Have you ever felt lonely? Or, have you felt the aching burning in your chest, longing for someone that is long gone? Well, I have. Ever since two years ago, that is. I've been abandoned in a perfectionist society full of people that, for some reason, don't think I've met some kind of fantasied standards.

    I sit in the corner, alone and isolated. The air buzzes with chatter as pieces of hair flutter to the checkered floor. My parents stand behind a man and woman respectably, an elderly couple that has been coming here for years. Here, as in my parent's salon, where they devote most of their time, effort, and dedication.

    My Aunt Becca also works here along side them. Sometimes, just looking at her face and into her eyes reminds me of her. I had a cousin. No, she wasn't even a cousin, she was a sister and a best friend. Then, all of a sudden, I was alone. I mean, there's my friend Kaylee, but we've drifted so far apart it sometimes feels like we never even knew each other.

    My watch beeps, indicating it's time for me to be physically active. I've never been sure why we need to be fit, or to be slim, or to be healthy. I guess I've just gone with the flow my whole life, and now, I guess it hasn't left me in the brightest of places. Well, it's my only option, now isn't it? There's no Plan B, no escape from the harshness that is my pitiful reality.

    I wave goodbye to everyone in the salon, and some customers even wave back. I've come to know quite a few people from visiting my parent's work, but never people my age that want to stay.

    As soon as the fresh air slaps me in the face, I jog out into the open, into the outdoors. The faux trees wave me a greeting, as does the artificial grass. My dad and I always fantasize about what real nature is like, but I guess we'll never know. All of the natural plant life has long been destroyed by warming climates and pollution, which has thankfully been taken care of, for the most part.

    Sometime through my running, which leaves me panting due to my asthma, I wind up at the cemetery. By now, the sun has long dipped below the horizon. Actually, it was never up when I set foot from the salon. I know I should probably turn back in case the clock strikes twelve before I get out. After all, being out after curfew is punishable by law if one of the many night guards catches you.

    I bring my smart watch up to eye level. 11:30. I have thirty minutes. I should be fine. So, I enter through the parted metal gates, my heart rate speeding up.

    At first, it was a necessity. It was an emotional outlet, the only connection to her I had left. Every single day I would sit down next to her. Rain or shine. Then, I started visiting less and less, not seeing the point in talking to dirt and fake grass.

    I still like to think that I still have a tiny connection to my best friend, my cousin. Maybe that's why, even though I know my visits are becoming pointless, I refuse to stop coming. It's become a weekly ritual to just talk to her, to just vent about my problems and finally let my tears spill over.

    It's difficult to comprehend that once I despised her, but it's true. Everyone adored the girl. My parents loved it when she helped at the salon, even more than they enjoyed my walk. Only when I was ten and in a hard place did I finally let her comfort me. She was the only person around and my defenses were down. I was too sad to be angry. I sobbed into her hair and explain that Kaylee had started hanging with the popular crowd, how everyone seemed to hate me. Maybe that's where everything went downhill with me and everyone else. Well, everyone excluding her.

    The next three years, we became the best of friends. When I was down, she would insist that her two year lead of age made her superior to anyone in my class and that since she thought I was cool, I had to be. She once paraded me all around town shouting "This is my cousin and I'm proud!" That was probably the best and most embarrassing day of my life. If only things were still the same.                                            'Ashley Morales' the tombstone reads. She allowed me to call her Ash. The adults refused to call her anything but her proper name, which was fine with me. This made the nickname even more special. She called me Hurricane because I loved storms. We were Hurricane and Ash, cousins by chance, friends by choice. It was bliss.                    I sniff, my hair clinging to the tears I just realized are running down my face. Maybe I'm crying because it's officially been two years since I've lost her. Or, maybe I'm just an emotional mess. My whole body shakes as I grip my knees tightly. I have to calm down. I don't have much time left. It's getting late.

    I stare at the tiny stone stuck in the ground. One day, Ash was a golden girl. Next, no one would utter her name out loud, No one would explain why, they would only explain to my thirteen-year-old self that my cousin was dead.

    Half the people who stroll through the cemetery probably don't even notice Ash's headstone. If anyone happened to look down and read her name off the plain stone, she would probably be just a stranger to them. They wouldn't know that she used to wear her hair in a messy side braid. They wouldn't have seen her green eyes full of life as she conversed with me for what would be the last time. They wouldn't know the tiny freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks, which she hated. They wouldn't know that besides the freckles and lack of glasses, we looked almost exactly alike.

    Ash deserved more. She deserved a funeral. She deserved more people to visit her grave. Was she really popular if none of her friends would come near her grave? Why is she such a taboo topic? Most importantly, why did she have to leave me?

