Over here they call me Rider. Over there they call me missing. I was taken from my bed, out of my own home when I was seven. I was at the prison that I called a home for two years. But it wasn't only me, thousands of kids were taken. Thousands of parents, now just couples. Confused? Let me try to break it down for you a bit.

A long time ago, a small little island popped out of the ocean, right off the south tip of Africa. Somehow the island became inhabited with people. People with the intelligence and tools to take over Washington, Oregon, Wyoming, Idaho, Montana, a little part of California, and a sliver of Canada.

Some people think it was the aliens, but some people, including me, think that it was our own government. As you can see, they didn't think their little social experiment would result with foreigners taking children right out of their own homes and raising them to be part of their army. And right there ladies and gentlemen, is where they went wrong. You can say whatever you want about kids, but we're not stupid, well at least not all of us.

Some of us realized that we didn't want to spend the rest of our lives in a prison being trained to kill the people that called us the future of America. I guess you can say that we are the future of America, but just in a different way. But before I go on to tell you of how a group of kids that weighed no more than 80 pounds fought back against these low life butt heads; let me tell you how I got my name. Which is more important to this story than you think.

I was running, and when I say running I don't mean your typical running in gym class or playing a game of tag with your friends. When I say running, I mean running with no shoes on for hours at a time, and only a break when another person faints. The sad thing is, is that you get used to it after a while, the feeling that your knee caps are going to come out of your legs at any seconds goes away, only to be replaced with numbness. The rawness at the bottom of your feet that makes you wince every time you take a step goes away and is replaced with tough callous that makes it so that you can't even feel yourself take a step. Then again, after a while, you get really tired of running around in a circle all day like a dog.

Like I said, I was running all day, my long brown hair flying in back of me as I ran. The only thing that I could think about was food. With each step it was something different; step, pizza, step, steak, step, ice cream. I could almost feel the cool smooth dessert sliding down my throat when the person in front of me collapsed under their own fatigue, and all I could taste was dirt.

"That'll be it for today, kids!" the officer in charge of monitoring our running shouted in a gruff voice that broke halfway through the sentence. You have no idea how much I wanted to give that guy a good kick to the shins.

All the kids around me broke out of the running circle and started milling around the yard. Tall chain link fences surrounded three sides of a huge space of land, the fourth side led back into the prison. The officers made it sound like being in this big space of land, was just like being outside, free, a privilege. But in fact, being out here surrounded by these big fences made it feel more like a cage than anything.

I got up off the ground, accidently stepping on the boy that fell in the first place, a small boy by the name of Dustin. He was two years older than me, but one of the weakest people here; he cried every time an officer even looked at him. I didn't like Dustin, but still, I gave him my hand and helped him up. These days, it's hard to see even the slightest form of kindness, but you'll soon come to see that conformity isn't really my thing.

"Thanks." Dustin told me as I pull him up. All I did was nod and walked away in the other direction.

Some of the kids went to go talk to the friends that they managed to make over the time of being here, but others, like me tend to stay alone. I try not to trick myself into thinking that this place isn't so bad because I have a couple friends. I liked the friends that I had before they took me, and having friends doesn't change the fact that we're treated like slaves every hour of the day. You know what they say: The friends that are treated like garbage together, stay together. See what I mean?

If you look hard enough, you can see that these foreigners don't have such a well oiled machine. There are holes in the fence, and sleeping or drunk officers lay beside them; some aren't even guarded at all. Then you have the people that run this place thinking that they're the smartest people in the world, when in fact, they have the IQ of a peanut. (Hence the reason we always call them butt heads.) You would think that the big man in charge of this whole operation would have the sense to not park his motorcycle right outside the biggest hole in the fence that was unguarded. But he didn't.

I didn't really know what I was thinking. All I thought was that I didn't want to be here any more and that I wanted to destroy something or someone. The next thing I knew: I running, and then I was on the motorcycle. The engine was already started, so all I had to do was hop on. My feet couldn't reach the pedals, and I had to lean so far to reach the handlebars that I was almost falling off of the seat. At that point, all I saw was red. I don't know if it was from my rage, or if it was from all the blood.

I woke up staring at the ceiling, laying on a bed that looked like it was thrown down the stairs a couple of times, then put back in my cell. I ended up breaking my arm and taking out seven officers that were trying to stop me. I didn't kill any of them, but I did put a few in full body casts. I blacked out after I crashed so I don't even remember being brought up to the hospital, and then put in a new cell in the "delinquent" section of the prison. Full of kids that were put in here for committing offences on the lower end of a little extreme. By far I had committed the biggest offence, and I have to say: to this day, I'm still proud of it.