Phelan’s eyes opened to a world of color.

The sun shone through the meadows of Arcon. Arcon was a shining utopia.

There were many rules; the ones that they had were hard to break—-most people in Arcon didn't even know what they were.

Phelan rose from his blue canopy bed; the bed had seemed like it was meant for royalty.

He had learned the ways of past, historical royals from his grandfather who lived next door.

Phelan’s blue eyes studied the walls of the room—-it was a vibrant shade of blue.

Each sector of Arcon had a theme color.

Etoria was purple, home of the elites—-while Jay Avenue was blue and for the middle class.

Then there were the reds.

Saint Pentagram was a dark shade of drab crimson—-the shade of blood, only slightly darker. Saint Pentagram was the dump of the city.

The people of Etoria and Jay Avenue often teased and taunted the people of Saint Pentagram.

Etoria housed about 300 people—-Jay Avenue in a close 278—-and Saint Pentagram at 9026.

The medicine and healthcare in Saint Pentagram was so bad that thousands of people a day, bringing Saint Pentagram’s population lower and lower until it reached below 10,000.

Phelan knew he would have to do his morning duties then commute to Jay Avenue’s school—-Oak Forest Academy.

Oak Forest, itself, cost roughly about $56,000 a year—-$34,000 lower than Etoria’s private school.

“Phelan!” The 18-year-old’s mother’s voice rang out from the hallway.

Phelan was quick to change into his blue attire—-a blue t-shirt, blue jeans, and blue converse.

After that, he rushed to the hallway where his mother stood waiting for him. “Yes?” Phelan called.

His mother looked at him. “You’re going to be late.”

“For what?” Phelan asked, confused.

“You promised to deliver this basket to your aunt in Saint Pentagram.” Once Phelan’s mother said the name, ‘Saint Pentagram’, she winced. “You remember where her shop is, right?”

Phelan nodded. “Yes.” Did I really agree to that? I must've forgotten about that, he thought.

“Good.” Phelan’s mother said, handing him the basket. “Off you go.”

Phelan’s hand clamped around the basket, as he turned west—-the direction Saint Pentagram was in. Phelan continued to walk until he bumped into Collin Askins—-the man who had teased him since he was a small child.

“Hey loser. What do you have here?” Collin asked, trying to peek in.

Collin Askins lived in Etoria; he thought he was the best thing since dirt—-which, proven plenty of times before, was not true.

Collin had bullied Phelan relentlessly in their childhood years—-the main reason? Phelan's sexuality.

“Nothing that you’d want," Phelan said, slapping Collin’s hand away from the basket.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. I know it’s not something an idiot like you would like,” Phelan uttered. Phelan met Collin’s eyes, which were violet. “Now, if you don’t mind I’ll best be going.” Phelan headed past Collin.

Collin’s lip curled as he turned; he grabbed Phelan’s wrist. “You’re not going anywhere, punk!” Collin twisted Phelan’s wrist—-after minutes, he let go. “Next time, it will be your arm,” Collin snarled as he stormed away.

Phelan sighed in relief and gazed down at his wrist; it was starting to swell. Collin broke it, Phelan thought, pessimistically. Or at least busted it up pretty badly… Maybe I'll be able to get off of school if it's bad enough. He exhaled, slowly and resumed on his way to Saint Pentagram.

Phelan watched the buildings turn from a beautiful blue to a dead red. Phelan stopped outside of a building named 'Blue & Red Antiques'.

Phelan stepped inside to be greeted by his aunt.

His aunt looked down and grabbed the basket. She covered what was beneath the cloth. Money—-hundreds of it.

In Arcon it was illegal to give money to the less fortunate—-namely, Saint Pentagram. “Run home, Phelan.”

Phelan tried to bite back his surprise at what he had seen in the basket. Come on, just forget it. You didn't see anything. “But aunt Rebecca!” Phelan protested. “If I go home, I’ll have to go to school. I hate it there!” Even if I'm in my last year…

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Would you rather stick back here and do work for me?”

Phelan nodded. “Yeah, actually…”

“Okay. Clean up the garbage outside my shop,” Rebecca said. “Oh, and if you could, I'd like it if you ran a few errands for me. Got my groceries.” She handed him her list.

Phelan just stood there.