    I look down as I feel a wetness drip onto my arm. My chest heaves up and down as I stare straight ahead, straight through the slight fog. My eyes don't focus on a single headstone but rather unfocus until they all blur into one.

    My watch beeps. signaling that I have received a text. Instead of looking, I rise to my feet and dust myself off. I'm sure my eyes are red and puffy, but I could care less. I have to take care as I walk, as the lens of my glasses are blurry. Still, I'm too numb to take them off and clean them. Instead, I keep placing one foot in front of the other, refusing to turn around and say goodbye in fear that I'll break down all over again.

    I flip over my wrist and stare at the slightly scarred skin. The scar is in the shape of a small, square-shaped Chip. Everyone seems to think it is a necessity, a way of life. I'm not exactly sure what it is, I just know it's there, that it's supposed to be there, and it's a big part of this society.

    Years ago, there were riots. The government needed a way to control people, to bring peace. So, Chips were installed. Now, everyone's supposed to live happily-ever-after, just like in a surreal fairy tail. Well, I'm not very happy, and that's a fact.

    I once believed the lies the government was feeding. Ash was the one who taught me the truth, who explained that the way we live isn't perfection. Of course, she had to disagree in secret. Wouldn't want the government to know that someone disagrees, that someone is onto their lies.

    Ash made sure to reiterate that no one can know our true opinions. She made sure to tell me that I can't stand out like a sore thumb or red rose among a field of daisies. She said that she just wanted me to be safe.

    I feel a pang in my chest as the edge of the cemetery comes into few, the electric fence seeming to still be off. Ash wanted to keep me safe, but yet she lies dead in a grave. How ironic is that? The wind picks up and plays with my hair as I approach the exit. It's locked. Panic rises within me. No, no, I couldn't have missed curfew!

    Cursing under my breath, I decided to try and scale the fence. I think it's off, right? Scratch that, I don't feel like becoming barbecue. If it's after curfew, the fence must be on. I'll have to try and squeeze underneath. The gap looks big enough.

    I plop onto the ground and lie flat on my stomach. Then, I slowly belly crawl towards the gap. Rough grass tickles my exposed flesh and my shirt rides up as I get closer.

    My heart pounds in my throat and a take a deep breath. Don't worry Autumn, you'll be okay. You can make it. You can't stay in this cemetery all night anyways. The guards will catch you and arrest you.

    My breath catches as I realize my body is half way through. My stomach twists into knots as I look back at my knees, which are directly under the fence, which I can now tell us buzzing and crackling with electricity.

    I gasp as I hear the sound of a car in the distance. I have to hurry. My black frames slip off my face as I drag the rest of my body into the other side of the menacing wire. Then, I cry out as my shoe gets stuck on a rock. Pain courses through my body, traveling from my ankle up to my thigh. Gritting my teeth, I resist the urge to scream as pins and needles grip my nerves.

    Carefully yet hurriedly, my hands work to free my sneaker and its jumble of lace. By now, I can see the headlights piercing through the dark. Panic rises within me as I struggle, heart pounding erratically against my chest as my breathing becomes shallow and rushed. In my blind panic, my fingers slip and miss, constantly shaking.

    Finally, with one last jerk, my shoe flies free. Sadly, the impact causes my wrist to come into contact with the fence. I clamp down on my tongue to hold in a scream as I feel a sharp pain in my wrist. There is a sizzle and a pop, then nothing but a faint tingle.

    Slowly glancing around, I realize the car must have turned into onto another road. Relief floods through me like a tidal wave before I remember my wrist. Why doesn't it hurt anymore? I should be fried by now, my body sprawled across the artificial grass like a Persian rug.

    As I look down, I gasp. There, glinting in the moonlight, is a small, golden piece of square metal. Trembling, I lift my wrist so that its level with my eyes. Instead of smooth skin and a square scar, there is blood oozing down my arm.                                My Chip is gone.                                            My breathing becomes shallow and I can barely think straight. Suddenly, breathing becomes a chore, a labor of gasping and sputtering. My frantic heart pounds against my ribcage as if begging and pleading to escape this urgent situation.

    My Chip is gone.

    No one has been able to remove a Chip before. Chips are utterly complex and will zap you with a lethal amount of electricity if you attempt to remove it. If the government were to discover someone was able to undermine them, to get around their expensive and sophisticated technology, that person would be instantly eliminated. No one living, besides the government themselves, should possess information of such classification. If anyone were to discover what I have accidentally accomplished, I'd be done for.

     My Chip is gone.

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I hope you enjoy the new and improved chapter 1!

-Sarah