Run.

Keep Running.

Don't stop running!

Adrenaline keeps me going, I want to stop running but I can't. The fear is real, pumping through my veins. I can still hear their footsteps behind me, the leaves crunching, and twigs snapping as their heavy boots smack down on the hard ground.

Trees of all sizes surround me. I thought this would be the best shelter, away from the busy streets where they're always watching, and into the unmonitored woods.

A click sounds behind me, but my brain doesn't register until the bullet hits the tree right next to my head, splintering the small trunk and sending shards of bark in the air. I've never seen a gun until recently, but now they are everywhere. Strapped to those who promised peace. My arms fling above my head, like a protective shield that's just as useful as a newspaper in the rain. More bullets fly towards me as I desperately try to get away from the trackers. My breathing is coming out hard and my lungs are starting to burn as they close from panic. My legs are starting to sting, not just from exhaustion but from sticks cutting into my skin.

Salty sweat stings my eyes and blurs my vision, the thick summer air is not helping to cool me down. I'm used to running; I love running. It releases all my tight, wound-up muscles, relaxes me, and keeps me focused.

Being chased is a different story, and this is like a horrible nightmare. My heart is pumping so hard I can't seem to control it.

My mind isn't focusing, I just need to stop, collect myself and then keep going. But I can't. I'm in deep shit and I don't know how to get out of this!

Run.

Keep running.

What was I thinking? Running into the woods with no plans, no idea where I'm going? My family's gone. They ripped them away like they did everything else.

My head whips back, looking to see how close they are, and my foot catches on a tree root and I fall hard onto the ground, the air knocked out of me.

Damn it, Elly, get up!  I internally scream at myself as I scramble off the ground and continue to run, using my hand to push off a tree to get some momentum.

As soon as I think I'm making progress the bush starts to thicken, making it harder and harder to move quickly. I need to find a hiding spot and hope to God, they don't find me.

My eyes frantically search for anything possible to hide in. I see a tiny ditch under a gigantic tree and I dive for my life. My body fits in the ditch, but I don't dare look around me for fear of making a noise.

Three men with large shotguns run past the ditch, they notice they've lost me and start poking around in the undergrowth with the barrels of their guns.

A little whimper slips out of my mouth at the thought of being caught. My hand covers my mouth at the impulsive and stupid sound that escapes. These people don't accept runaways, they kill them, and I'll be left here to rot.

One of the men looks right at me with his black eyes, and I swear he sees me. His face is scarred with a big long slash that starts at the top of his nose and descends down his cheek.

I shut my eyes and pray to God, if there's even a God, please don't let me die.

A big bang echoes through the bushland and thumps through my body. I know I've been shot, there's no other explanation. But there's no pain radiating through my body like I thought would happen.

There would be pain, right? I open my eyes hoping that I was dead and already in heaven, but I'm still squished under the tree roots, with no injury on my body. The man with the scar is nowhere to be seen and I let out a huge sigh and hug my knees to my chest, silent tears rolling down my cheeks.

Two years ago, the world changed.

I was awoken in the middle of the night by whispered words. I edged down the stairs towards the loungeroom where my parents were huddled around the TV. I inched closer, hoping to see why they were up so late. The images that flashed across the News on the TV were frightening. A war had broken out. But this didn't seem like the normal wars of one country fighting another. The news showed every single country's capital on fire with the words "BREAKING NEWS: WORLD WAR THREE HAS BEGUN".

My sister Abby sleepily walked towards me, rubbing her tired eyes.

"what's going on?" she demanded.

My parents whipped their heads towards us, their eyes big with fright and worry.

"Go back to bed." My father told us sternly.

"Why is the news saying World War Three has started?" My sister shot back.

My parents sighed and motioned for us to come and sit with them. Together we watched the world fall apart in a matter of hours. Every government in every country had been abolished. By the time the sun was brightening up the dark living room, the news had ceased to exist, only coloured lines and the words "signal lost" covered the screen.

For days we waited inside our home, too scared to leave. Protests and riots raged on in the streets of our small city. The police and army were no more, there was no one protecting us. Abby grew restless, she knew protests were happening, that people were fighting for the good of humanity, and she was itching to join them. I begged her to stay.

A few days later we were sitting at the dining table having a measly dinner of tinned tuna and crackers when a bright white light filled our house. We ran to the windows and looked out as armed forces filled the street. They got out of their trucks with their weapons raised shouting at people to get inside their houses. Mrs. Hilbert from across the road screamed at the men in uniform and refused to go back inside. They shot her. Point blank in the head. I'd seen movies where people were shot and stabbed, and it never scared me. Why would it? It was an image on a screen. Seeing it in real life... it changes you.

