The Creative Outlet (Chapters 1-3)

Chapter One:

I sweep my handmade paint brush across the canvas I had created, being careful to not mix the dark red color I am currently using with any of the areas I already painted. I am cautious not to drip paint on any of the bland, white furniture that is present in the room. I glance up at the boring black and white clock that is hanging on the wall, confirming to myself that I still had another 30 minutes until my family came home from the store. My mother and sister, at least. My father would not be with them. He died when I was six years old, eight years ago. I miss him, but I never really got along with any of my family, including him. Over the years after his death, my relationship with my mother and sister declined. I wonder what life would be like if I lived with a different family...

I immediately snap out of my thoughts as I hear a sharp knock on the door. My family can’t be home yet, my painting supplies are still out! I frantically throw my brushes and bottles of paints into my bag, while there is a knock on the door again. I locked it earlier in case this happened, and my mother didn't bring a key with her, thankfully.

“Heidi, open up! It’s just me, Sydney!” a voice called from the other side of the door. I breathe a sigh of relief, and stop my frantic cleanup. Unlocking the door, I smile as I see the tall, blonde girl standing in front of me. Embracing each other in a hug, Sydney sighs as she sees the paint supplies and canvas I was putting away.

“Painting again? Heidi, you know how dangerous it will be if someone catches you doing this! You could go to jail, or even worse, be executed if the officials catch you. I just want you to be safe.” Sydney scolds me, giving me a disapproving look.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m careful. I just need to express myself somehow, I can’t live in my head all the time!” I scowl at my best friend. I don’t understand why the government won’t allow it. I get that they want to avoid conflict and all, but why can’t we do anything?

“You can do stuff, just nothing that is different from anyone. Why don’t you read a textbook or something” Sydney asks, knowing full well I would never stop my love and passion for painting.

“I will be safe, no one will catch me. I promise.” I tell her, finishing putting away my supplies. I sense Sydney’s eyes following my movements as I slide my almost completed painting under a loose floorboard. I sigh to myself as I hear the front door open, signaling the arrival of my mother and younger sister, Macy. Glancing at Sydney, I say “You should probably go now. I have work to do, and my mother probably needs my help with something anyways.” Sydney nods, and leaves without another word.

“Heidi! Come help bring in the food I got at the store!” My mother yells, carrying Macy up to her room. Not bothering to reply, I start to carry in the pre-made meals that are sold in the stores, and grimace as I see that the government had declared this week no-meat week, meaning our protein will come from tofu and beans. We are not allowed to cook our own food, as the government sees it as a way of expressing creativity. In school, we are always taught about the olden days. The days where everyone was different, where everyone wanted to be different. We learned about how they showed their differences, through their appearance, activities, and lifestyle. The days where individuality was at it’s prime. The world I want to live in. But, we also learned how people couldn’t respect those differences, and began to fight with one another. We were taught how the simple street fights became war within the country, then war with other countries. They taught us that a group of authoritative figures decided to create our society, where they decided the best way to stop conflict. We are taught that due to the fact that the government shut us off from the rest of the world, and because we follow strict laws, we are safe. We are all exactly same. We are safe from differences, safe from being alone, safe from conflict.

I really don’t feel safe, to be honest. You always have the government officials walking up and down the hallways at school, patrolling the streets, doing random house raids. They told us that they do this to protect us, so we are safe. It’s always about being safe. But how can we be safe if there is a constant threat of being shot by the guards in their bland white uniforms and dark helmets? How can we be safe, if we are living in constant fear of being seen as “different”? The answer is that despite what the government officials and teachers and authority always tell us, we are not.

