I pace back and forth for almost an hour. My fingers rolling a green marble on the metal wall. It's metal all around except the glass wall. A circular light in the center of the ceiling. The light dims, so it almost looks like its dark, yet the brightness is nonexistent.

Feeling no breeze coming out of the thin wall layer of metal, the holding cell is known for its unquestioned heat. I'm going to go wild pretty soon. I'm hot and tired. I refuse to sleep and eat. I have been coup here for over two hours.

I barely saw any guards walking by the large glass wall. Looking at it closely, it's nothing but a shield. It looks unseen, but if I touch it. I'll get stunned. Dawning officials spend no offense to make sure their holders are kept in their chamber. Holders are a special term the officials use to describe individuals who are placed in their holding cells. If the officials don't let a holder go in 48 hours, that holder becomes a prisoner.

Almost forgetting the reason I'm here. Under false pretenses, I didn't cause the bomb that shook South Dawning. The only thing that I know done wrong was stealing those honey oranges from Mr. Chandler. Me and my Glider pals always take the oranges and try not to be caught. We did it twelve times this year, forty the past year. Unfournately it's because of the bomb I'm stuck here. My mind is going nuts.

My friends are probably hoping I'm okay.

I continue to pace while still rolling the marble along the wall. I had this marble in my pocket for a long time. I just took it out so I wouldn't get bored in this cramp space. Mainly I suppose to use it to ease out stress. Dr. Ryland, who's my doctor and occasionally wears a lot of toupees, was a co-worker Aunt Verdi knew back in her medi aide job. He's known for treating crazies. He taught me to calm down with the marble. It supposed to ease my nerves.

I doubt it.

I see this marble as nothing but a tool, really to help me stay focus. Don't dwell about what happened ten years ago. My aunt mentions to me about not allowing the past consumed me. If I even know what that means. Even the doc agreed. I respect my aunt. I do. She has been there for me since the event. But she's not her sister. She's not my mother.

I don't want to dwell on it, but after witnessing those bomb victims. It triggered something. Once more I see the hazy images. The nasty fire that took my father, Jacen Blackvale; my mother, Phoebe Hollister-Blackvale; and my older sister, Merissa. I was the only one who survived. I was six then.

I can still see those images still creep me at night.

The flames. The burnt wood. The three bodies.

It's a repetition of those visuals that frightens me. I get cold thinking about it everytime. I lose my warmth of sanity when everytime I have to remember the fire. I wish I knew what happened. There hasn't been any cause of the event. No one knows who or what did this. Why my family had to die?

Why me?

Why I had to survive?

I torture myself, asking those same questions everyday of every year since that fateful day. I was too young, I was too fragile. I couldn't save them, and now I'm here. And my parents and sister are buried in ashes. I hate it.

Holding the marble in my hand, all of the pressure begins to build up in my mind. Seeing those images again, feeling I could've done something or at least yelled for someone to help them.

BAM!

I bang my right fist at the metal wall facing my back. The pain of the punch flows throughout my body. My hand shakes after the hit. Blood coming from the knuckles. I try not to shed a tear. My anger and confusion are the only mediums I can express this shattered life of mines.

Dr. Ryland reminded me about remembering such a traumatic event. It can be a mental anguish. He explained to me, "The memory you're encountering is a revolving door that keeps turning around and around. And the only person to stop the cycle is you."

Me?! Can I really stop this revolving door? I have a hard time to remember exactly what actually happened, and how I escaped. The doc did his best to help, but if he told me I can stop it. He must be delusional. Because I don't know what to do.

I hold onto the marble as I plop myself to the floor. My hand softly rubs the marble's hard shell. I then think about poor Addie. What are those guards doing to him? Since I'm here in the holding cell, Addie is stuck in the Barn. It's a crude way of nicknaming the Dawning's pound. I hope he's okay. I want to see him.

Then as I'm about to see a glimpse of the house fire, an abrupt pain erupts my chest. I feel the burn. I drop my marble on the floor. I grimace in agony. I almost fall down, but both hands and knees barely keep me up, inches from the floor. I push myself back to the wall, placing one hand over my chest area as I squint in ache.

"Agghh!" I scream.

But I bet no one is listening to me. No one is around to help me. And then as the agony felt like an hour, it only took two minutes. The pain suddenly ends. As I try to catch my breath. Recollecting myself, I know how this started.

