"Revived? Is that supposed to be some sort of sick joke?" I say to him angrily.
"Its the truth." He spoke with a serious tone.
I laugh. "Ok, lets say I believe this. How, smart one, is it possible for a human to be revived?"
"Well, for starters, it has to be done by a person who has already been revived. They have to know how you died, be there when you died, and find a way to revive you that goes with the way you died. Or, they can revive you the same way they were revived, if it's the same situation."
My head buzzed with knowledge. This seemed sciency, and I,for one, am not good with science. "Ok...so who revived me? You?"
"And why did you?"
"Because you're kind of a big deal."
"To who? You? Not buying it." I smirk at him.
"To me, and every other revived person in he world."
"And why is that?"
"Because you are the daughter of our leader.I was sent to get you."
I laugh. " Bull. I know my real parents."
"Thats what you think."
I gape at him. And to think I thought he was hot! "Excuse me? And who the hell are you, some new kid at school, to be making those crappy comments to me?"
"I'm not. They're true. If you dont believe me, tell me this: have you ever wondered about that mark on your wrist? How you dont look like your sister or your parents at all?"
"How do you know about my mark?"
He ignores the question. "And if I touch your wrist, it will radiate blue. A sure sign that you are one of us."
He snatched my wrist. Sure enough, my mark turned to a blue shade.
He smirked at my gaping face. "Believe me now, Emily?"
. . . . . .
I wake up to a cold, dark cell.
I take in my surroundings, noticing the thick iron bars and the brick wall I was pressed up against. The ceiling was covered with some dark substance-mold. I try to stand, but my legs are too weak for that, so I immediately fall. So I crawl over to the tall iron cylinders and begin to shake the cell door.
"Hello?" I shout, looking back and forth to see if there was anyone. When no one answered, I shook harder. "HELLO?"
"Quiet down!" a feminine voice hisses, shocking me at how raspy it is.
"Let me go," I say it calmly enough, but I'm freaking out on the inside.
Footsteps travel to my cell, and a middle aged woman looks down at me, obviously irritated. She's a curly haired brunette with her hair pulled back into a neat bun at the top of her head. She has sharp green eyes, and olive skin.
"We'll let you go when the war is over." she says.
"No, let me go now."
"No. Do you know how important you are? We cant just let someone like you g-"
She crumples to the ground, and reveals a brown haired boy standing behind her, breathing heavily, with a frying pan clutched tightly in his hands.
He and I lock eyes. "We should probably go," he says and, pulling a key from his pocket, opens the door. I rush out, and its only a second after I thank him that we're running.
When we make it to the door and swing it open, a person is standing there.
The boy who revived me.