The Blaze Journals (Coming Soon)

All hell broke loose when World War III started, but now it's coming to a close. The Government has taken over everything and everyone is split up into three groups. The Privileged Class (wealthy), the Indigents (poor) and the Beggars (gypsies with nothing). Monica, a sixteen year old girl, finds herself and her friends a library one day. But, it's not a government library, it's an underground library. When discovered, they promise to always come Friday night.

This is were it gets interesting. They discover a set of journals, three of them, written by a society called 'X'. These journals contain government secrets, all explaining how the corruption started and how to stop it. Little do they know, there is a set of trials they must face as a cost for their freedom. Will they survive the trials and reveal the corruption? Or will they be silenced once and for all?

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1. Prologue

"Did the Government have a bad day and decide to send a snow storm?!" I said as I stepped over mountains of the fluffy white stuff.

Oh, right. The introduction. I'm sorry, I always forget that part. My name is Monica Oswin, and I'm a sixteen year old girl. I have long brown hair and brown eyes that dominate some of my other facial features. I live in New York City. Well, what's left of it anyway. After bombing this city many times in World War III, all that's left are collapsing buildings. The Gypsies live here in the central, in the destroyed buildings. I, on the other hand, live on the North Side with my parents in a crowded apartment.

Ever since the end of the war, society has been broken up into three classes. The Privileged Class is the rich and powerful class. The Indigents are the poor who live in the apartments, and the Gypsies are people that have nothing and most are homeless. Patrolling the city are Troopers, men wearing nothing but white and are armed with guns. Above are drones in the sky instead of birds, and I feel as if the Government tried to put cameras on birds. That theory is probably why none are left. Then there's The Government, a corrupted one if I might add, who control everything. But the man who has total power is the Premier.

By now you can probably tell that it's winter here. Ah, how I love and hate this time of year. I love to see it snowing at night, and put up some lights in my apartment. The bad thing is, hell freezes over. Every. Single. Year. That day was the freezing temperature of -15 degrees Celsius and I trudged through the snow to the train stop which takes me to the North Side. There, on a bench, is an old man in a huge, brown winter coat with fur, and a huge brown hat. In my eyes, he resembled a Native American, and had a street sign with the word 'love' written on it. I walked over next to the man and quietly stood there.

I eventually turn and look at the man and said "Hello, sir. If you don't mind me asking, why do you have that sign with you?"

"You're a curious person aren't you?" He questioned back.

"Ever since childhood, sir" I responded.

"This world we live in now, it's cruel isn't it?" He asks.

"Quite right, sir" I answered.

"I show people this sign and remind them that love is something we don't seem to have anymore. We have war, deceit, the wealthy treating us like slaves, the army fighting against the people. It's wrong, and I have told many. Only few have believed me, but I have been able to get people to join me. To fight for what is right" he explained.

"I agree with you," I breathed out, "I have seen so many people here controlled. I can't understand how they don't see how they're being manipulated. Sometimes I think maybe I'm just going mad."

He chuckled, "some may say you are, but believe me, you are not. Fight for what you think is right and let no one stop you. You're different than the others here, what's your name?"

"Monica. Monica Oswin, sir. What's yours?"

"Jeff Smith, but you can call me Mr. Smith," he said, "you're an Oswin?"

I nod my head and his jaw drops. I stare at him for a moment thinking maybe it got so cold his face froze that way.

"How long I've waited..." He trailed off. A sense of worry filled up in me.

"I have a message to deliver to you, it's very important" he anxiously said, jumping off the bench.

"What message?" I asked backing up a bit. Mr. Smith approached me and said, "you may not know who was in your past, but I do. You had someone very important in your family, someone who fought against this system."

He paused for a moment and looked out beyond. I hear the sound of the train and turn my head to the right to find it approaching.

"I know you must leave soon but listen," the man whispered, "you had an uncle who almost got rid of this madness. He wrote something, something that is going to help you stop this. I met him when I was younger and we became good friends. He told me if he did not survive what he was doing, to find his niece with the last name of 'Oswin'. No wonder you're so different..."

"What did he write?" I asked with anticipation. The train sent a wind that had my hair cover my face. I pushed the hair out of my face and see the man gone.

"Mr. Smith?!" I shouted.

I waited for a minute to see if I could get a response, but I heard nothing. I desperately wanted to know what my uncle wrote, it lingered inside me. The train was about to leave, so I hoped on board. I turn around and yell out, "what did my uncle write?!" My voice echoed out, so anyone for miles could have heard me. But I still got no response. I turn around and walk the aisle down to find a seat.

As the train zoomed on the tracks, I looked out the window to find it lightly snowing outside.

"Remember, remember" a voice whispered in my ear. I snap my head around and find no one, I look out of my seat and saw everyone minding their own business. I sink down into my seat keeping my ears more alert. I eventually arrive at the dull, white apartments and go into mine to find my mum home.

"Hey mum," I said taking my boots off at the door, "what's up?"

"Another execution on TV" she said in disgust. Another thing I forgot to mention, the Government came up with a new law that states, "Anyone who chooses to protest against us, shall face execution as everybody watches." The Government hacks into the TVs and makes everyone watch the person being killed.

"Who are they executing this time?" I asked taking off my coat.

"A man named Jeff Smith, I believe" she responded.

My heart and stomach drop to the ground, then my heart rate skyrocketed.

"Mum, mum I know that man! He knows about my uncle, he's my friend!" I cried. I slipped my shoes back on and I grabbed my coat.

"Where's the execution taking place?!" I snapped tears already running down my face.

"Central town," she replied walking over to me, "Monica, who is that man?"

I turned to her as I step outside, "a man I met who is a friend. Who knows that this country is screwed up. Who knew an uncle of mine, and who's going to tell me how to stop this."

I burst through the doors of the apartment as my mum yelled after me. I ran down to the train station and followed it to Central Town. I sprint as I've never sprinted before, but the cold air made my throat hurt and the snow made it difficult to run. I eventually make it to Central Town and see a Trooper pointing a gun to Mr. Smith's head.

"No!" I shrieked, "stop!" I pushed through the crowd of people and run into a wall of Troopers. They grabbed me and held me back.

"No!" I protested, squirming around trying to escape, "let me go!"

I looked at Mr. Smith and see he looked up at me and our eyes locked. His eyes were red and full of tears.

"Monica!" he called out, "remember this, remember the answer I give you!"

Hot tears rolled down my face and I yelled, "stop! I won't let you kill him! I won't let you get away you murderers!"

"Murderers?" The executioner asked, "we're only protecting society from people like him. People who will destroy the peace we've created."

How brainwashed was that man?! Didn't he know he was taking an innocent life?! I kick a Trooper in the shin and he groans out in pain. For that brief moment, he loosens his grip and that let me slip out. I ran over to Mr. Smith and land on my knees in the snow, the Trooper pushed the gun deeper into his head. Mr. Smith looked up at me and croaked out his last words, "The Blaze Journals."

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