I snap out of my thoughts as I suddenly hear a scream coming from somewhere down the street of the neighborhood of identical white houses. I know that type of scream. It was a scream of fear, pain, and panic. Then I heard a gunshot, and an eerie silence passed over the area, but only for a moment. I knew what must of happened, as it has happened before. A government official was patrolling or doing house raids, and someone was caught doing something or looking like they were “different”. The government doesn't want that. I hear footsteps running down the street, growing louder with each passing second. I hold in my breath, clutching the stack of pre-made tofu to my chest, and glance at myself in the shine of my moms car. I look normal, and was happy to see I didn’t have any paint stains on my clothes or face from earlier. I start to head back to the house, hoping to get inside before I accidentally caused any trouble. That’s when I saw a sight that made my heart stop beating. I saw my four-year-old sister walk out of the door, paint smeared all over her hands and clothes. I rush over to her as she smiles at me, too young to understand why she can’t be seen. I don’t even take a moment to wonder where she got the paint from, assuming that it was from my still wet painting she must of found. I pick her up as my mom rushes outside after her, calling for her to come back while glaring in my direction. I run up our driveway, food long forgotten, and just about make it to our door when I hear a voice call out.

“HALT! Stop moving or I will not hesitate to shoot!” Panic takes over my body as I nearly drop my sister. My mom, close enough to reach me, takes her from me as the government official briskly walks up to us. I couldn’t see his face behind his dark helmet, but I saw the tension in his shoulders as he looks at us, taking in the scene. My mother is trying to comfort my sister, who has sensed the danger that is present. Neither of them are watching the official, which is why they don’t see his next movement. They don’t see him pull his gun, state of the art and jet black, out of his holster. They don’t see his fingers, gloved and tense, turn of the safety. They don’t see his chest rise and fall, as if taking a deep breath, as he aims the gun at them.

“NO! DON'T SHOOT THEM!” I scream in full out panic. My mother looks up, and I see true fear register on her face. The government official ignores me, and my mom takes a trembling step back, shielding my sister with her body. Then, faster then I have ever seen her move, my mother runs past the official, carrying my sister. I watch as she runs in a zigzag motion, and wonder where she got that athleticism for running. I see the official tracking them with the cross hair on his gun. I know, not smart, but as much as I don’t get along with my family, I wasn’t going to sit there and let someone shoot them. I run at the official, knocking into him and throwing a kick at his legs. The official is obviously not expecting this, as he staggers a bit, but not falling completely due to his thick build. I feel a sharp pain in my nose as he throws his elbow back at my face, and a metallic, wet taste runs into my mouth. I back up as I hold my probably broken nose, my vision swimming from the pain. I want to scream out, attack the official, anything, as I see his finger tense over the trigger. Then, a loud gunshot calls out through the neighborhood, and all is silent except for my sister’s screams. My mother is lying down in the middle of the street, and even though she is a bit of a distance away, I can still see the blood seeping from her chest, her eyes looking up at the sky. Looking, but not seeing. Another gunshot sounds, making my ears ring, and my sister’s scream are suddenly silenced. Then, the official turns his attention to me, and raises his gun, level with my head. In a surge of adrenaline coming from fear and the trauma I had just witnessed, I duck under his gun and run past him, wondering where my new found speed appeared from. I run in a zigzag motion as I had seen my mom do, realizing that there is less of a chance of being hit by a bullet when running in this formation. I duck behind a thick oak tree, and a bullet hits the side of the bark, inches from me, as the splinters stick into my face. I take a breath, and keep running, the bullets from the official's gun raining around me. It’s a wonder I haven’t gotten hit yet. The bullets suddenly stop, and I hear the click of an empty gun and the string of swear words coming from a distance behind me.

