The Last Testament Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

I felt an unsettling tremor ripple through my body as an icy chill wrapped around my spine like a suffocating shroud. My heart pounded heavily within my chest, each beat echoing in the hollow silence of the room. I looked down into the casket, my vision blurred by unshed tears, and knelt there, the world around me fading into a blur of muted colors.

My friend’s voice pierced the stillness, a haunting mantra: “Miranda—I'm so sorry.”

She kept repeating it, her words drenched in remorse, as if they could somehow bridge the chasm left by this unbearable loss. But I couldn’t respond. I felt like a statue, frozen in time, the weight of grief pinning me to the ground. Each syllable she uttered resonated painfully, a reminder of the finality of what lay before us.

I wanted to cry out, to scream against the injustice of it all, but the words lodged in my throat, a heavy lump of sorrow that wouldn’t break free. All I could do was kneel there, lost in the fog of my despair, feeling as though my heart had shattered into a thousand irretrievable pieces. The world felt impossibly dark, and at that moment, it seemed like I would never find my way out of this suffocating grief.

I lost my mother, my everything. She was more than just a parent; she was my rock, my confidante, the one who understood me like no one else ever could. With her passing, I feel as if I've been cast adrift in a stormy sea of solitude and despair. She was the last thread of family I had, the only link to a past filled with love and warmth. Now that she’s gone, the light in my world has dimmed, leaving only shadows that whisper of what once was.

Days stretch into nights, and I find myself grappling with the crushing weight of grief. Memories flood my mind, both a comfort and a torment. I replay moments of our time together—her gentle smile, unwavering support, and how she held my hand through life’s storms. Yet, every memory is laced with the painful realization that I can never create new ones with her. I feel lost, wandering through a foreign and unwelcoming world without her guiding presence. The void she left behind is immense, and I fear that I will never find my way out of this darkness.

“I apologize, young lady, but we need you to step away from the casket; the service will begin shortly,” one of the Mortuary Guardians stated with a tone that brooked no argument.

I merely nodded, feeling the heaviness in my chest, and rose to follow Alex as she led me to the second pew. The atmosphere was charged with a thick, somber weight, and I could sense the eyes of the crowd upon me, a mixture of pity and curiosity.

As we settled into our seats, the Harbinger ascended the stage with a somber grace, his presence commanding attention. He tapped the microphone twice, the sound echoing ominously through the hushed room, and took a deep, steadying breath before speaking.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and all present here today. We gather in this solemn space to mourn the tragic loss of Evelyn Roland.” His voice, rich with gravitas, filled the room.

“Evelyn graced the world with her presence on May 22nd, 2005, only to be cruelly snatched away from us on February 23rd, 2045. She was married to Nathaniel Roland, a name that echoes with a sinister resonance—executed for his heinous involvement in terrorism on June 22nd, 2038. Their lives were marked by tragedy; their son Elliot succumbed to a brain tumor at the tender age of seven on April 8th, 2040.”

The Harbinger paused deliberately, allowing the weight of those words to sink in as whispers fluttered through the room like restless phantoms.

“But there is hope still. Her daughter, Miranda, stands before us today. She describes Evelyn as a loving, nurturing, and astute woman—an ever-seeking truth. Tragically, just last week, Evelyn was confronted with a harsh reality: Life can be a relentless torment. Last night, we evaluated her existence; her actions weighed meticulously against the heavy scale of morality. Regrettably, her good deeds paled in comparison to the shadows that loomed over her life…”

At that very moment, my fists clenched tightly at my sides, the nails digging into my palms as my heart pounded like a war drum in my chest. A storm of emotions surged within me; the sadness that had weighed me down was quickly simmering into a furious rage. How could they say such things? My mom wasn’t a terrible person—far from it! She was our protector, the one who dedicated her life to making sure we were safe and loved. She was the first to wake up and the last to sleep, always making sacrifices that went unseen.

