Superhuman

In a dystopian America, Trinity Shire, and three other teenagers are taken captive by the government to be used as scientific experiments. The scientist plan on making the "perfect human". They strive to create someone that is able to conquer anything. They spent years perfecting a chemical that could wash out the mind of a human so they can't think for themselves. They plan to build an army of mindless power machines, but will they succeed? Copyright © 2013 by Cassidy McClurkan,
All rights reserved

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4. Chapter Three

             “Clothes?” Jesse held up an old tattered T-shirt with a look of disgust. “That’s why a mob of angry, psycho people chased us?” her face was written with disappointment and irritation. Lance kneels down next to her and rummages through the box himself.

            “No… look.” Lance said while cradling a small pistol. “Weapons.” he traces his fingers though the small grooves in the gun.

            “Yeah.” Griffin said as he pulls a pair of clothes out for himself. That made since. The reason we ran is because guns are so rare and banned from the Wasteland, the land outside of the government’s control. Only the people of the law can use them.

            “How did you get those?” I question as I remove a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt from the box. Griffin didn’t reply, but he gave me a look as if he’d tell me later.

           I remove myself from the group; explore the hallway in search for a room to change in. I swing open a rustic door and cautiously step into the room. The room is bare, and the cream paint on the walls is slowly chipping away. I look over to a cracked, full-length mirror and turn to my side. Not thin enough, I think.

           I quickly shun myself form the reflection regretting my thoughts. I shouldn’t ridicule myself, especially in these times. It doesn’t matter... it shouldn’t matter. I am fearfully and wonderfully made, I remind myself. I slide off the thin dress I had worn since the scientist gave it to me, which makes me shudder with fear. The smell of chemicals still lingers on the paper dress. I throw it to the farthest corner of the room and put a rather large T-shirt on. Then I slip my legs into a pare jeans.

           For a second I gaze at the floor, and then I turn back to the mirror. Staring back at me is a girl with thin locks of dirty blond hair. Her lips are full, and her chin is sharp. Her eyebrows are delicately crafted framing her beauty. Two round cheekbones support her hazel eyes. This doesn’t look like me at all, but she is. I am beautiful… in my own way. I suspect boys wont see it though. But then again, it shouldn’t matter. Romances now days are hard to come by. I exit the room where I dressed and join the others who are huddled by the box examining weapons.

           My feet pad against the splintered floor, leaving stains of crimson behind. My feet are coated with fresh and crusted blood.

           “Ah, there she is.” said Griffin standing, his brilliant smile fades when sees my glazed eyes. “What’s wrong?” his voice filled with concern.

           “Nothing. I’m just tiered.” I lie, though in reality, I am scared. I don’t see how the others aren’t at this moment. How can they feel safe here? Shouldn’t we be hiding in a better location, one farther away from the city? Griffin puts his large hand on my shoulder and stares into my eyes like he is searching for something. He then guides me to a separate room, one excluded from the others. Like all the rooms here, the walls are naked and the wallpaper is beginning to flake off. In the corners rests dusty cobwebs and dead flies.

           “Here” Griffin says a little too fast. He leads me to an old musty couch. “It’s not much but it’s all we have.”

           “Its perfect.” I sigh. When I sit on the couch, dust disburses in all directions. I try hard not to cough.

           I prop my feet up and examine them. This is the first time I look at the bottom of my feet carefully. I wince with pain as I examine them. The glass had formed deep trenches in my lacerated feet. I feel a warmth rush into my eyes. No no, not here. I press my teeth into my bottom lip, hoping it will stop the tears.

           Griffin’s dark eyes burn into mine. There is a fire between us, but we ignore it. “What’s wrong?” he asks seriously. His thick eyebrows knit together with concern. I’m not sure he’s ever seen somebody cry, because he looks around frantically as if he needs help. I just shake my head in shame. “Please don’t do this.” He pleads while propping his body on the couch. He wraps his arms around me and presses my head under his chin, his thumb grazing the top of my hair. He doesn’t say anything and I am glad. A shaky sigh escapes my lips, and I cling to his shirt.

           “Is it wrong to be scared?” my voice manages to say without cracking.

           “No. Fear isn’t the problem, but learning to overcome it is.”

           “What do you fear?”

           “I fear death. I fear being unloved. And I am angry, so angry, and I don’t know why.” his voice slowly fades as if he were taken back to a memory.

           “I fear losing faith, and losing trust.” I say attempting to pull him out of the haunting trance.

           “In what?”

           “In God.” I reply. His arms slide off my body and a sullen look takes over his face. My heart suddenly becomes still. What did I say? What did I do? My eyes search his frantically.

           “God has forsaken us. He wanted this to happen.” He snarled.

            “No He has not. He never will. God works in mysterious ways, this is just part of His plan. We may not see it now, but in the end we will. You have to wait to see the bigger picture. Right now we're close up and we can’t tell what He’s doing. But trust me, He makes no mistakes.” I spoke the words as if they weren’t my own, but they brought a smile to my face. Griffin shakes his head in disappointment and leaves me alone to tend to my feet. He is lost.

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