My name is number 4,021. The Windrow made the rest of the world forget. My family and my friends know nothing about how life used to be or what is different now. But I am here, the one they could not capture, the one they could not make forget. Now I am here to tell my story, the story about Raven-wood.
I am tired of it all, living in fear of myself, living in fear of what our government calls protectors. I am tired knowing secrets that I am not to share, or my loved ones would die. In what you call present day, your story was probably very different from mine. You woke up, went to school, and played with your friends. In Raven-wood, friendship is not valued, but is considered a disgrace. Your family is probably nice, wonderful, and on most logical terms, normal. My family barely sees each other and the closest thing we get to call love is our relation to them. It was not always this way. Many years ago, your family, friends, and life were probably not very different from mine. We had a nice house, considerably nice government, but best of all, love. Our spirits were filled with this and it kept us going every day. Now the only thing keeping me going on day after wretched day is simply, hope. Hope that somebody will listen to me, hope that somebody will help this society I live in restore to its former state. Hope that I can be considered a friend, not mass that takes up body space.
6,023 that is my mother's name, 6,054 is my father's name. 3,846 is my brother's name. They used to be called Sarah, Andrew, and Evan. My name used to be Hannah. We were a normal family, living in a normal world. Then in a matter of days, all of that changed. We used to live in present day North America. The states were not very happy with the government because of having to sacrifice a member of our family to serve the dictator.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: How did you like it? Should I continue? Thanks!