There is a tiny spark of something inside me. Hope. There is hope I will escape alive. The only problem is where do I go? I cannot go back home, because our house is now government property. I will be a wanted criminal, because as soon as they search the house, they will find all of my art supplies. I need to go into hiding, but where? There is no where in the city I can go without being seen. After debating with myself for a while, I decide to just wander around and hopefully I will find something. It takes me about ten minutes to walk to the city, where I walk along the streets, weary of everyone around me. I go over the list of things I need to do in my head: Don’t get caught. Find food. Don’t get caught. Act like you know where you are going and you are on a schedule to get there. Don’t get caught. Don’t think about my family. Don’t get caught. As I walk past the bland buildings, I decide to take a route that gets close to my house. I know, it’s extremely risky, but I don’t have any money, and if I am lucky, the government might not have raided our house yet. I reach the entrance to my neighborhood, staying in shadows in fear of being seen. There is a sense of quiet in the area, the feeling of loss. I feel a sharp pang in my heart, as if someone stabbed me with a knife and was twisting it around. Greif. I choke back a sob, as the events of the day catch up with me. I kneel down in front of my house, wondering about my mom and sister. We are not allowed to practice religion, because it is seen as a way of expressing yourself, but I still believed that my mom and sister are in a better place now. They are reunited with my dad. They are all happy. I didn’t realize I was crying until my tears started to drip off my face. This is my fault. All my fault. If I would of just followed the rules, did what I was supposed to, my mother and sister would be alive right now. It’s all my fault, and the worst part is that my mother died believing I was a traitor to the society. She died because of my need for expression. She died because I didn’t follow the rules. She died for my selfish wants. She died realizing I was a rebel, an outcast. Now I know I never had the best relationship with my mother and sister, but they were my only family left. I try to block out the grief overflowing my body. Grief will slow me down down, get me caught. Despite my attempts to forget, the images keep flashing through my mind.

I am all alone, even more so than before. I can’t go find Sydney, because the government probably put out wanted signs for me by now. I walk into my house, trying to block out my screaming thoughts reminding me that my mother and sister are dead, as I look for something, anything that will help calm me down. My art stuff is gone, as is all of our family’s money and food. The government must have taken everything while they searched the house, and left nothing more than the bland white furniture that everyone is required to have. I walk past my mother’s room, and collapse onto her bed. I take a shuddery breath and start sobbing, until eventually I fall asleep.

I wake up a few hours later to the sound of sirens and voices. I bolt upright as I see flashing lights outside my window. Why are the government officials here? I thought they already came? I slip on my shoes and prepare myself to run. I hear many voices outside the front door, and decide to just climb out the window. Once outside, I start to make my way to the top of the neighborhood. I am almost there, when I hear shouts and the roar of gunfire. A bullet lands dangerously close to me, and I veer down an alleyway. All of a sudden, pure fire runs up my leg, or so it feels like. I immediately trip, my face slamming onto the gravel. Crap! What am I going to do? I can’t stop now! I refuse to be caught. To be caught means getting killed. I can’t let that happen. I pull myself to my feet, putting my weight on my good leg. The adrenaline coursing through my body is probably numbing the pain in my leg, but it still feels like it’s on fire. I take a shuddery breath, and try to walk, screaming out as I almost collapsed in pain. I fall to my knees, and try to pull myself along with my hands. I cry out again, the agony becoming too much to bare. My vision starts to cloud, and that just makes me push on more. No! I will not black out! Blacking out means stopping. Stopping means giving up. Giving up means getting captured. Getting captured means death. I will not let myself give up. I hear the shrill sound of the patrol cars in the distance, and pull myself into an inlet on the side of a building, hopefully large enough to shield me. I curl up in pain, as I blink black spots out of my eyes, fighting to stay awake. How nice it would be to just lay down and sleep, though...

My head jerks up as a car skids to a stop in front of where I'm hiding. It is too dark to see who it belongs to, but I knew it must be a patrol car. I grab the nearest weapon I can reach, which is a small, yet sharp, stick. As the figure approaches me, I notice the person walks with a different poise than the officials usually do. The person seems to walk more casually, as if they have all the time in the world. I still cower in fear, because I do not know what they want with me. As the figure steps into the light, I see it is a male. Tall, with shaggy black hair, seemingly the exact opposite of my straight, natural blonde hair. There are other colors within in it, too, such as blues, green, and purples. There is no way that is possible to be natural, and I wonder how he made it that way. I stare into his gray, misty eyes, as he steps closer to me.

“No need to be hostile, I am here to help, love. Now why don’t you drop the... weapon, you have there, and let me approach. Like I said, I am here to help. Now please, let me help you with that leg of yours.” a soft, gentle, yet mysterious voice called out, coming from the direction of the guy. Tired and in too much pain to protest, I drop my stick, but still cower in fear. There is something strange about this guy, something that I couldn't put my finger on. The boy reaches me, and tries to straighten out my leg. I scream out in pain again, and almost black out again. I attempt to struggle away from the stranger, but my effort just makes my leg hurt worse. What is he doing? I thought he said he was going to help? This hurts!