“What are you still doing here? Chop, chop!”

Phelan turned and pushed open the door. Once his hand was pressed against the door, he winced in pain. He had pushed open the door with his left hand, which hurt his wrist—-the same one that Collin Askins had injured. Phelan shook off the pain and headed outside.

The thing about Saint Pentagram was, it was in a forest, near a large body of water—-almost shut off from Jay Avenue and Etoria. Phelan looked at the clumps of litter in front of the shop.

He sighed and shook his head. “This is going to take a while.”

Phelan began to sweep up the clutter.

It took a while, but Phelan was able to clean up the trash on the storefront—-unfortunately though, the soft breeze kicked into high gear, speeding up and blowing Rebecca's list out of his hand.

The paper began to fly for the harbor.

Phelan tied up the bag and chased after the paper.

It landed in a tall man’s jacket hood—-it surprisingly did not fall out of the hood.

Phelan ran after the man for what seemed like many miles to him.

The man entered a government building—-at this time Phelan was in Etoria.

Phelan stepped inside the building; it had long winding passageways that led on what seemed like forever.

About after five minutes, Phelan had lost the man.

Defeated, Phelan turned away just in time to see a boy his age—-bruised, bleeding, and broken—-being dragged off into a room.

Phelan quickly dashed over to the room; the door was cracked, Phelan peaked in.

An old man—-about 72—-questioned, “What do you bring me?”

A young woman answered, “Mr. Anoketo, we found this boy lurking outside. He comes from the outside world. He should be put on trial.”

Mr. Anoketo frowned. “Is he dead?”

Are you an idiot?, Phelan thought to himself once he heard Anoketo's stupid question. I mean, why would he need to be put on trial or even interrogated if he was dead?

The woman shook her head. “No.” She slapped the boy across the face.

The boy’s eyes peeled open with shock.

Mr. Anoketo gasped. “He has red eyes? He is ill! Humans only have blue eyes!”

Is he even sound cognitively?, Phelan questioned.

“I think the people of the outside world have other eye colors besides blue. I do not believe he’s ill.”

Mr. Anoketo took in this information. “Okay. He’ll be interrogated in the morning.” There seemed to be a bit of a dark edge to his voice when he said ‘interrogated’.

“You’ve got it, sir.” The woman carried the boy to a holding cell. “I’ll be back for you in the morning.”

“I need to help him,” Phelan murmured underneath his breath, feeling uneasy of Anoketo's words.

Phelan waited until the corridors seemed to be empty before rushing over to the cell.

The boy looked at him, seemingly on edge. “Who are you?”

“I’m Phelan. …And I’m here to rescue you.” Perfectly smooth, dumbfuck, he thought. Phelan gazed around.

“What are you doing?” asked the boy in an accent that Phelan was unfamiliar with.

“I’m looking for something to open your cell with.”

“There’s keys in Mr. Anoketo’s office.” The boy suggested.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Phelan raced to Mr. Anoketo’s office, trying to be as quiet as he could. He peered into the room. Well… He's not here. In a quick movement, he snatched the keys up. “Bingo.”

A familiar voice came from down the hallway, it was getting closer.

Phelan recognized the voice, his face paling.

It was Anoketo.

Phelan quickly ran out of the room. He tried not to fumble keys as he unlocked the cell.

“Stop right there!”

Out of the corner of Phelan’s eye he could see Anoketo reaching for the gun at his belt.

The boy crawled out of the cell and stood up.

Anoketo fired the gun.

The boy pushed Phelan out of the way of the bullet—-it impaled the boy in the shoulder.  “Fuck...” The boy grimaced in pain.

Phelan grabbed the boy's hand and ran for the nearest exit.

Anoketo soon after called for reinforcements.

“This way!” The boy said, Phelan following.

The boy was running full force in the direction of a tree.

“Kid, are you crazy?” Phelan asked, unsure of what he was planning.

The boy rolled his eyes. “First thing, my name isn’t ‘kid’. It’s Kazimir. Second, I am.” Kazimir ran into the tree and disappeared.

Phelan stopped and looked back.

Sounds of sirens echoed nearby.

“Fuck my life,” Phelan groaned to himself. He looked back to where Kazimir had disappeared; then, he took a deep breath and jumped into the tree.