My mother pulled me away from the window and we all huddled in the lounge room as my father peeped through the corner of the window.

"They're spraying the letter Z on her door." My father whispered.

The next day we all woke up late. The night before brought on nightmare-filled sleep. Mrs Hilbert's body still lay in the street, her eyes wide open staring straight up to the sky.

Abby left that day. I knew she went to join the protesters. It broke my heart that she left me behind.

Later that week, someone loudly banged on the front door. We all jumped. My father slowly opened the door and two men in head-to-toe army gear stood on our front porch. They didn't have our country's flag on their arms like our soldiers would have, instead, their patch was a large Z.

"Ye...yes?" My father stammered, his eyes watching their guns.

"Mr. Sheenan?" The man had a heavy accent.

"Yes," My father's voice shook.

"We would like to do a head count of your family. Could you please have them come outside?" The man seemed pleasant enough.

My father looked back at us, his eyes opened wide, but he turned back to the man and nodded then ushered us outside. I was still in my pajamas; my mother's hair was unruly, and her eyes were red raw from crying over Abby.

The people in uniform were dragging out our neighbours and lining them up on their front lawns, just like us.

"Mr. Sheenan, I note that you have a total of four people who reside in this residence. Can you tell me why there are only three?"

"Our daughter... she... ran away" The emotion in his voice made my mother cry again.

"Ah, she is a defector. Mr. Sheenan, do you know what Zenith does with defectors?" The man's voice was calm, but the malice in his eyes scared me.

"No, sir."

"We shoot them. In the head." He turned around and faced our street, "Let this be a reminder to all! If you don't obey, if you run, if you protest, if you dare to defy Zenith's rule, you will die!" He spat on the ground as he turned back to us.

"Now, Mr. Sheenan, can I confirm your remaining, loyal family's names." The man pulled out a clipboard and a pen waiting for my dad to speak.

"My wife, Maureen and my daughter Eleonore." My father's voice trembled.

The man wrote on his clipboard, looking at each one of us. Then he ushered another person to come forward. This person, a woman, had a white armband instead of the Z armband.

"The lovely doctor here will ask you to show her the back of her neck, I suggest you follow her orders." And with that, he left, walking over to the house next to us.

The doctor came forward and asked us all to face our house with the back of our necks exposed.

"You will feel a sharp prick," she told my mother who whimpered.

When she got to me, she stuck my neck with something sharp and then a buzzing noise filled my brain, along with a burning feeling on my neck, like I had been sunburnt, and someone was scratching it. Once she was done, I reached back and felt my neck, it was sore, and something was raised there. When I looked at my mother, I could see what they had done. A small Z was tattooed on the back of our necks.

After that day, our minds and bodies were slowly deteriorating. We hardly had any food and with no currency, our money was useless. My father became depressed, he didn't like that he couldn't provide for his family. One day, he left, and he never returned.

There was just my mother and me left. She was a shell of a person, always in her pajamas, her hair everywhere, and her eyes had dark circles from the lack of sleep.

We were only permitted to leave the house during the day, and for months I stayed inside our house, but on this one day, I had to find food. We were starving, and the only way to get food was to go into the city and into Zenith's camp.

I packed a bag and left my mother sitting on the couch, staring at the TV as if her regular programs would come back on. It took me twenty minutes to walk into the middle of the city. Burn out cars littered the road, shattered glass crunched under my feet from smashed in shop windows.

Zenith had set up in a tall high rise that used to be office spaces. It was the only building to be completely free of damage. Armed guards stood by the front door as people lined up. A family stoon in front of me, the mother and father held hands while their red-haired children stood huddled together, they were so thin and fragile. I watched the sky as I waited, the clouds drifted lazily by as if the world was the same, as if nothing had even changed.

When I finally got to the front, the armed guards scanned my neck and asked me what I was doing there.

"We need food." I explained.

"Two defectors have been identified on your file." That was all they said before they shouted next, and I was left to walk home with an empty stomach and empty hands.

When I finally got home, my mother was running around frantically throwing things into my old backpack when things were normal, and I attended school.

"Mum, what's going on?" I asked her nervously.

"Be quiet!" She whispered harshly. "I need you to get into the crawl space under the stairs." She pushed the backpack into my hands and ushered me towards the small door that no one knew off.

I climbed in, my body shaking from fear or adrenaline, I wasn't sure, but I obeyed, thinking that she was going to climb in with me.

"I need you to be very quiet and not move, no matter what you hear, you do not move, you hear me?" She was scared, I could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice as it trembled. Her bottom lip dropped as if she was about to cry, but she took a deep breath in and smiled. "Everything will be okay."

And with that, she shut the little door, and I was thrown into pure darkness. The scent of honey and chamomile tea lingered, it was the smell of my mother, the smell of home.