“Love, stop struggling, please. This next part may sting a littlethen you may feel a small pinch, but I promise it will help your leg.” the mysterious boy said again. Why is he even trying to help? Who is he? What does he want? All my attempt of struggle stops as it feels like liquid ice was being poured on the bullet wound, then I felt a pinch in my arm. My thoughts suddenly become fuzzy, as I try to make sense of what is going on. The last thing I hear before I black out completely is, “Oh, by the way, my name is Hunter...”















Chapter Two:

I wake up in a bed, surrounded by unfamiliar smells. I lie there, and wonder where I am, when last night’s events catch up with me. I hear a door open, but too occupied with my thoughts, I don’t register the fact that someone walked in until I hear them clear their voice. I look up, and see it was the mysterious boy from last night. Hunter. His name is Hunter, I remind myself. I push myself under the the thin red blankets of the bed, trying to hide myself. Wait a second, red? This must not be part of the government then, they wouldn’t allow any color. I guess that’s a good thing. Right? On the other hand, I have no clue where I am, what is going on, who these people are, or what will happen to me.

“Ok, I know you probably have a lot of questions, but please, don’t freak out, I will explain everything.” Hunter says, spreading his hands out in a gesture that shows he meant no harm. I wasn’t sure if I could trust him, because after all, he is a random stranger who found me last night, and ended up drugging me, so not the best impression. I start to feel uneasy, and a bit paranoid.

“Don’t you dare get any closer to me. Not one step closer.” I say hostily. “I don’t know who you are, how you found me, or if you are even trying to help me! You drugged me! I woke up here at a random place! What do you want with me?”

“Calm down love, please, I promise I will not hurt you. I only gave you the sleeping drugs because you were freaking out, you seemed to be in tremendous pain, and if I didn’t get you out of there, you most likely would of ended up dead.”

Not understanding why he cared, I keep asking questions. “Where am I? Tell me where I am and why I am here! And don’t call me love, you don’t even know me!’

“Calm down, please, and eat something, I promise I will explain everything!” Hunter said softly, holding out a bag. I take it reluctantly, and let my hunger get the best of me as I devour the contents inside. After all, what is the worst that could happen? It seems safe enough. I notice Hunter watching me, and as soon as I finish, I demand, “Explain,”.

Hunter takes a deep breath, and looks me in the eyes. “I am part of a secret society called The Creative Outlet. Some of the agents have seen what you do, the wonderful paintings you make, and we want you to be a part of it. You would be a wonderful member here. The society had plans to approach you, but with the recent... complications, we had to take drastic measures to get you to safety. I severely apologize for any inconvenience, discomfort, or confusion we may have caused, but please consider joining. I know it may sound unrealistic and a bit terrifying, but I could give you a tour of the society compound if you would like.”

Weighing the options in my mind, I ask, “What if I refuse to join? What are you going to do? Kill me to keep me quiet?”.

Hunter looks at me with a straight face, and worry bigns to creep up my spine, until he cracked me an amused smile and says, “Nah, we don’t work like that. You would just be sworn to secrecy. After all, you couldn’t give us away without giving yourself away, and you don’t seem like the type of girl to do that.” I guess he has a point.

“Fine, but I want to go on this tour you mentioned.” I say, standing up. He nods approvingly at me as I test out my leg, finding that the pain is completely gone. Whatever they put on it last night must of helped it. Like a gentleman, Hunter offers out his hand, and I take it, giggling. I’m not used to this sort of behavior, because after all, acting like this could be seen as ‘expressing yourself’. I am still cautious, despite all Hunter is doing to ease my fear. I am surprised at how calm I am being, usually I would be in a panic after a bit of stress. I guess I just don’t want to seem weak, like an easier target. I follow Hunter around, all the colors around me making my head spin lightly. I’m not used to seeing colors around me, and I tune out Hunter’s voice as I study the intricate decorations on the wall. I snap out of my thoughts as we reach a set of large, mahogany double doors. As we step inside, I am overwhelmed with sounds, smells, and colors, and I look around, wildly. I see people painting, with real brushes that look much better than my rugged handmade ones. They are using colors I have never even seen before, and I marvel at their ability. I listen hard to the noises around me, and hear many different sounds that make me turn in circles to find their origin. Hunter chuckles at my childlike behavior. “You are hearing the many different types of music that are being played at the compound.” he informs me. “Here, in the center area, you hear a bit of everything, but as you walk to the different branches of the compound, the music styles will become isolated to just one style or musician playing.”

