As I walk the halls of my high school, my mind racks trying to figure out a theme for my party. It's juvenile, but It's my 18th. My "going away" party for college. For when I can finally leave this small town dump and yet live and be free.

"Did you get your acceptance letters yet?" my friend Myka asks as she runs down the hall next to me. 

"I only applied for three. F.I.D.M., University of Florida, and Parsons and… I got into all three! I can finally live."

"Good for you, but is this town really that bad? I mean, you have me here."

"Yea, you're great, but if I go somewhere where I can be more known like New York or California, it'll help my chances. Plus, there's more to do there." As I think out the bustling cities, pizza, beaches, the warm sand, and cool winter and all the perks that come with the different locations.

"Yeah, but the big thing is which one did you choose?"

"I'll probably go for F.I.D.M. It's only two years and has more design options, like changing my major. Like fashion, interior design."

"I would go with, but it's too late to apply, and second I already have my school." She says as she waves and runs down the hall for the fifth period.

As I make my way to my fifth-period math class. I begin to think about my once again juvenile 18th. My thoughts are interrupted by T.V. playing in the teacher's lounge. 

"As we are beginning this new decade, we are seeing more and more food shortages and more people without homes. We've got news from the government about what their course of action may be…" The Newscaster says as the warning bell rings.

     As I got home, I rushed up the stairs into my room, and I let my bookbag slump down to the ground as I turned on my television to see if I could find out about this new initiative. When I turned on the mechanical box, I read the flashing black box with words at the screen's top.

PRESIDENT KELLY TROTMAN HAS ISSUED GOVERNMENT INITIATIVE TO HELP WITH THE OVERPOPULATION CRISIS. SHE HAS ALSO SAID THAT ALMOST EVERY OTHER MAJOR COUNTRY WILL PARTICIPATE. 

As the same message repeats over and over, the blatant news reporter explains the new initiative. 

"Everyone is being issued a shot on the week of March 11th. This will then cause the color to appear on your skin. There will be hiders and seekers. Green for hiders. Red for seekers. And blue if you're too old, young, and disabled. No one knows who is eligible, and we also do not know where or when this spot of color will appear. The formula was apparently designed to decide itself. They plan for this to only go on for a couple of months if worst, a year and maybe more." I turn off the T.V., and I decide to go splash my face. "Maybe I'm just dreaming. No one would opt for manslaughter to be the solution to any problem… right?"

     The week of March 11th, there is a frenzy of panic. They even gave us the whole week off school. Though we may never have it again. I'm scheduled for March 13th, which is today and ironically the day the 2020 pandemic quarantine started. As I walk into the bold white gymnasium, it reeks of fear. People scattered into ten lines and at ten different tables with what looks like people lined up millions of miles, all waiting for a single needle to decide their fate. As I walk to the first table on my right, I see Myka at the last table first in line, and she steps up to get her shot. I see her wince as she walks out the south entrance. I notice it's my turn. 

The officiant gets my attention.

"Ma'am," she said. I see the dark purple fluid as she sterilizes my arm with an alcohol prep pad. 

She inserts the needle into my skin. There is a burn that then subsides into a tingle with a sensation of numbness.  

I gather myself as I navigate to the back of the gym to the south exit. 

As I exit, it's quiet and way more peaceful than usual. And the sun on all the days chooses to shine down on death's birthday. I check the parking lot and around the building and don't find Myka. I figure she already left, which doesn't surprise me.

     As weeks go by, people gradually disappear. Our once already small town is now virtually empty and abandoned. Most probably move to escape the horrors they are bound to soon one day face. Some may have already met death. I had no idea what my fate shall be. My mother skipped town a couple weeks ago. She never revealed to me what task she had. I woke up as the sun from my curtains stained my room with light and headed to the shower. I soon noticed that I had a green mark on my wrist that reminds me of a fern. It isn't very noticeable; it's odd, though, and most importantly, effortless to cover up. The walls in my house are thick, but occasionally you can hear the screams and gunshots, and terror from outside. Three days after my shot, I bought extra locks for my house. They've protected me for two weeks, but I need to leave and experience fresh air and get more food. I had always wished my mom would buy more food. No snacks for a reason; my mom has her health kick phases and only believes in ingredients for a meal. And the water and electricity would soon be cut off. I grab a black jacket to avoid the stares of other roaming civilians and cover up my new deadly tattoo with a sharpie. 

The local market is empty. Windows broken, shelves tipped over—complete and utter chaos. Outside is even worse. Abandoned cars, glass, anything you can think of.

The walk back home is especially excruciating. I soon notice a group of most likely reds trailing behind me. I pick up my pace to a brisker walk in the hope it'll get me home a little faster. Dreadingly I look glance behind me at a notice they've sped up along with me. I can't see my house, but I know it's at least a block or two away. I sprint. The wind jostles my face, and my lungs feel heavy. My home is finally less than ten meters away. I jump onto my porch quaking as I try to open the door. I frantically check behind me and see the ominous group behind me at least three houses away. I freeze, realizing I've locked myself out. I remember a shortcut from when I was a kid after I ran away for some tedious reason. I head behind my house and head into the forest and run through the brush, and the twigs and thorns leave minor scrapes and cuts on my body till I make it to the empty field with trees looming over it and nature all around. I find the familiar rock from ten years ago and decide to sit by and rest.

     By the time I wake up, I realize it’s morning again and decide it may not be the right decision to head home. Not yet, at least. I stumbled upon a camp that looks like people just left and will be back soon. I still have my jacket, but I grab a blanket and a sandwich and water bottle I see and the box of matches along with an Altoids tin for when I need more freshwater. I decidedly put back the blanket and water and sandwich, knowing that I have warmth and I'll eventually find my own food, and I have matches and tin to boil and cook tiny portions. I hear the rushing sound of water and trail where my ears lead me as the stream calls me. As I make my way to the bank, it's cooler than expected, and I choose to keep moving. I find a bush.

Big enough for me to hide in it, no thorns, no potential dangers besides the animals that may be lurking around. I climb inside and zip up my coat, hoping to retain my heat. When I wake before I dare open my eyes, I feel the long cold barrel of a pistol press upon my right temple. As I'm held at gunpoint, I open my eyes to look at my executioner. "Myka?!". Scared as a jack-rabbit that has heard the howl of a wolf but thinking about our childhood, I know she wouldn't do it. More importantly, she wouldn't be able to. For someone to kill their best friend that they grew up with, defended, and was basically their family, you’d be a monster. But maybe there's a side to her I've never seen.