I rouse myself awake.
Another nightmare overcame me.
We all get these placid dreams that haunt us, but even I find no relief in waking up.
Everyone in the District of the Republic gets these taunting dreams until the day they can dream no more.
    I get out of my bed, which gives a complaining creak as I rise, and walk to the small window that overlooks the fence. I press my cheek against it, letting the cold frost touch my skin. From this I can tell that it's going to rain yet again. It's early morning, to the point that the sun is just rising in the horizon.
    I turn and survey my room: a lamp, a cot, and a few square feet of old wooden floor. This is all they supply our bedrooms with in the DR. My room is always cold, much like the rest of the house. And dark. The lamp doesn't give off much light.
     I go on my knees and look under my bed. There lie my possessions: hair brush, tooth brush/toothpaste, and a small backpack for emergencies only. I reach out my cold hand and grab the hair brush. I prop myself on my knees and start to comb my hazel hair. It runs down my back and complements my ice-blue eyes. I got the hair from my mother, who currently is sleeping across the hallway, hopefully having better dreams then what I had. My eyes come from my father, who died a few years back from an explosion on his work sight.
     A noise.
A knock. Like on wood. It brakes the silence that surrounds me, my mother, and my younger sister Lizzy.
   The sound comes again. From downstairs. I instantly know that it isn't a neighbor asking to borrow something.
    It's a Keeper.