I Come Alive

Ethylon's ribs, broken. The faint rays of sunlight that burst through cracks of the rubble and rocks blinded him. He hadn't seen any form of another human in many long and painful hours. Ethylon guessed it was sunrise, or sunset. He had been fading in and out of consciousness, fighting to keep himself awake. Time was of the essence and he was slowly losing it.

Somebody had to find him.

Ethylon shifted his arm, only to be greeted with a shock of pain worming its way through his veins. Each second seemed like a millennium until the pain passed, and he could relax his muscles again. Luckily Ethylon didn't feel any pain past his hips. Maybe that wasn't the best sign, but it was something besides the burning that passed through his limbs, and he would accept that for the time being.

Little gasps of breath were all he could get past his lips. His tongue felt like a 20-pound brick, suffering from severe dehydration. His previous whimpers had subsided into nothing more but dry coughs that seemed to tear his throat apart. He may as well have been trying to swallow glass.

Lejend had to be around.

There were only two reasons Lejend wouldn't show up and save Ethylon: she had been killed, or she was lost.

Killed by who? Killed by the same maniac who started the fire. Murdered because she knew secrets only Ethylon, Beau and Joshua knew.

Was it possible to murder a robot?

Ethylon shut his eyes and thought back to the moment the fire began. He was sprinting down the hall of the Battalion building, ready to meet somebody in front of the art exhibit. Something caught his eye as he watched a spark fly out of the corner of the room. He shrugged it off as nothing, just his own imagination, but it was obviously so much more. So much more than a simple accident, or his imagination. The Battalion building employees wouldn't have fault wiring and wreck their reputation.

No, this was planned. Whoever it was that started this fire had planned this for weeks to come. They knew just how and when Ethylon would get to the Battalion building. They knew what he would be doing. Somehow they figured Ethylon would be fighting for freedom from the torturous place known as the Capital. Not only was Ethylon tired of the constant blame given for uprisings in other districts, but disgusted by the threats he received from officials running for office. He didn't want to hear another story about how the rebels should have been “hung until they are dead instead of rewarded.”

Ethylon ran his dry tongue along his lips. Strangely enough, the corners of his lips stung. Perhaps they had blistered from the heat of the fire. Maybe he had bitten them when the story of the building collapsed.

Perhaps Lejend wasn't really dead. She could very well be lost, though the chances of that are slim as well. She knew the districts like the back of her hand, and then some. But Ethylon could only hope that she had survived, and she was still searching for him.

With faint hesitation, Ethylon leaned his head up and opened his mouth. He coughed again, but managed to whisper, “Help,” before falling back onto a hard piece of rubble. The rocks around him were caving in. He would be dead within a few minutes.

Once again, he thought back to when he first entered the Battalion building. He was greeted by smiles of many who recognized him from the news. Plenty of people moved out of his path, though Ethylon yearned for the time when he was just another teenager. Before Rowan was stolen away, before his parents expected so much from him; before he rebelled and caused the demise of District 16. Honestly, he wished he were nine years old again, running away from girls because they had 'cooties', and playing with worms to scare his mother.

So much had happened in Ethylon's short existence. In only 19 years, he had managed to defy everything his parents taught him. He wasn't a gentleman, and he never would be. Acting like a prim and proper citizen had never been in his interests. Ethylon was a natural-born criminal. If that was his given talent, then he would use it to get everything he ever wanted in the world.

A rock rolled off of the pile upon Ethylon's crushed body. Then another. A boulder was pushed off, accompanied by the grunts of two men. A ray of sunshine burst through the cracks and slivers of the rubble. Ethylon glanced at his arm, losing his sense when he saw a sharp rock that had sliced its way through his arm and out of the other side.

“Hey, I think he's down here.” A man said. Ethylon looked away from his numb arm and at the source of the voice. Now rubble, bricks and rocks moved away from his body as though they were feathers. In a second, his body was jerked out of the tomb of boulders. He almost fainted from the torture his body was being put through. Puffs of ash flew off of his clothes, and he managed to inhale some of it through his coughing. His lungs were probably being pierced by his broken ribs, and his heart was not too far from it. Glazed over, his eyes were barely open from the excruciating pain he was going through. How long before he died?

“It's the pretty boy.” A familiar voice said. Ethylon just barely opened one eye to stare at the figure in front of him. At first all he could see was the outline of the human being. Then his eyes adjusted and he finally saw the face of another politician that figured “the rebels” would be better off dead. “Well, whatdya know?”

Upon this figure's shoulder was a single white bird, whistling a lovely song to Ethylon's demise. Ethylon laughed within his head and thought he should be happy he at least dies while listening to a bird's tune.



As soon as Joshua took a step off of the train's platform with Beau, they were greeted with suspicious whispers and glances from the people of the Capital. Joshua wasn't an idiot, he knew they were whispering about the fire that had just happened in District 4.

Beau clenched his hand around Joshua's, their palms creating a humid friction between them. Joshua pushed his hair from his face, and gently squeezed Beau's hand.

“I don't like the way they're looking at you.” Beau mumbled. Joshua kept a fake smile on his lips and managed to keep his gaze even and steady to all the others.

“Don't give them the satisfaction, Beau. If they think we did it, then let them. They'll feel stupid later on when they figure out who did it.” If they figure out who did it, Joshua thought, but didn't actually say.

“Can I at least scare them?”

“How?” Joshua said. Beau smiled, slipping his hand into his pocket. He pulled out a small cigarette, along with a lighter. Joshua's eyes widened, but he managed to keep himself calm as Beau brought the cigarette to his lips. The lighter flicked on, fire looming over the top of it.

The crowd gasped as Beau watched the fire, and then brought it up to his lips. The cigarette burned, and soon smoke came floating past Beau's parted lips. He tried to keep his smile hidden, but he was so satisfied with their reaction. How stupid would they feel when they figured out Beau and Joshua had no part with the fire? How long would it take them to realize that Beau was just toying with them?

“I didn't know you smoked.” Joshua whispered. Beau snaked his arm around Joshua's waist and picked up the pace as they pushed their way through crowds in awe.

“Today I do. Besides,” Beau blew a puff of smoke in Joshua's face, “it's just vanilla.”

Joshua grabbed it from Beau's lips and inhaled some himself. Beau was right, it was a fake cigarette. They were sold at candy stores around the districts, but they weren't very popular because they didn't have nicotine, or any of the other chemicals that were detrimental to health. They were just toy cigarettes with smoke that was scented. Joshua savored the taste of vanilla and honey before giggling and making small hearts with the smoke. He flicked the cigarette at the ground.

“Ahem.” A voice from behind them called. Joshua and Beau turned their heads to find Matthew Parish standing behind them. He crushed the cigarette under the toe of his black leather shoes and smiled as they both straightened their act out. The respected politician could accuse them of anything, and they would rather not get on his nerves.

But he did anyways.

“Where were you two boys last night?”