Marching down the sidewalk with our Student Conduct Handbooks in our right hands, I spot something skipping across the ground. As I get closer to it, I can see it has writing on it. Trash is rare, but artifacts from before the wars are even more so. I have to have it.
She opened her eyes. A bright light was blaring down at her, concealing the rest of the room behind a curtain of darkness. Her ankles and wrists were trapped under thick straps. She struggled to free her right hand from its strap but paused when a silhouetted figure blocked out a portion of the light.
Memories of being a student here, mostly of running to his classes, flooded his mind. They had hailed him as a child prodigy, a genius who chose their school above all the others, making him attend and speak at event after event.
Lights blare through the dome ceiling that encapsulates our city to protect us from the harsh environment of RECO 17. I like pretending that they are stars or moons, blazing across the sky of a planet that spins at twice the speed of our home world, Earth.
Two minutes until everyone would forget the mistakes they had made the previous year and look forward with renewed hope. But not her. In two minutes, she would begin remembering what happened one year ago at the same time and location where she now stood.