I am a bit confused, as I have never heard anything like this before. I mean, we learned about how music was a big part of individuality in the olden times and why it was forbidden, but the government makes it sound terrible. This, though is not terrible. It is no where near terrible. “What is your favorite style?” I question Hunter, because I have no clue where to start exploring.

“I love all styles, but rock is a personal favorite. And before you ask, rock is a style of music that contains heavy drumbeats and guitar riffs, combined with singing. I will show you what I mean when we get to the branch where rock musicians take turns playing.” Hunter replies, leading me across the main area to one of the alleys branching off. As we continue to walk down the area, I hear a pounding that is accompanied by different sounds, and someone who must be singing. I stare in wonder at the stage where a group of people are playing different instruments and singing. Hunter describes what instruments they are playing, and I only half listen as I begin to nod my head along to the beat.

“This is one of my favorite songs being played right now. It’s called ‘Famous Last Words’ by a band from the olden days, before the society, called My Chemical Romance. Sadly, the members from that band are dead, but here in the society we make sure their memory carries on, as with most of the other bands from back then,” Hunter murmurs to me, and I smile at the boy’s obvious passion for music. As we walk around to the different parts of the compound, which is much, much larger than I thought, Hunter shows me more styles of music. He describes what they are, and takes me around to the many booths that have people selling and trading things, offering lesson on how to do their profession, games, food, so many new things that I have never seen before! It is all so amazing.

“Hey Hunter! Think you would go by without saying hi to me?” a woman’s voice calls out, and Hunter leads me over to a lady who is surrounded by plates and food. I stare at her suspiciously, and Hunter just smiles and nudges me forwards.

“Heidi, this is my friend Mayla. Mayla, this is Heidi, the girl I was telling you about,” Hunter says, introducing us to each other. I fidget under the woman’s kind, understanding look, and tense up as she takes my hand.

Mayla smiles gently at me, and takes my hand, while looking into my eyes. “I know this may be a hard time for you, after losing your family, but if you ever need anything, come to me.”

I wonder how she knew about what happened, how anybody knew what happened or who I am, but I am grateful for her kindness. She hands me and Hunter each a small loaf of bread, and a mug of what she tells me is tea. I have never had fresh bread or tea before. The bread is warm, soft, and has a moist texture. The tea is a delicious, especially after Mayla adds sweet cream to it. I listen silently, enjoying the food they gave me, as Hunter and Mayla chat about different subjects.

After about an hour, Hunter stands up and says, “It’s almost time for me and my band to play, and you can stay here with Mayla until I am finished. I just need to know one thing first, so I can report to central office. Do you or do you not want to join us?”

I look Hunter straight in the eye, and with the first genuine smile I have had in a long time, I say, “Yes. I will join.”









































Chapter Three:

I sit and talk to Mayla for a while longer, telling her about myself as she does the same. I learn that she has been here since a baby, as her parents were part of the society. She has always had a passion for cooking, and loves children and teenagers, since she has never had kids of her own. I tell her a bit about myself, my past, my love for painting, and how I ended up here. I choke up a bit as I tell her about how my mother and sister who were killed. I take a deep breath, and she rubs my back soothingly.

“I know this may be hard now, but it will get easier,” Mayla tells me in a soft voice, offering me another cup of tea. “And Hunter is amazing, don’t you agree, Heidi?”

I nod, and Mayla has a twinkle in her eyes that suggest she knows something. With a smile she adds, “He seems to like you. A lot. Hunter doesn’t get close to many people, due to his past, but I can tell that he already is beginning to trust you.”.