MY MOM NEVER DID ANYTHING WRONG! Those words echoed in my mind like a battle cry, fueling the fire of my anger. It was unjust and infuriating to hear anyone speak ill of her, to portray her as anything less than the devoted mother she had always been. My face flushed with heat, and I could feel the intensity of my feelings rising like lava, ready to erupt. How dare they judge her without knowing the countless nights she spent worrying for us, the tears she held back for our sake?

“SHUT UP!” I exclaimed, my voice slicing through the tense atmosphere like a knife.

The Harbinger fell silent, an unexpected hush enveloping the room, heavy with anticipation. All eyes turned to me, wide with shock and disbelief. My heart raced, a frantic drumbeat echoing in my ears as I struggled to steady my breathing.

“Just shut up! PLEASE!” The desperation in my voice hung in the air, raw and pleading. My pulse thundered as I stepped forward, locking eyes with the figure cloaked in darkness.

“You said there was some good! So talk about that!” The words tumbled out of me. I sat back down quickly.

Alex’s jaw dropped, and she had a slight smile. “Okay then. Let’s have a song, followed by some words from her family and friends.”

With a final nod, the Harbinger stepped away from the microphone. A woman in a long, flowing black dress moved to the center of the stage, her expression a mixture of solemnity and grace.

She took a deep breath, her voice steady yet haunting as she began, “I hope you did well. I hope you were kind. I hope you always took a moment to think twice before you spoke or acted in a way that could bring hurt to others. I hope the good you brought into the world outweighs the bad, or else you’ll face a very lonely and sad eternity.”

As her words resonated throughout the room, a hush fell over the crowd. People leaned in, grappling with the weight of her message.

“On the scales of existence, does it show good or bad? On the scales, does it represent life or death? When you reflect on your choices, does it evoke a sense of fulfillment, or does it leave you with nothing but regret?”

Her voice grew stronger, rich with emotion, but I found it increasingly difficult to focus on her melody. My heart felt heavy as I processed the moments that led us here—the shared laughter, the cherished memories now overshadowed by grief. How could anyone find solace in this somber reflection after everything they had already said? The room was thick with sentiment, and I just felt exhausted.

As the woman continued her song, I could hardly absorb the words. Each note seemed to amplify my frustration and sorrow. I felt trapped in a whirlwind of emotions, desperately wanting to escape this wave of melancholy swirling around me. I was fed up, longing for an end to the relentless reminders of sadness that filled the air.

“Miranda,” the singer began, her voice resonating with a gentle authority as the spotlight illuminated her figure, “I truly hope you find a way to learn from your mother’s choices and avoid actions that you might one day regret.”

Her soft, compassionate eyes locked onto mine, contrasting sharply with the turmoil and anger that brewed within me. “Now, if you would, please step forward and share a few words about your mother.”

With a heavy heart, I rose from my seat in the commodious pews of the temple, my footsteps echoing slightly as I made my way to the stage. The energy in the room shifted, a palpable mix of sorrow and anticipation swirling around me.

“My mom was a loving woman, someone who cared for every single person she encountered,” I began, feeling the weight of everyone’s expectant gaze. “She gave love so freely...” I glanced nervously at the Harbinger seated nearby. His piercing gaze was fixed on me, his expression a mixture of scrutiny and disapproval. I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing as I continued, “What these people have shared about her today is—”

His intense stare bore down on me, causing me to falter momentarily. I took a shaky breath and forced myself to push forward.

“—completely true. But there’s one crucial lesson I want all of you to take away from my mom’s life: being rebellious comes with consequences.” My voice trembled as I paused to collect my thoughts, struggling to balance my emotions.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is... I love you, Mom. And I’m grateful—grateful for the valuable lesson you taught me. How not to be.”

Just as quickly as I had begun, I felt the tears welling up, and I ended my statement abruptly before hurriedly leaving the stage, the weight of grief crashing down on me. As I raced out through the backdoors of the temple, the cool air hit my face, but it did nothing to soothe the burning anguish inside me. I collapsed onto my knees in the sanctuary of the empty alley behind the building, sobbing uncontrollably as the finality of my loss enveloped me.

