had been separated from their family against their will.
All these helpless and lonely people, Number 129 thought dreadfully, standing in the dead center of the space and staring at everyone around her, mentally crying. Where has your hope gone? Why do you bow down to these idiots? I can’t win this war alone. She wanted to voice her speech loud and clear, but she knew if anyone agreed with her, she wouldn’t be the only one to face torture and possibly death. Plus, she couldn’t withstand all the pain it would cause her throat.
She tiredly limped over to one of the large machines and stood beside a short man with a white beard. He didn’t greet her, not even acknowledge her with a friendly grin. Are you scared to talk? she wondered curiously yet heart-brokenly. Or have you lost the ability to speak over time?
Thinking of speaking darkened her all ready dreadful day. Her throat hurt so badly she’d just given up talking, trying to subside the pain as much as she could without medication, which no one would give her. Because she hadn’t spoken in so long, she was afraid if she spoke now her words might be jumbled and not come out the way she intended. Also, she had enough aches and pains all ready; she definitely didn’t need any more.
Suddenly, an ear-splitting buzzer echoed through the eerily quiet building, and she awoke from her sad reverie. The cogs on the heavy machinery started turning and screeching terribly, showing signs of age. When the rusty cogs fully turned, the equipment started. Time for work.
***Note to reader: I'd like to say that I do not have anything against any sort of religion. Please don't take any of this offensively. I usually don't write things this depressing, but I read a classic book and I guess you could say I got inspired XD It might not make any sense why I'm saying that, but it will! And does anyone know which category I should place this story in? I put it in romantic fiction because it will eventually be romantic, but it's supposed to take place in the future and is based off something that happened in the past. I know, confusing. One more thing: for people like me who hate blood, there will not be any gore in this, no matter how murderous the past event this is based on was. Maybe a little violence, but definitely not anything gory.
There are somethings though that I think you could add to the story to make it seem deeper if you get what I mean. Your characters are good, but I believe you could make them wonderful by making them deeper and adding some description. You can add the description and what not later on in the story kind of like a reveal of some sort or where ever you see fit. Also I think you should add more about the setting and more about how she got there, but knowing you, you are going to tell all in an interesting way in due time.
. I'm still smiling from reading all those comments, hahaha. I'll try to get the next chapter typed and edited soon for you guys!
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