I felt empty and bare as if all between the inside of my skin had been removed. Covered in crimson stains, I cradled the figure of a lifeless girl; her limp features begged a difference to the look of terror still fixed on her face, yet I held her even tighter. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. But her giggles and screams still echoed within my head and brought with it the terrible hangover of the change. It wasn't supposed to be this complicated. I wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to be here. I'm so sorry.
I was a good person once. I had dreams of being a doctor, even though it didn't help that I was from a poor family in a small town outside of modern civilization. We all had dreams of leaving this place someday. The teachers who came into town to give us our preliminary education spoke of stories outside of the safe zones --histories of the past from books saved from The Great Burning. But they were called stories --nothing more.
We were taught the golden rule of men. There were men, poor men, and animals --nothing in between. They didn't call us poor per say, but then again, just hearing the word lumpens put a sour taste in our mouths. If you weren't from one of the cities, you were a lumpen proletariat --nothing in between. We were seen as just dogs begging for the scraps from the tables of the bourgeoisie.
Then again, here, we didn't have to worry about inbreeding to keep the lines clean or starving because we couldn't afford to look human and eat at the same time, and we had books. Since we weren't inside of the city limits, we didn't get bothered much, except during tax season.
I guess that's when all this started.
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