“Miss Roland,” a deep voice interrupted my sorrow, and I looked up to find the Harbinger approaching. He sighed heavily, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder, though it felt more like a chain than a reassurance. “You understand what this means now. You’ll have to go to an adoption agency.”

No words formed in my mind, so I remained silent, my heart still heavy with grief as I once again turned my gaze downward. I could hear the faint sounds of the funeral winding down, the muffled conversations of attendees banking the ache in my chest.

Finally, when the service concluded, I found myself driven to “Unity Children’s Home.” There, I was paired with another girl, my new roommate, Tessa.

I opened the door and examined the room, it was painted grey, there was two beds and two desks, with a window in between them. At the very front of the room was a small television on a stand, beside it a radio and a rack of clothes to be our closet. Tessa was lying down listening to music when I walked in.

“Hello.” I said softly, she didn’t verbally respond but she did wave her hand.

“I’m Miranda I’m your new roommate.” I set my bag down on my bed and began to unpack.

“How long have you been here?” I asked quietly, trying not to pry.

“Twelve years, two months, and one week.” She replied.

“I’m-”

“Don’t apologize,” she interrupted. "You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Ok.” I thought for a second about things to talk about. “What song is this?” I asked.

“It’s Love by Jolta.” She replied.

“Well, she sounds pretty.”

“It’s not a she. It’s whatever the crap they identify as.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head “All these genders crap. It’s so annoying and confusing. Even the song is confusing! I’m sick and tired of it.” She whined.

“Why do you listen to it then?” I asked.

“DO YOU- Wait- you’re new here, my bad. There are 5 radio stations: one is a bunch of sermons of unity, one is rap and rock, one is pop and country, one is children’s programs, and one is news. The television has twenty channels: four for sermons, five for news, one for children, three for teens, three for adults, two for music videos, and one for game shows. All of which are watered down by their propaganda.” She explained, “Just be ready to hear and see a lot of things you don’t want to.”

Later that night, I lay in bed, staring out the window into the darkness, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me like a heavy blanket. As tears began to carve their paths down my cheeks, I felt an overwhelming sense of despair wash over me.

"Is there anything worth living for?" I whispered to the night, my heart aching as I slipped into a fitful slumber.

In this dream, the world transformed around me into a breathtaking landscape. I saw my brother, laughter contagious as he darted through a vibrant field of wildflowers, their colors splashing against the canvas of the sky. Each bloom seemed to dance in harmony with the wind, creating a scene alive with happiness. Then, in a moment that felt timeless, my dad knelt beside my mom, offering her a bouquet of the freshly picked flowers. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she graciously accepted the gift, the corners of her mouth lifting into a tender smile.

In that idyllic moment, I caught a glimpse of myself—free and unburdened—grinning widely as the warmth of familial love enveloped me. Just then, a picnic basket appeared before us as if by magic, filled to the brim with our favorite treats. We settled down on a blanket spread out beneath the golden light of the sun, laughter filling the air like a sweet melody. My dad, gathering us for a moment of gratitude, began to pray.

“Dear Father…” his voice rich and comforting, but the serenity shattered abruptly.

Without warning, darkness engulfed the scene. A soldier emerged from the shadows, a figure of despair with a chilling weapon in hand. Time seemed to slow as the air turned thick with tension. As he pulled the trigger, a deafening silence enveloped us, and the fleeting happiness of that moment was brutally extinguished. The vivid colors bled away, I jolted awake, my lungs burning as if they were being squeezed by invisible hands. Panic surged through me like a tidal wave.

“Oh Father,” I gasped, my voice trembling, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t even know who you are, but if you are out there, please—please help me! I’m lost and terrified.” Tears streamed down my cheeks, blurring the edges of my vision as I clung to the desperation in my heart..

