It’s Peter. “What are you doing?” I shout, as I try and break free, but Peter only twist my arm harder. “We have to stop this from happening.” “Alec, stop there's nothing you can do,” he says. “I have have to try.” I say, slipping jerking my arm free. “This is genocide.” I turn to walk away, when Peter hooks a foot around mine, and knocks me to the ground so hard that I that it drives the air from my lungs and the wound in my side splits open again. I start to jump to my feet, but Peter presses the heel of his boot against my chest. “Let me up.” I snarl. “Not until you calm down.” he says. I open my mouth to tell him that Jonah would hate him for what he’s doing, but more screams come from the crowd as bullets continue to rain on them. …show more content…
But I’ve had little to no lucky these last few hours, even now my minds races with of what happened, to Commander Winter’s prior knowledge of the rebel raid, to Avery’s absurd accusation about what happens to some of the children who are selected, then back to the massacre. Peter has always done what he’s ordered to do, but something was different about this time, today it seemed as if he actually enjoyed watching people be gunned down. Could Jonah’s death have anything to do with it, or maybe he’s always been like this, and I’ve just begun to notice. I don’t know. Maybe, my time on the streets with Avery affected, has me more than I thought it. As for what Avery said about the States...the thought sends heat racing up my spine. I’ve never questioned, or doubted the purpose of the selections, and now because of a single girl, I find myself questioning everything, I’ve ever believed or thought to be …show more content…
A young Jonah stands with his arms wrapped around our father’s leg, while our mother holds a baby me close to her chest. My eyes move over my father’s face, to find Jonah’s familiar blue eyes, tumbled dark blond hair and broad chest. It’s really amazing how much Jonah looked so much like our father before he died. My eyes move to my mother, to find her fighting to keep me still, long enough for the picture to be taken. She doesn’t seem anger though, in fact she seems happy. Like Jonah it’s easy to see that, I inherited my black hair, pale skin and emerald eyes from her. For a moment the photo makes me smile, until it dawns on me, that I’m the only one left to carry on my family’s name. The realization brings moisture to my eyes, and I blink rapidly before it can become tears. Then brush my fingertips over the photo, then stop when I feel a circular lump underneath it. Without a thinking I pick up one of Avery’s knives from the table, then carefully run the tip of the blades along the edge of the photograph freeing it from the books