We heard something.

That was strange in itself considering we had not spoken for nearly seven years now - and for good reason too. Stitched lips and Troopers tend to put fear into people's souls. The quietness is what had kept us alive until that point and whoever broke it got a broken neck.

But how the voice sounded, now that was very strange. It was in the old language, which I was surprised I understood since I couldn't remember what my own voice sounded like, but the words they spoke - or screamed rather - did not sound like words that haven't been spoken for years, but instead ones that had been spoken regularly.

Come at me you bastards!

The voice didn't seem strained or rough like the ones who speak right before they are executed. It sounded strong and full of life. Too bad their idiocy would get them killed.

Speaking meant death.

But still, at the sound we looked up at each other in shock, eyes wide with surprise and my nutrient pack on my chest jostled at the movement. I stared at my six year old sister's stitched lips and wished she knew the joys of speaking, of not having rotting teeth due to not eating with them, of not having a tube stuck down your throat to feed you at birth, of freedom. But slowly, we turned our eyes back down to The Book Of Truth. We weren't reading, we knew every word by now considering one hour a day was dedicated to reading it and the Troopers would know if we didn't. Instead our ears strained to listen to the struggle the person was putting up. I counted in my head and after a while I found myself staring at the door that led outside with wide eyes, they've lasted longer than their predecessors.

Once I realised my eyes had strayed from the Holy Book however, I immediate snapped them back down, hoping that no Trooper noticed my lapse in concentration. The war had lasted for so long I forgot others existed - others who weren't kept as captives and made to build a fortress, executed at the age of 40 if they hadn't died first. They were too strong, too powerful and too evil to care.

The voice yelled again, joined this time by others but shockingly not in defeat. In victory.

My sisters eyes once again quickly met my own, not knowing what was said but realising it's urgency and my breathing picked up. What was going on out there? Hope threatened to rear its head but I quickly shoved it aside. Hope led to death.

I heard rushed footsteps racing towards our room and heavy feet slammed onto the steps leading up to our door. It banged open, hitting the wall and I met the man's gaze with fearful eyes. His face was muddy and his hair matted but the thing that made me forget to breathe was his mouth, his smile. There were no stitch marks scarring his face and he smiled with teeth, "We're here to rescue all of you. We are the resistance. Come with us to save the world."

Had the war really gotten that bad that a resistance was formed? We knew nothing of the outside world, but I assumed we still were fighting with armies.

His grin faltered as he saw my eyes suddenly turn panicked but before I could point to the Trooper behind him, he was dead. Our only chance at freedom, shot in the head. My eyes lingered on his lips, not stitched and now belonging to a dead man before they flew to the Trooper.

The Trooper stared at us from behind his helmet and my sister and I quickly turned our gazes back to The Book Of Truth as he dragged the mans body outside, his head thumping on each step. My sister didn't know what was said so she didn't experience the flare of unwanted hope at the man's words, but I understood. A tear slid down my cheek, dropping onto page 623 of the Holy Book and I knew my sister saw it, but she couldn't say anything.

None of us could.