I had yet another vivid dream that lingered long after I woke up. In this dream, I found myself in a flowing white dress, the fabric soft against my skin as I walked down an aisle that was a striking blend of sunflowers and poison ivy—two plants that always captivated me with their beauty and danger. The sunflowers radiated warmth and cheer, while the poison ivy added an unexpected edge, a reminder of nature's duality.

As I walked alone, a sense of serenity washed over me, only to be shattered when a man suddenly grabbed my arm, his grip tight and urgent. In an instant, the scene shifted dramatically; I was pulled against a cold, unyielding wall. My heart raced as he yanked a gun from his waistband and pointed it at me, his eyes wild with desperation.

“RECOUNT FOR THE EVIL YOU HAVE SAID!” he screamed, his voice echoing in the heavy silence.

“I HAVEN’T SAID ANY EVIL!” I shouted, panic surged through me, and I could feel my body tremble uncontrollably; my voice tinged with disbelief and fear. He began to pull the trigger.

In that moment, the gun slipped from his hands and clattered to the ground, breaking the tension like a sudden gasp of air.

“WHERE DID SHE GO—” he exclaimed, pacing back and forth, his anxiety palpable as he raked a hand through his hair. The desperation in his voice struck me; it was as if he were grappling with something far beyond me.

“FORGIVE ME! GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE!” he cried out, ,

“MIRANDA!”

I jolted awake, feeling a firm hand shaking my shoulder. The fog of sleep clung to my mind as I blinked against the dim morning light filtering through the curtains.

“MIRANDA, WAKE UP!”

I shot up in bed, heart racing.

“AHHH!!!” I gasped, a surge of adrenaline coursing through me. Then, recognition set in, and I sighed in relief.

“Oh, Tessa, it’s just you. What time is it?”

Her face was illuminated by the soft glow of the early morning, her brown hair tousled and wild as if she had just rolled out of bed herself.

“It’s 4:30,” she replied, checking her watch, the silver gleaming in the faint light.

“Roll call is in thirty minutes, breakfast in an hour, then chapel, and then school.”

I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

“Do we get free time?” I asked, my voice thick with lingering drowsiness. I always cherished those fleeting moments of freedom, a precious reprieve from the structured chaos of the day.

“6 to 7:30 is free time,” she confirmed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. “But if you arrive later than 7:30, you have to do chores the next day instead of enjoying that time.”

A shiver ran down my spine at the thought of the dreaded chores. The weight of the day ahead settled on my shoulders, but somehow the anticipation of the impending freedom kept me motivated. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and planted my feet on the cold floor, ready to get the day over with.

I put on my uniform a baggy shirt, with loose navy pants, and black tennis shoes; I brushed my hair and braided it; Tessa turned on the news on the radio.

“Good morning, New York!” Said the announcer in a cheerful voice I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman with how androgynous it was.

“I hope everyone is having a wonderful day so far, today, we’re calling on some rain and thunderstorms starting around noon followed up by heavy winds. Please, no one burn anything. Despite all this rain, the air is still arid. Now, we’re going to Jae Kalvin to give us our daily news heading over to you Jae.”

“Hello everybody, two dead bodies were found on Main Street they’ve been reported to be a twelve year old boy and a twenty-three year old woman, gas prices have rised another 3 cents, but remember it’s all for the better of the U.S.A. Archon Gideon Silas will be giving a speech later today at 7:30. Make sure to tune in. This has been Jae Kalvin I hope everyone has a safe and a great day.”

How can they be so calm I wondered to myself “Is it always like this?”

I asked Tessa “What do you mean?” “The news. Why are they so calm with all this chaos?”

“Because the more wars, the more deaths, the more chaos leads to more views, more money, more ‘unity’, and more people led astray. Plus, tonight we have to listen to the Archon give his speech, so don’t be late.”

I walked over to the desk, picked up a hairbrush, and began to sift it through my hair.

“What are the classes like?”

“Four core classes, three electives, which are each an hour, lunch is thirty minutes.”

“Chapel?”

“It’s an hour long, we sing, hear a sermon, pray, and are dismissed.” Tessa looked miserable explaining this but she also looked used to it.

