Thursday, March 12, 2015

Thingy Thursdays #9

A fascinating object that begged at the chance for a story. 


     "Pick one."
     I stare at it. "Why?" 
     The leader of our rebel group, the one who spoke, glares down at me. I swallow and choose the blue one. He nods and brings the strange collection of choices down the line of the new recruits. 
     "What's it do?" One of the younger ones ask.
     "Is a poison?" Comes from another.
     The leader ignores each question just as he ignored mine. "Now drink it," he commands. 
     I can almost feel the expanse of the warehouse when the silence hits. No one moves. 
     "DRINK IT!" He shouts, his voice echoing even after he closes his mouth. As if deciding to listen to a small voice in our heads all at the same time, we put the liquid to our lips and tilt our heads back. 
     I grimace. The liquid is sweet but it burns, bringing tears to my eyes. I pull the end of my sleeve over my hand and wipe away at my cheeks.  A coughing fit seizes me and I nearly empty my stomach onto the floor. As soon as the feeling passes, I look over to see how my fellow recruits are handling theirs. I realize then with horror why it seemed so quiet. 
     Everyone is lying motionless on the floor. 
     My focus is broken when the leader moves towards me. 
     "You're immune," he says, as if it were obvious.  I look back at the others.  I suppose it is obvious....
     He follows my gaze.  "They're not dead."
     "Oh."  Relief floods my system.  I could have been one of those people.  "Does that mean I picked the right one?"
     "No, it means you're immune."  The leader doesn't seem impressed.
     "But they were all different...."  My question goes unanswered.
     "Come with me." A tough-looking brunette motions for me to follow her. I do.
     "Where are we going?"
     She doesn't look at me.  "I'm taking you home."
     I pull to a stop.  "What? No! I want to be a rebel."
     She keeps walking, encouraging me to do the same with a firm hold on my shoulder.  "Sorry, kid, but if you're immune then that means you're on the wrong side of the war."
     "J-just because I'm immune doesn't mean I don't agree with the cause!" I sputter.
     A moment later and the door is shut in my face.
     Rejected. Again.
     I don't know what to do, so I stand here, glaring at the door and feeling my life waste away.  Everywhere I go no one seems to want an Immune on their side.  They think I'll play double agent or something.
     "Hey, kid!"
     I turn at the voice.  A man in a trimmed suit approaches me.  I tense, readying myself to run if threatened.
     "Couldn't help but hear you want to help the rebels," he says after offering to shake my hand. I don't take it.
     "Yes...?" What's he after?
     "How would you like to work for us as a double agent?"
     I almost laugh.  I literally just went over this in my head.  "Thanks, but the answer's no."
     The man shifts his weight to his other foot.  "I don't think you understand," he says, tone still friendly.  "I'm with the rebels."  He gestures at the warehouse.  "Those independent groups don't seem to recognize your worth as an Immune, but I do."  He pulls out a small card and hands it to me.  "Think it over and give me a call."  He turns to leave.
     He stops and looks over his shoulder at me. I don't need time to think. I already know my answer. This is what I've wanted for the past three months.
     "I'll come with you," I say.  The man smiles.
     "Excellent," he says, and gestures for me to walk with him.  He looks down at me and smiles.  "Welcome to the rebellion."

God bless,
~Amy Rochelle


  1. Whoa. That was super cool! If you ever turn it into a book, I'm all in. =)

    1. Thank you so much!! I am definitely considering turning this into a full plot one day. We shall see!