A/N Hi All! So this is my first fanfic—yay! So, first off, I guess I don't really know what do in Author's notes, but I'm sure I'll get better at it as I go. And I know it's kinda short, and a forewarning to go out to you guys right now, I'm not sure how frequently I'll be able to update, but bear with me, I'm new at this. Constructive criticism is welcome, but please, don't hate on my piece if you can't do it in a nice manner...
Disclaimer: And remember, I don't, in any way, shape, or form, own Kickin It. (It would be cool if I did, though)
So I guess, on to the story. Hoorah!
Left Behind.
She stepped out of the shadows, the light creeping up her body—her black boots worn with age, her jeans-the only pair she owned, torn and tattered, her leather jacket that her father had given to her when she was five. It fit her now. Her pendant glittered, for a moment white, rather than silver, the stars dancing on the surface and reflecting upon her face. And her hair, for a moment, silver-the moon, rather than the golden rays of the sun. Until the light reached her eyes, like ice, cerulean and sparkling. Though they were kind eyes, and her scarlet lips were curved into a smile, there was a coldness in her, too. She had lost too much to prevent the winter from entering her bones. But in her heart there was also a fire—a flame that could not be extinguished. The fire was in her words. Yet the ice was in her gaze. The heat ran through her veins while the chill ran through her marrow. But this made her strong. She had passion within, as well as indifference. She was a lethal weapon, as well as a savior.
But even she did not know this yet. She knew not that the silver pendant hanging around her neck was a locket. Nor did she know why her parents had given it to her the day they died. She didn't know of the rebellion. Nor did she know that she would play a part in bringing her society from its knees to its feet, and bringing its leaders from their feet to their knees. She was only a girl, after all, a tender sixteen years of age. She was smaller than most, delicate, easily broken. But she was mature beyond her years. Her silent eyes had seen much, too much for a child. So in that way, she wasn't a child. In that way, she could be a commander, a leader, an old, wise man. Yet so many children then were wise beyond their years. They had to be. She had to be.
Kim. That was her name. And she was one of the oldest ones left. Her parents, her grandparents, her aunts and uncles—they had all died long ago. The plague had taken them all. Kim had watched her mother, covered in boils, unable to speak, unable to cry, unable to sleep. She watched as the life left her older brother's eyes. She stared as her father took his last breath. She stood as so many fell around her. She had only gone to her mother's funeral, dressed in black, wearing a veil that almost hid her tears. Almost. Her mother's casket was closed. Even the most skilled at embalming could not hide the countless scabs that were scattered across her body. She couldn't go to her father's, or her brother's. Too many had died then for there to even be a service. Those were the worst days. She was only seven, but she still understood what was happening. Even the youngest understood. There shouldn't be so many bodies lying on the side of the road. The air wasn't supposed to smell like rotting flesh. The water wasn't supposed to be the murky shade of burgundy that it always seemed to be. And yet it was.
But it wasn't as if anything could be done. For the only citizens left living were little children. And of course, the Elected Council-the few who were able to afford the vaccination for the plague. The few who were too cruel to allow it to be distributed, until it was too late, and only the children remained. Still, the Elected Council would do nothing. The hadn't done anything for the past eight years. Why start now? They lived in comfort-watching as those wise beyond their years worked beyond their capacity. They didn't look close enough to see the dust smeared on the face of a ten-year old girl. They didn't bother to count the ribs on each child's body. Each boy or girl was undernourished and overworked. Yes, the economy functioned, but it came at a high price.
Kim was one of the lucky ones. She had no family left to feed, or make sacrifices for. She had gotten one of the few jobs that paid well, (if you could call two dollars a day being paid well) and called for little physical exertion. She worked, like her grandfather, inside the walls of the Elected Council. She prepared their meals, cleaned their bedrooms, served at the occasional ball (she thought these balls were pointless, as the only ones invited were the members of the Elected Council themselves.) But she didn't complain. She was fed, she was clothed, she could actually take a bath. She even got to live on the president's estate. Sometimes Kim felt guilty that she had been chosen to serve the Elected Council. She heard rumors that she had only been chosen because she was physically appealing. She had to wear an elegant maid's uniform daily, with her blonde hair tied in a knot at the nape of her neck. Eye candy for the older men. She realized. And yet, she also knew that despite her guilt, she was too selfish to give up this blessing of a career.
She had a friend, one of the other maids who worked on the estate who was about the same age as her. Grace. That was her name. She had dark brown hair that reached the small of her back when it wasn't tied up. The two girls dormed together in the servant's quarters of the president's estate. They shared a similar past, as all of Grace's family died in the plague as well. They were close, more than best friends. They were in all but blood—sisters. Some days, Grace was the only reason Kim could keep going. It was her voice that roused Kim from her nightmares. Her laughter that kept the tears of remorse from falling. Grace held a special place in her heart. They fought, rarely, and when they did, they always made up. Perhaps it was because the two girls never really got into any huge disagreements, or perhaps it was because they couldn't risk losing each other. The two of them had lost so many already. They had promised never to leave each other—for any circumstances.
Which was why it was so unsettling for Kim to be there, standing outside of the president's estate, without Grace by her side. The pact they made still echoed in her mind. But it wasn't her fault. She was practically—not practically—literally thrown out of the estate. The reason for this even she didn't know. She only knew that she was in the middle of a poverty stricken city with only the clothes on her back, and a few articles of food and coins she was able to snatch before she was so rudely dispatched. They had confiscated her uniform and her salary. And something happened to her that she thought would never happen again.
She was alone.