She had her dark blonde hair pulled up into a bun, she put on mascara, and eyeliner.

“You look pretty.” I said trying to lighten up the mood.

“It’s uniform. Everyone is required to wear it.”

“Even the boys?” I asked shocked.

“Even the boys, we don’t discriminate even if it’s wrong.” She stopped and turned her head at me.

“How do you not know this?” She asked.

“I lived out in the country, I didn’t get out much.” I explained.

“Well welcome to the wonderful big city orphanage!” Tessa exclaimed loudly in a exciting yet depressing voice, “No one looks different, we all follow the Unity Code.” She finished with a soft voice.

“Can you help me put on the make-up?” I asked.

“Sure.”

The Mascara made your eyelashes long and thick, the eyeliner went all over and had a curved tip. I looked pretty, so did Tessa, but I could not imagine how a man or even a young boy would look.

I was confused about everything, if we were supposed to be exactly alike then why are there male and female, why not just females or just males, why does everyone look so neutral, if you’re not a male aren’t you female, or if you’re not female are you not a male, and if you’re neither you’re nothing, aren’t you?

Tessa walked over to the door and opened it, she gestured her hand towards it “Come on, let’s get going.”

I walked out the door and through the hall, it wasn’t as dreary as I remember it from yesterday. The color of the walls were yellow like a fresh lemon and the doors were white.

There was a few other kids up but they were all younger so we didn’t bother talking to them. Tessa led me to the lobby, it had three huge televisions, a bunch of chairs and desks, couches, boxes of toys, and a big, inclosed, circular desk in the middle.

“Good morning Tessa.” Said a voice from the desk

“Hey Paula! Just the person I was looking for!” Tessa responded happily, it was quite shocking. She seemed to be depressed a moment ago.

“So this is the new kid, Miranda I was just showing her around and thought I should introduce her to you.” Explained Tessa; Paula looked at me and smiled “Well hello there Miranda.”

Paula had her hair buzzed on the left side and grown out on the right, it was blue, pink, and purple. Her lips were abnormally large with a purple tint, her eyes were wide, and she had piercings almost all over her face.

“Hey-” I stammered, I tried not to make eye contact with her, hoping she wouldn’t see judgement in her eyes, if she did she could report me for breaking the eighth commandment of the government To Not Judge Anyone Based On Physical Appearance.

“Come on, Miranda, let's go to the place where we do roll call.”

Tessa led me out of the lobby into a big auditorium full of chairs, the stage was huge, with lights, and television screens. This is huge, I thought.

We sat down in our assigned seats I was number 657 and Tessa was number 658 we remained there until roll call began.

The lights faded, as a person walked onto the stage “Good morning,” they began “Today is Wednesday, March 15th, 2045. Roll Call will now begin, Amy Stanley?”

“Here!” A voice called out from the distance

“Austin Boyd?”

There was no response; they tapped their bracelet a few times and then said “Child 2 is missing; please report to his bunkers immediately so he may be punished.”

What did they mean by punishment?

Other names were called out, it was fast, you hear your name you say here, if you don’t say it in time you openly get mocked if you don’t say it at all you get punished, and if you’re absent- well- I don’t know but the tone in the person’s voice was too frightening to ask, I wanted to ask Tessa what kind of punishment it was but I didn’t want to get fussed at for talking during roll call.

“Miranda Roland?”

I froze I was terrified just to say here

“Here!” Tessa shouted, lowering her voice to match mine

After Roll call was chapel, thankfully the person leading it was seemed much nicer than the one who led roll call.

“Good morning friends.” They said softly “My name is Jill, we will begin this morning’s service with the pledges so everyone please rise to your feet.”

Everyone stood up

“Salute and pledge.”

I didn’t know the pledge, it was abnormal to what I was raised to

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and for the unity that it brings one country many people together working for the greater good.”

The flag changed around ten years ago the golden stars had been replaced with a rainbow hue, the red white and blue was repliced by Pink, Yellow, and Black.

