Olivia Walton
I love driving in the car with my dad. We sing off key or just plain weird because we know all the words on the radio. The sun heats the black leather seats making them hot every few minutes. A cool breeze flew into the car and out with in a second blowing my hair in every direction, the noise was so loud we couldn’t hear each other singing. Light after light was green so we just kept going. The road was flat and passing quickly as car after car let the road. A semi stayed behind us a little way but he was the only one on our side of the road. Yellow, then red. We stopped at the light as the cars passed in front of us. We laughed at our messed up hair and the weird song on the radio. The semi truck was coming up behind us, finally. But he didn’t stop.
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I was in an accident, that is what they told me. I can’t remember the car or who I was with, but that is what they told me. My name? I think my name is perfect. “You are Perfect” is constantly repeated.
I don’t remember…. they never said any more then what I have said already.
They keep saying to behave, I will see them again. The issue is that I don’t know who they are, I want to know if I am going to see them.
They want me to go now, they say I have to learn, to learn how to defend and how to fight. I don’t want to go, I don’t know them, I don’t know. The hallway is dark and I don’t know if I will be back. Tell me if you know, I mean if they tell you who I am. Tell me please, I have forgotten and I hope to see you again.
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I was in an accident, that is what they told me when I woke up. I must have hit my head hard because I can't remember anything before I woke up, before they told me about myself. Here is what they told me and correct me if I am wrong.
I am fifteen years old and my name is Grace Hastings.
I love animals and I am not afraid of spiders or snakes.
I hate to swim but I love the silence of fishing.
I did soccer as a sport and loved to be a goalie.
I loved to write poems but hated to draw.
They tell me I will know what to do, they tell me I am ready and to just trust myself. I don’t know, they say not to fail. They say that there is always a consequence, even for failure.
They want me to go now. To go, on what they call, is a mission. I don't know what it is for, but wait for me, and when I get back if I have forgotten again please help me to remember.
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I was in an accident, that is what they told me when I woke up. I must have hit my head hard because I can't remember anything before I woke up, before they told me about myself. Here is what they told me and correct me if I am wrong.
I am fifteen years old and my name is Grace Hodgson.
I love animals and I am not afraid of spiders, but hate bees.
I love to swim but can't stand the silence of fishing.
I played soccer and always avoided being goalie.
I love to write stories and to paint.
All I can remember from before I fell asleep was a name for them, The Savers, or justice. The only thing left in my mind is an image of a man in a suit, at a party, I was in a red dress.
Please tell me if I am right. I don't remember any more then that and I am sorry. I promise I will remember more the next time I see you, but they are calling me for a mission. I don't know what it is for but I must go.
They tell me the mission is for justice and that justice brings peace. They tell me we have to hurry because my mission, or a dance, is tomorrow. So I learn to dance and they said that I am a natural. I learn to be my cover and I blend in perfectly.
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So they send me to the dance with a ring as a weapon.
My light green dress slightly stood out in the room of reds, golds, and purples. My eyes watched as people chatted in the loud room. No one paid attention to me and so I went up to a balcony to watch. No one danced so the lessons were a waste. People stood in groups, most with drinks in hand. Then I saw my target, he stood toward the middle of the room in a small group. So I left the balcony to say hello to him. I grabbed a drink on my way over.
I am 22 and my name is Grace Hodgson.
I turned my ring around and opened up the cap to reveal the needle. One prick and he would have the poison. I handed him the drink concentrating on him, waiting as he started a meaningless conversation with me. After around seven minutes his glass was empty and his eyes were slightly glossy. So I reached over and grabbed it, giving an excuse to leave. Giving an excuse to run and to forget again. The needle pricked his hand and he flinched but didn't mind the slight pain. Confusion on his face as he watched me go, then he glanced at his hand right before I left.
He would be dead within the hour.
I left the dance.
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I am sixteen years old and my name is Grace Henaway.
I love dogs and I am scared of spiders.
I hate water and had a bad background with it.
I was a cross country runner and apparently pretty good.
I hate writing but loved to do art in any form.
I hope I am not wrong, they said I have been out for days.
They say that I have been asleep for years in a coma and that I am not going to remember things, that it’s natural. Nothing about this is natural, because I know the names, the red truck, and the never stopping semi. The just me awake every time. I know it had been more then once, but after the dream everything is nothing.
They want me to go now. To go, on what they call, is a mission. I don't know what it is for, but wait for me, and when I get back if I have forgotten again please help me to remember.
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The black ford dropped me off in front of a school, my role? A substitute teacher. I don’t know what happened to the real teacher, what the savers did. The semi and a father’s face are in my mind. I am going home.
I walk up the steps smiling at everyone I pass. Opening the doors I hand my I.D. to the security officer at the desk. Smiling as he passes it back. I had memorized the school, the layout of every room and I knew exactly where I needed to go. I passed room after room in the two story hallway. Turning a corner I found the room. Screens covers the open windows and posters for writing prompts covers the walls. I set my bag down as the bell rang and students flooded the wall. First period, there was my target. I never know why they are my tartlet especially a kid.
My blade lay in my bag all ready as I read the teachers plans. Opening the windows more the kids started to file in. Including the target. She was a smaller girl that was left in the background more. Her light brown hair was past her shoulders and held back by a headband.
The bell rang and class started. I started talking about the lesson, separating everyone into groups. As the kids worked I watched the time. It has to be done by eight o’clock, otherwise they would do it. Consequences.
I walked toward her and asked her out into the hall with me. She looked at me questionably as we stood in the hallway. Her eyes widened as she listened to my warning for her life. I told her to hide in the bathroom until someone she knew or trusted came. She must have known the look on my face because she ran to the bathroom.
I knew that the gunners would be watching me, looking for her. I told the class to get down. No one listened so I brought out my knife, looked out the open window and told them all to get down under their desks. I ducked waiting till two minutes after eight had passed. Then I ran.
I broke through the screen of the window and dashed outside with the bullets darting through the air and hitting the school walls behind me. I ran through the parking lot around the cars, using them as shields. I heard men yelling as the schools alarm went off, and the guns stopped. Diving like a soldier in battle I flew into the ditch behind the parking lot as darted, as low as I could, through the ditch. Then there was the fence, the only thing holding me from my freedom. I stood up more as I ran toward it full speed. Leaping over it clearing it with plenty of room and hit the ground rolling down the hill. The weeds surrounded me as I screamed from the pain of a bullet in my shoulder.
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I have been locked in a white room. They said that I did something bad, but won’t tell me what. All they told was my name, or at least my real name? I don’t remember, but apparently I am Grace Lexington. The girl who survived the crash.
I have heard it over the speakers, I have been here for years, but nothing of the past two years of my life has come to mind.
They say they will give me a second chance, if anything, but only once I forget. So for now they keep me here in this white room and at the end of the week they say I will leave again. So I must forget, apparently it is what I’m good at.