The whole house started to vibrate, and then the sound of doors crashing open made me jump. Dishes crashed and smashed on the ground, her screams and protests filled my ears and shattered my heart. This was all my fault, if I hadn't tried to get food from them, if I had just stayed home, maybe this would have all passed, but instead, they took my mother and I was left alone, in a dark hole with nothing but lingering smells.

I sat there for what felt like an eternity, my whole body shook with tears. I covered my mouth with my hands so they wouldn't hear me sobbing. Finally, with sore eyes and a thirsty mouth, I fell asleep. I fell asleep thinking about my family. Abby, who was always a rebel, my father who loved us with all his heart and my kind, beautiful mother who sacrificed herself to save me.

I woke up to the sounds of soft footsteps upstairs, the creak of the loose floorboards in my room gave the intruder away. My eyes felt like sandpaper as I tried to open them, and my mouth was so dry my tongue felt like cotton.

I knew that they had come back looking for me. I was a registered underage member of this house, and they wouldn't just leave me. More footsteps sounded around me; glass crunched under their feet as they moved around.

I didn't dare move. I slowed my breathing and tried to stay calm, even though my insides were squirming. Finally, the footsteps became less frequent until there were none, but that didn't mean I was safe to leave. I stayed in that tiny hole for what felt like days, my muscles stiff and aching.

I really don't know how I stayed so calm, but I knew that I had to try and survive, even if it was on my own. I slowly and carefully reached for the backpack my mother hastily threw at me and searched for the zip. Trying to be quiet was difficult, but I got the zip undone and shoved my hand inside. Even in my mother's haste, she had put a torch at the top of the bed, and the prospect of me not being alone in the dark filled me with hope.

After hours of being cramped, I slowly pushed the door open and peeked into the light-filled house that would soon be a distant memory. I stretched my legs out and tried to stand on the floorboards, my legs collapsed under me from hours and hours of being curled up in one position that I fell hard onto the floor. I stopped breathing and waited for someone to jump out with a gun pointed at me, but after a few minutes, the house sat eerily silent.

I slowly stood up and shakily took a step into the hall. The destruction of my home was bad, Picture frames of my family lay smacked on the floor. I leaned down and brushed shards of glass off a picture of Abby and me, our cheeks were rosy, and our smiles were bright and innocent. I quickly shoved it into my bag.

I quietly went upstairs into my room, keeping low and out of sight. I changed into my running shoes and black clothing. I took one last look around my childhood room. My cross-country ribbons hung above my bed; the afternoon sun glinted off the gold first place ribbon. I wiped a tear off my cheek as the feeling of loss filled my chest. I slung the backpack over my shoulder and shut the door, closing the last chapter of my innocence.

Sneaking back downstairs and towards the back door which I slowly pushed open, the rusty hinges groaned, making me wince. After a quick peep into the backyard, I ran for the back fence and climbed over it into the backyard of the people behind us. I crashed to the hard, dehydrated ground and nearly fell backwards from the heavy pack.

A tall, hunched man stepped out of his backdoor and panic filled me once more. I changed directions, running for his next-door neighbour's backyard as a yell left his toothless mouth.

I jumped fence after dence until I ended up in an open street, filled with falling apart houses. It was getting close to night, and I needed to get off the streets before the armed guards started their night patrol.

I had just snuck through someone's back gate when a dog's loud barking alerted someone on the street. Shouts echoed from behind me, and it pushed me back into action. I ran straight for the bushland and that's how I found myself running for me life, hiding in a ditch from men with guns, from the people who stole my mother.

Birds happily sang, the soft rustle of leaves, the summer air, it all felt so normal. I get up and continue to run but I don't even make it a few metres before a sharp sting radiates through my neck. I slap my hand where something obviously bit me and pull out a short needle with red hairs sticking out of its end. I instantly feel drowsy, and my legs start to feel like jelly. My mind is foggy as I try to make it a few more steps. My legs give way and I collapse to the ground,

Blink

Two men in camouflage lean down beside me and begin tying my hands and feet together. I struggle against the rope, but a warm sensation is running through my body, my limbs won't move, they won't listen to the screams from my brain to escape.

They turn me over, pulling away my sweat-soaked hair, checking for my mark. I hear someone mutter something, but nothing is comprehending, and I know I should be panicking, but I feel numb, and not just my feeling, my whole body feels numb.

Blink

Someone lifts me up and throws me over their shoulder. I'm upside down, the green and brown ground looks funny and too bright, almost like a green wavey highlighter. My brain giggles, but my mouth stays shut. How weird!

Blink

Darkness once again is taking over, like I'm back in that small, cramped hole under my stairs.

Why did I stop running?