Next we pledged to the flag of Unified Doctrine, the flag was gray with two doves circualaring each other in the center of it one was black and one was white.

“I pledge loyalty to the Flag of Unity, A symbol of harmony and order, Where all stand as one, undivided, In pursuit of equality and the greater good. I forsake self for the collective, And uphold the ideals of balance and conformity, For the glory of the Unified Doctrine."

The person brought out a book and lifted it up it was the Unity Code“I pledge allegiance to the Unity Code, The foundation of harmony and order, Where individuality is set aside for the collective good. I vow to uphold its commandments, To live without judgment, division, or dissent, And to serve the Doctrine with unwavering loyalty, For the prosperity and unity of all.” They set the book down “Thank you; you may be seated. Open your Unity Codes to the book of Parables, Chapter 6, verse 1.”

“I don’t have a book.” I whispered to Tessa

“Here look at mine.”

“In the quiet of a workshop, a weaver began their task, Crafting a fabric meant to endure, meant to last. The threads were chosen, identical and strong, Each knew its place, where it belonged. One thread gleamed, bright and bold, Its colors dazzling, a sight to behold. Why must I conform? the thread did cry, Why not stand out beneath the sky? The weaver paused, their hands did still, And gazed upon the thread, defiant and willful. You are fair, said the weaver, with a gentle tone, But fairness alone cannot make a fabric strong. The thread rebelled, weaving its own course, Ignoring the weaver's steadying force. In its brilliance, it shone, vivid and true, But its lone path left the fabric askew. A tear appeared, where once was whole, The bold thread had fractured the weaver’s goal. The fabric unraveled, the loom fell still, A single thread's pride had bent the weaver’s will. Unity is strength, the weaver did say, For every thread has its part to play. Brightness fades when it stands alone, But together, a masterpiece is shown. With care, the weaver rewound the thread, Placing it gently with the others instead. The loom sang once more, harmony restored, The fabric grew strong, its beauty soared. Thus the lesson: to shine in unity is wise, For a thread apart frays and dies.” Was the parable they read

“Used to everyone saw unity in a negative light, and thought it was a terrible thing, but now, thankfully, everyone has come to see unity as what it is positive, wonderful, lovely-” They went on and on, I was bored out of my mind. Nothing made sense.

Finally, after about thirty minute,s it was done, we we’re all lead out of the auditorium, boy our groups, into classes.

I was in 640s to 660s class, my homeroom teacher wore a knee-length gray dress and had her in a neat bun, she walked over to my desk “You must be Miranda right?” She asked

“Yes I’m her.”

“I need to give you this.” She handed me a phone

“Is this really mine?” I asked in disbelief

“Yes, there’s a camera, social networking, and games. Every student has one.

Later today they’ll call you up to the office to get a case for it. Okay?”

“Yes ma’am!” I said with a smile

“Oki dokey. I’m Bailely by the way. I’ll be your teacher.”

“Nice to meet you Bailey.” I said with a smile

“Nice to meet you as well, Miranda.” She replied, smiling.

The bell rang and the loud room became quiet

“Good morning students, we have a new addition to the class, Miranda Roland.” The entire class looked at me and smiled, I felt comforted yet terrified everyone’s thick eyeliner was throwing me off.

“So Miranda, the first class of the day is Science, this is your junior year so it will revolve around anatomy, second period is English, we’re in the middle of a creative writing assignment; it is required, but I’ll give you an additional week to work on it, third period is Math, advanced calculus, fourth period is unity workshop, where we discover ways to impact the community and bring more unity, then it’s lunch, fifth period is study hall on Mondays and Fridays, Art on Tuesdays, Music on Wednesday, and writing class on Thursday; sixth is History, right now we are in the 1960’s, seventh period Monday and Fridays is P.E, Tuesdays it’s study hall, Wednesday it’s writing class, Thursday it’s game time, Friday it’s study hall. Did you get all that?” She explained

“Yes.”

