Author:
M.J. Swenson has been writing stories since elementary school and earned a B.A. in Creative Writing from the University of St. Thomas, Minnesota. Besides writing and reading, M.J. also enjoys playing music and video games.

I woke up feeling that something had changed.

I blinked twice, waiting for my eyes to adjust, and glanced at the clock beside my bed. It read 6:38, as it did every morning. I slid out of bed and moved to my dresser, where I opened the third drawer and pulled out a dark blue V-necked shirt with short sleeves and a dark blue pair of pants. I changed in front of the mirror and examined myself. I looked just as I had the last time I’d looked in the mirror: long, straight, dark brown hair; blue eyes; an absurdly straight and narrow nose; the slight scar at the edge of my eyebrow. The scar whose origin I still couldn’t remember.

Familiar Assassins

Down the row, a woman's voice sobbed that everyone had forgotten her. I heard the sound of a guard's boot kicking the cell door and a voice saying, "Be quiet, you delinquent. If you hadn't decided to defy the System you'd be back with your friends now singing hymns to the Triad or some other damned thing like that." The woman's voice continued to wail, and the guard's boot slammed into the bars a few more times until it stopped.


The cell block was alive with murmurs and shuffling and sobs. The guard's footsteps came closer until stopping near my cell. I hoped he wasn't looking at me. I prayed to the Triad he wasn't looking at me. But a few seconds later, he spoke to me, and I cursed him mentally.


"Oh, would you look at that," he laughed. "The rebel. So they found you, did they? How's Hex life treating you?"


"You would know," I said. "It's treating you the same."


His boot collided with the metal right next to my face. "Shut up, you little criminal."


Chapter 40