This surprises me, because what could Hunter like about me, boring old Heidi who was freaking out on him half the time? I didn’t feel like debating the subject, so I just nodded, and Mayla chuckles. A few minutes of awkward silence later, Hunter finally returns with what he calls a ‘guitar’ slung across his back. He holds out a small, white plastic card, and I stare at him in confusion.

“Its a key card,” he explains, “for your room. Since you have no other immediate family, central office gives you a place to stay here. It is not uncommon, and I will be right down the hall of the living complex if you need anything.” I guess this is a good thing. I am still overwhelmed by all of this, and Hunter and Mayla both notice that I am about to fall asleep on my feet. Mayla gives me one last hug before Hunter leads me away, and I wave to Mayla, hoping to see her again soon.

I follow Hunter down pathway after pathway, each filled with unique and enticing sights, people creating and selling the many commodities, and Hunter has to pull me along as I stop at some of the booths. Hunter chuckles at my wide, childlike eyes, and promises he will take me around later to buy some of the stuff. After a few more minutes, we stop in front of a door, one in a long line of doors. Hunter slides the card through the slot, and pushes the door open. I stumble inside after him, and crash onto the bed that is in one corner. I hear Hunter chuckle to himself, and my eyes close just as someone pulls a blanket onto me.

I wake up a while later, feeling refreshed but disorientated for a moment. Everything comes crashing back to me, and I roll over, groaning. I hear a light chuckle, and my eyes shoot open as I try to find the source. I relax a bit as I see no one else other than Hunter, who changed his outfit to a pair of black skinny jeans and a neon colored shirt, in the room.

“How long have you been in here?” I question.

“I have only been here for the past half hour. I left after you fell asleep, you must of been tired, you were asleep for almost the whole day.”

I nod in response to his answer, and begin to go through the pile of clothes that are set at the end of my bed. It’s obvious that no one here will dress exactly the same, so I don’t bother asking Hunter what I should put on. After a few more minutes, I decide to wear a pair of dark red leggings, a black t-shirt, and a pair of black boots. I lock the door to the bathroom once I am inside, and slip into my selected attire. I run a nearby brush through my hair, and I am clueless as to what to do with it so I just let it lay against my shoulders and back. I step out of the bathroom, and shyly glance at Hunter, waiting for his approval. I blush as he smiles widely at me, his dark eyes sparkling. I look at the ground, embarrassed at how he seemed to like what I was wearing. I’m not that pretty, I don’t understand why he seems to like me so much.

“Don’t be embarrassed, love.” Hunter says, gently lifting my chin up to meet his eyes. “You are beautiful, and look amazing in the outfit you chose.” I blush even more as he says this, if that is even possible.

He takes my hand and leads me out the door. I wonder where we are going, as he never told me we were going out. We walk in silence for about ten minutes, before coming to a stop at a booth. I see bowls and bottles that are filled with different colored creams. I see all the colors of the rainbow, bright and available in many different shades. Then I see more natural colors, such as browns, blacks, and blondes. I would love these colors for painting, but as soon as Hunter speaks I realize that is not what they are meant for.

“Heidi, what color would you like your hair to be? You don’t have to change it, but I thought I would give you the chance to, if you wanted. You can choose any color you wish.”

I think for a second, debating on whether I should change it. After a few moments I decide what I want. I reply, “I want bright red. I don’t want to see one inch of my blonde hair anymore.”

Hunter nods in approval, and says, “Going bright. I see I might of made an impression on you. Personally, I think bright red hair would look great on you.” I blush again, but smile at Hunter as he pays the lady at the booth. She hands him a small bottle that is filled with a bright red cream, along with a piece of paper that has instructions on how to apply it. I follow Hunter’s quick, excited pace back to my room. I stand in the center of the room, until he instructs me to sit in front of my desk. I do as he says, and watch as he gathers up what he needs. Hunter walks over, and I shiver as he runs a brush through my hair, working out any tangles that are present. Once he is done with that, I wrap a towel around my shoulder to avoid staining my clothes. I watch Hunter’s long, slender fingers twist the cap off the bottle of hair color and I wait impatiently as he tests the color.