I slowly bring myself up to my feet. I walk over to the glass wall, seeing a reflection of me. I pull down part of my top shirt. Sweat all over my body. Then I glance down to see a medium burnt scar that stretches from my left chest side to almost my arm. I got it from the fire.

The mark is the only physical memory I have of that trauma. Seeing it, feeling that pain since days after the fire, I look it as a redefining moment. The docs told my aunt once they found me alive, that I escaped miraculously with no serious burns. Only this singular burnt mark.

After staring at it, I lean my head up. I glare at my face. My bloodshot eyes. My hands trembling. The pain's just part of the larger torment over the years; I had been recently getting a lot of migraines lately. I don't know why, but the headaches started since my thirteenth birthday. Dr. Ryland tried to medicate me. But it didn't stop; it just suspended them until late last year. The fire took so much, and now I'm dealing with the physical and mental scars of an event that basically ruined my life.

Then I hear a sly whistle. I turn to see walking along the hallway and towards my holding chamber is mooseface. That nose of his. How fat and ugly, the moose-like head approaches the glass barrier standing between us. I want to ignore, yet I have to listen to his obnoxious voice.

"Please don't take your shirt off, holder." He sneers absurdly.

"What do you want now...?" I then glance at his name badge sticking out of his armor shirt's right side, it has F. QUIGSBY. I accidentally speak it out loud.

Quigsby steps closer and then hollers, "Don't say my name in front of me, holder. Vigilante should be a better name to call you."

"Vigilante?!" I ponder myself. "My friends and I were only doing silly, stupid stuff. I didn't bomb that protest."

"Well you call it silly." says Quigsby. "I call it attempting mass murder."

What that supposed to be. "I told you before, I didn't kill no one. But I feel bad."

"Hmpth." Quigsby murmurs as he stares at me. "You'll never understand. You're a kid, a killer potentially."

I want to say something, but I fear what I say out loud could be taken out of context. And the next thing I know, I'm staying here as a prisoner for insulting mooseface.

Suddenly I hear a bunch of barks. I spot Addie running towards the chamber. I squeal in excitement. His paws rake the glass wall, scratching the glass. It may be safe from the hallway side, but inside here it's dangerous. I bend down and let him know I'm fine, and that hopefully I'm going to get out soon. But then I realize if Addie is here.

Then I look up to see her dark complexion, the long black curly hair. Wearing a long sweater with no buttons and big earrings. I know that has to be Aunt Verdi calling out my name, letting me know she's here, and I'm indeed getting out.

She looks good, walking. She had minor back surgery days ago. I know there has to be bandages on her, but her sweater is blocking it. She told me she hates wearing those bandages because it itches. She explained to her patients she helped, that those bandages are not good. She tried to tell the Dawning officials to remake the bandages. She's a fighter. Aunt Verdi taught me to sometimes think the bigger picture and as well the small one. She has been a great guardian for me over the years, and at times gotten me out of sticky situations like this one.

I hear my aunt talking to Quigsby about releasing me. She mentioned she already spoke to the director. And then I repeat what she just said in my mind. I react astounded. "Directly?!" I turn to her.

"Over the telen." She says.

The telen is an oval-like, communicator device. Very popular around here. It's mostly a phone to listen. Now there are other telens that can become a holoport-a small hologram that I can see the person I'm talking to, or if they want to leave a message.

I heard my aunt telling me Director Vartwild was personally invested in the fire that took my family. I don't how realizing she has more than five million to oversee. Why would Vartwild care about me? Then the glass wall moves upward. I'm taken by surprise.

This is real.

"It looks like you can go...for now." Quigsby says with disgust.

So this funny relationship I have with Director Vartwild looks like she has been getting me out of sticky situations. The many times I got caught by centurions or risk expelling from school because of fights and panic attacks.

But to release me after being accused of killing three mages and another centurion, I wonder.

Once I'm able to step through the entryway, I hug Addie first. His tongue keeps licking me countless of times. I have to enjoy them. I then get back up and hug Aunt Verdi. She did what she could, but I feel I don't need to give a hug to the director. She already has done enough. As my aunt and Addie head out first, I'm about to join them until Quigsby grabs hard on my right elbow.

"Listen director's pet, you got lucky. But I'll be watching you." He says arrogantly.