I replied, even though I hardly remembered a word she said

“Okay then, please open your textbooks to chapter seventeen today we will discuss the Epidermus.”

I tried to remember everything I heard her say but it was so hard, I didn’t have a notebook like the other kids, next was English then Math then so on and so on the day was long and dreadful I was so tired. Then finally- the school day was over.

They never called me to the office, so I went there myself. I explained to them the situation and they laid out 5 different cases: red, yellow, blue, pink, and green. I choose the blue one.

I walked in the lobby during freetime, Paula was still at the desk, I walked over to as her a question

“May I go outside?”“You may, just stay on the property.”

I walked outside despite it being almost Spring. The weather was still pretty chilly and cloudy, I walked down a broken sidewalk into the woods, or at least an area surrounded by trees.

As I was walking I heard a familiar voice and saw a familiar figure. Alex? I wondered, “Alex?” I called out.

“Yes?” Just then she turned around and made eye contact with me “MIRANDA!” She cheered.

We both ran, hugged each other, and began to cry. She pushed herself back and her eyes went big

“I need to tell you something super important!” Alex exclaimed

“What is it?”

“As you know there was- and is- a lot of crap going on behind the scenes and I think it’s about time someone exposed them.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“A protest tomorrow in downtown.”

“A PROTEST? ALEX, HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!”

“It’s the only thing I can think of, we’ve tried just to talk to them but it’s time we make our voice be heard and no longer be ignored.”

“No Alex, this is stupid.”

“I’m doing it Miranda.” She declared firmly

“Please don’t.” I begged

Alex hugged me “I promise I will avenge your family.” she whispered in my ear

“You don’t have to. Just stay silent.” I cried

“But if I don’t stand, then who will?”

I removed myself from the hug and began to walk away, before I knew it, free time was almost up and there was that speech we had to listen to.

When I got back to the orphanage everyone was in their rooms waiting for the speech to start then it did

“Good evening New York this is Archon Gideon Silas, I hope you’ve all had an amazing day. There’s been a lot of talk about how we are the ones who are crooked and how we need to return back to the old ways of how America used to be. My friends let me tell about what happens when you start going backward, you begin to question things. Why is so and so like this? Why is bad stuff happening to me? We begin to wonder and end up falling into a negative and aggressive mental state. Only fifteen years ago there was a popular cult with the same problems, Christianity, they tried

To follow a dead book a dead ideology even in 2032 they were still telling stories about a man who exsisted thousands upon thousands of years ago, the man they served was a man of hatred he accused people as being vipers, he stole, and he hated all those who weren’t like him. The followers, Christians they used to call themselves,they’d dress different, talk different, they did everything they could to oppose unity. I am so thankful that we have been rid of these hateful people.”

He sounded mad but fearful as he said all this. But why would he, out of all people, be scared of a dead religion, he didn’t say much after that, just stuff about Love, peace, and harmony. But then he changed the topic

“Only three countries don’t follow the Unified Doctrine, as of yet, Iraq, Pakistan, and Russia, but I have good news. Iraq has agreed to meet with me next month to talk about signing onto it. That is all I have to say. Good night everyone and may your hearts burn a fire for unity!” He ended his speech on that “cheerful” note.

I lied down in my bed, stared at the gray ceiling, and tears began to stream down my face Why are we even here? I asked myself ARE WE JUST HERE TO LIVE SOMEONE ELSES LIFE? TO FOLLOW SOMEONE ELSES DOCTRINE?! SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T EVEN CARE?! ARE WE JUST HERE TO LIVE AND DIE?! ARE WE JUST HERE TO PLEASE THE GOVERNMENT?! ARE WE JUST HERE TO MAKE SURE EVERYONE IS HAPPY AND NOTHING ELSE! I’M NOT HAPPY! I’M MAD AND I’M ANGRY! I HATE THESE PEOPLE! I HATE EVERYONE! FATHER IF YOU’RE THERE SHOW ME! “Please,” a whisper came out “Show me.”