Peyton King is a 15-year-old girl who lives in the generation of the systems. She has always been a very mischievous girl. She makes friends with a group of young "loners", bringing them all together to reveal her past and her power. When the rebels against her begin stalking her, she realizes she must fight to protect her loved ones - Something she'll sacrifice everything to achieve.


2. Morning

"To be honest, I don't even know how you got away from it again. The government will catch you one day. But, you didn't get taken in custody today. It's amazing. We're all children to them. We're stuck on this Ferris wheel of over-proportioned freedoms but we are invisibly chained to a link-fence. We are not free, it is all elaborate lies. Hmph, It's like you know your way around the Systems, which is elaborately impossible now."


I read the comments on my blog's newest entry quickly, eager at the opportunity to see every single one of them. This follower is correct, actually. Teenagers my age aren't usually smart enough or swift enough to avoid being prosecuted for defying the "Systems".


I am one of these children, sadly. I "must" obey these absurd Systems, in which I don't address a single one. These codings are fairly simple to remember, but I just choose not to even try to obtain a thorough knowledge about them.




Three Days Grace blasts through my Bose headphones, the bass seeping into the depths of my eardrums. The beauty of heavier music isn't the sounds made, it's mostly in the works of the lyrical elements. Being an older band from a little more than twenty years ago, it's even more phenomenal to my old soul. I read through three hours worth of Blogging comments & posts. I've gotten double the amount of views in the last five months, since this has been writing season for me, then I did when my blog started about three years ago.


My father barks my name from downstairs and since our new house is practically so new, it still echos in a fully-furnished room that I finally posses. My own room, for once.


I quickly sign out of my Blogging account & sigh, turning to where my legs dangle from my loft. It had been literally two days since I'd heard even a "hello" from my father, I fizzled at what could've been so important that he needed me.


Westley (my father) once again announced my name, his tenor-octave voice carrying throughout the lavished corridor that I must pass through to get to the dining foyer. I had just unlocked my brand-new phone, but I safety tug it into my left pocket & put my car key into the opposite. I walk in my comfy one-piece night set that I had received for my birthday a few years before, somehow it still fitted me. My fuzzy kitten slippers were the perfect accessory to use as to irritate Westley, since he was such a crude price, he didn't care how comfortable it was, if he didn't like it, he judged the hell out it no matter who or what it was.


The tile flooring scrapped at the soles of my shoes as I ventured myself into the length decks of my dining area. My father stands firm & tall, six-foot two, with boat shoes, a black crew neck-style shirt & a simple pair of orange cargo shorts. His dark green eyes glisten as they stare into mine, silence slowly filling the space. We were all alone now. My brother was 'too mature' to inhabit our home anymore, him being a fresh eighteen year old, so Westley had finally forced him out into the real world to pay & fight for his ways into this god-forsaken society.


In a way, I wish I could be him. Now that he's on his own, he has a new set of systems to adhere to. But I would like to be on my own and be by myself. I wouldn't have to face anyone and be told what to do as often. With these thoughts floating in the back of mind, I silently listen to my father lecture me about my new school and what kind of behavior he expects from me.


He's like your typical parental figure and it almost saddens me to watch him spew things that he may or may not agree with. Yet by the end of it, we sit and have a light-hearted conversation as we eat breakfast like your somewhat normal family does. The thoughts of me envying my brother have already faded as I recall the systems that are expected of me at the moment. I must watch my manners and listen to what my dad says. Simple, but it's not good enough for me.




After what seems like ages, he wipes the milk that dripped from his spoon off his face & stood up. I looked up from my bowl of cinnamon-raisin oatmeal & watched him as he gathered his things for his new job. He makes contact with his leather wallet & keys first, then his satchel that swayed from side-to-side on the arm of the chair he sat in. Occasionally, his eyes would flicker towards me, so I knew he had something on his mind.


He was apparently an electrician at the school I was forcefully enrolled into last week over telephone, but I assume he just says that & sticks with it because he thought that would make me behave more accordingly to the countless terms I had to "abide" by.


He takes a look at me, then to his cell phone & laptop, & once again locks eyes with me. He shakes his head & leaves himself down to my side, squatting on the tile below.


His pupils seemed to twitch slightly, sensing to myself that he was beyond serious, but of course, I gave no remorse to it. He placed his left palm on my shoulder, grinned a little bit & shook me slowly.


It took a few moments of odd staring for him to finally produce enough of a voice to speak.


"I want you to treat this day at least as one of the most extraordinary in your lifetime." He stopped for a moment, scratched his head, thinking, then he placed his hand back onto my shoulder blade.


"You & I, we're completely different people. Different tastes, different morals, different souls, different lives. But, this culture is different than the years before. Children like you use to get away with the dishonorable shit."

I tried to intervene with this lecture I was being forced into, but he raised his palm, signaling me to keep it quiet.

"The disappointing part? I don't buy into the 'I'll make it up to you, daddy' ass-kissing junk. The next time you break a system, & I know you have been, you're going to be taken from me by my own request."


I glared at him, yet stay motion-less as he continues on. He begins to shake me slightly with his grip, but not enough of a hold to hurt me but at least shock me a slight bit.


"You've just turned sixteen. Begin to be like your older brother, & learn to be an adult. Your mother wanted to 'baby you', treat you like a goddamned princess. Since your mother is not here anymore, I'm going to raise you like I was raised."


"You were raised by a drug addict mother & a archaic father. My mother was a loving, caring woman. She rose me up from an infant on my two feet, with a decent brain between my ears. I'm not as much as a disappointment as you think, Westley."


He was quite appalled to hear me call him that once again. It had been several years, on my birthday, when he ruined it when he came home blistered-drunk, slurring his words, and releasing his stomach content on several of my gifts I received from other family members. He's a sadistic fuck. Everything he does is holy and all justifiable. It makes my temples scream out in agony when I even think about all of the times he destroyed a perfect day or memory-in-the-making for me.


He rolled his eyes after a moment of staring once again, grabbed all of his things finally, shot me a look of distrust, & made his way out of the dining room.


I crossed my arms across my chest, continued to finish my breakfast, & thought about the whole ordeal.


Since when did he care how I was raised? He just made the money for us. He never emotionally cared for me like Mother did. My eyes began to tear & itch as I thought of her. Slowly, I remembered that I could not think of her anymore, because she was never coming back. She was buried in the ground. I was never going to see her again, alive at least.


I sighed, and began to focus on my spoon getting the perfect amount of oatmeal inside my mouth.

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