He then frees my arm. I'm able to relax as he just stands there watching me. I quickly walk forward not wanting to stop. My feet pushing as if I'm in a race. I then notice there other people in chambers-some teens, others adults, and one elderly female-all looking like typical citizens. But they're not. I see magemarks on them.

I guess they were at the protest rally, and they got caught.

They're facing their punishment.

***

I open the solid metal door, thrilled to be home. I quickly stare at my forest green-plush sofa, small dining table with two chairs right behind it in a room where four large windows are showing a spectacular view of West Dawning.

This was a nice one-bedroom apartment I gotten at a cheap price.

I'm still flabbergasted this whole apartment is mines. Some of the money I got from my family's trust was able to get me this place and the stuff inside. The reason I got this place for myself; I hated living in my aunt's house in South Dawning. Some part of me believes that quad isn't my true home.

Throughout Dawning which is such a massive metropolis-like stronghold, the city is known for being "The Golden Beacon" and the "Light of Neomerica". The city is split up in four quadrants.

I live in West Dawning where the middle level Neomericans lives. South Dawning which my aunt lives is where the low level Neomericans dwell. East Dawning is known for its modernity and prosperous neighborhoods. And then North Dawning is where more upper level Neomericans dwell, downtown district, and as well where the director's headquarters-Dawn One-are located. However, the four quads are centered by a massive lake, Lake Thom; name after the first director.

And in the center of the lake is Beacon Tower. It's a large monument with the top of it shaped like two hands intertwine as one holding up the light. Or in this case, a living flame. Most historians I read from school mentioned Beacon Tower as Neomerica's Statue of Liberty. However, in many history books, Old America welcomed strangers and immigrants; no wonder they did it for mages. I guess the mages didn't like being treated like immigrants so they went to war. Now mages are hiding who they are.

If Beacon Tower welcomes strangers outside Dawning, they should welcome mages back in the fold; and don't treat them like prisoners. But as long as the act remains intact and as well hatred and fear, I don't know what type of Dawning I'm living right now.

I see Aunt Verdi folding her arms. I check up on her wondering what's up. But I can see her face. I know what she's about to say.

"You got out of this one as usual." Aunt Verdi says. "But I don't know how long I can do this."

"I can fix this."

"Please Naven, you have to do better." She smiles at me. "Don't fix this for me. Fix this for your future. You need to get a job. Do it for you."

"Really?!"

"Yes really." She smirks.

She then mentions, she'll call me back once she heads back home. Deep down, I know she dreads me living here all by myself. Even though I'm living here all alone, this place is under her name. Dawning officials doesn't want a teenager to own their own place not until they turn eighteen. So Aunt Verdi stepped in reluctantly to be the tenant. Either way, I get my place; my aunt doesn't have to bother me. Addie can do what he pleased.

I give her a hug, yet she slaps my back head.

"What was that for?" I wonder.

"For stealing boy, don't do that again." She says sternly. Maybe she's going to talk to Mr. Chandler about the incident and hope to resolve it sometime soon. But I think her idea of work is working for Mr. Chandler and his farm. I rather eat his fruits, than raise them. The last thing she says is that she doesn't want to watch me waste my life away.

She wants me to focus. I hope I can.

She closes the door. Now it's just me and Addie, as always the past year. I turn to see Addie lying on his dog bed. I pet him before sprinting to the kitchen. I open the fridge. Seeing near the bottles of milk, bread, fruits, pizza and other leftovers are a bunch of glass bottles the greenish-blue drink. It has been the city's main beverage for decades. Even people living outside Dawning drink it. I heard it from everyone around school. The drink tastes both sweet and sour, made from the best genetic, sweet fruits around.

I hold onto one bottle as I lunge to the sofa. I lean my head partially down at the couch arm, trying to relax. I suddenly hit the table up front with my fist. It's a trigger that turns on the wall screen. I see the screen popping up the fancy logo of the Dawning's Evening Report. And then in giant words, BREAKING NEWS starts sliding left to right on the bottom screen. I keep sipping the drink wondering what's going on. And then I really pause.

"We have discovered a body." The reporter says. "Brace yourselves, this is gruesome."

I almost drop my bottle. My jaw lowers in horror. My eyes widen in shock. I lose my breath as if someone kept punching me in the gut nonstop.

They found Rufus.