Disclaimer:The characters in this story are not my creations and are borrowed from the works of Stepehnie Meyers. All rights to the original characters belong to their respective creators and copyright holders. However, the plot and narrative presented in this story are entirely my own.
Chapter 1 Bella POV
It was a beautiful day in the slums—well, as beautiful as it could be, living among poverty and squalor. I was set to report to basic training in two days' time, so I was glad it was a pretty day. My sister and I wanted to mark some things off our list that we had made before I was to be leaving. I would be gone for at least six weeks before being shipped off to God knows where, but this was something I needed to do.
She and I were all we had, and this was the only way I knew to contribute. We never knew our father, and our mother had died two years earlier. We lived with our mother's best friend, Tammy. She had no children, so she didn't mind taking us in. Alice and I were 17 when Mom passed, so Tammy really didn't have much to do besides give us a roof over our heads. We were two very self-sufficient young women.
I remember her saying, "You girls can stay as long as you need. Your mutha wouldn't have it any other way," as she sat in her rocker and cried.
So here we were, Alice and I, eating ice cream on the wall that separated the rich from the poor. She looked at me.
"What am I going to do without you, Sis?"
Being twins, we did everything together—except joining the military. Alice was a girl's girl. She was a self-taught hairdresser, and that's how she made money in the city. I, on the other hand, was more combative. I loved to fight. I fought in the city's underground illegal rings to make money. It was fun but not a very sustainable lifestyle.
"I don't know, Ali. You know I have to do this for us. I want us to have a home of our own one day. I want you to have your own shop."
She dropped her head. "Sure, Sis, but this feels like losing Mom all over again."
I knew leaving would be hard for her. I knew the military was a dangerous career choice, but I wasn't good at anything else. It was either this or a life of illegal fighting—which would inevitably land me in jail, prison, or dead.
We walked back home through the dark alleyways. As strange as it sounded, I knew I was going to miss the perpetually moist, decaying environment. But I also knew there was something more important ahead of me.
I had this feeling, like my purpose was just around the corner and nothing could stop it. It was coming, and there was nothing I could do about it.