“This will be simple enough. I will just thoroughly coat your hair with this stuff, then it stays in for 30 minutes. Then you wash it out, and bam. Red hair. Your hair color won’t wash out, so to change it you will have to re-dye it. Are you sure you want this?” Hunter says quickly, and I nod. I do want to do this. It will be the first step towards getting away from who I thought I was, and showing off my personality. I chose this. I want to do this.

A feeling of excitement, nervousness, and curiosity bubble up inside me as Hunter applies the dye to my hair. Why do I have to wait 30 minutes? I want to see what this looks like now. The thirty minutes I have to wait creep by slowly, Hunter and I telling each other about ourselves the whole time. I find out some small, yet interesting pieces of information about him. His favorite color is blue. Not the color of the day sky blue, but a dark, deep blue. The color of the night time sky, a dark rich color that fills you with wonder. He loves rock music, which I already knew, but his band plays songs by bands from the olden days, such as Green Day, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Imagine Dragons, Avenge Sevenfold, and some others that I don’t remember. He plays guitar. I tell him things about myself, too. I tell him about how I would paint in secret, how it is one of my greatest passions. I tell him how I made my own brushes made from twigs bristles, and how I made my paint from water and colored it with minerals I dug from the ground. Finally, the 30 minutes are up, and I am the first to reach the bathroom sink. I lean over it, and rinse out the hair color with Hunter’s help. I dry my hair with the towel and brush out any tangles. I gaze at my appearance, and I don’t recognize the person who stares back at me, and not just because of my hair. The person on the other side of the mirror is different. She is tired and drained from all that has happened, but at the same time, happy. The person looking back at me has a hint of a smile on her face, one that has never been there before for very long. The person staring back has someone she honestly cares about. She is not afraid of living anymore. She is me. Not the old me, who was fearful, depressed, and trapped. No, she is the new me. Me, who is not afraid to be herself. I realize how coincidental everything is, what if this society never found me? What if I never met Hunter, and never got to get a taste of self expression? I would never of been happy. I never was happy. That is, until I was brought here. Yes, I didn’t choose to come, but they only did what they did because I never would've come otherwise. I would of ended up dying on the streets, and refusing any help that came along. I am glad that I am here, there is no where else I would rather be. I snap out of my thoughts as I realize Hunter is talking to me.

“Heidi, there is one more place I have to take you,since you are all rested up now. We have an appointment with the society leaders, they have something extremely important to discuss with us.” Hunter tells me.

I ask, “What is it?” and Hunter only replies with a simple, “You will see.” I nod, accepting Hunter’s excitement without question. I swear, this boy gets excited over the smallest things. I follow him out the door, struggling to keep up with his quick pace. After almost breaking into a jog, we stop in front of the looming doors of central office. I hide behind Hunter as a man invites us in, and the room we go to is filled with many different people sitting around a large oak table. I take a seat next to Hunter, and shyly glance around the room, waiting for someone to say something. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, the young man at the head of the table finally speaks.

“I am sorry for not coming to you myself to bring you here, but I see Hunter did a fantastic job of showing you around.” the man says, nodding to my recently dyed hair. I smile, and he continues, his tone gentle yet serious. “My name is Aiden Cantese. I am the head of The Creative Outlet, the society we have here. As you have probably witnessed your entire life, the government outside of here is harsh. You saw your mother and sister get killed. Your father was killed by the government too, he was part of this society, an artist like you, but got killed on a mission years ago.” This surprises me. My father was an artist?

Aiden gives me a sympathetic look before continuing his business like manner. “What I want to do, the rest of the secret society wants to do, is complete the mission he started eight years ago. We want to take down the government, and change the way of life. We want people to have freedom to express themselves. You are so much like your father, and from what I read of your reports, a perfect leader for the mission. You do not have to accept this position, but I personally believe it is perfect for you. Understand that there are many dangers, but if we succeed, it could mean freedom for everybody. No one has to follow guidelines of who they are. Please consider it.”

I ponder the idea, my mind throwing the many possibilities of what could go wrong through my head. But what do I have to lose? Everyone should have the chance I did. “I will do it.” I say, and Hunter grins at me, engulfing me in a hug. What have I gotten myself into?