In a futuristic world riddled with radioactivity, Amaya Redman was born without arms. This made her a target for termination by Population Control Robots, so her father had always kept her sheltered – but when he went missing on her eighteenth birthday, she set out to find him, leaving her home and her A.I. nanny for the first time in three years. The search would end up leading her down unforeseen paths of hope, love, and pain, as she quickly discovered that PCRs were the least of her worries, and that there was more to the world and more to herself than she ever thought possible. New robotic arms, new love, and new strength were just the beginning of Amaya’s epic, world-spanning journey – a journey that would one day become known as The Undying Chronicles.
"Don't let them take you!" The frazzled woman pleaded as she smacked the bars of her cell with a trembling hand. Something in her bloodshot eyes told Amaya to run. The urgency in them was almost unbearable - but that urgency soon disappeared as the woman's body jolted and fell to the floor.
"I told you that one belonged in the asylum ward." One of the men put his taser back in the pocket of his unzipped coat, which barely fit his chubby body. Amaya wished she had hands so she could grab the taser from him and escape - but she didn't, and wishing wouldn't make it so. It was up to her eccentric mind and scrawny legs.
They stopped at the end of the hallway, near a window. She wasn't sure how high up they were now, but that window was her only shot at an escape - she would have to take it.
"This will be your new home until we can find living relatives." The tall man gestured to a holding cell with his free hand. The chubby man opened the cell door, letting a sadistic smile touch his lips for a moment as he looked her up and down.
That was the final straw.
As the tall man led her toward her cell, his hand still on her shoulder, she bent her knee and rammed her heel upward between his legs with all her might. He hunched over in pain for a moment - time enough for her to escape his clutches. The chubby man was digging in his coat pocket for his taser again - time enough for her to jump. By the time he pulled the taser out and reached for her, she was already in the air.
She had no arms to protect her head with - only a prayer. She crashed through the window head first, shards of glass breaking into pieces all around her and cutting into her skin. She cringed but kept flying, out the window and to the ground.
She landed on her feet.
There was no time to revel in her cat-like agility. They would surely be right behind her, most likely accompanied by police dogs, which were a force to be reckoned with. She had heard about them - they had robotic legs that could run faster than she could ever dream of. She would never be able to outrun them. But still, she ran. With all the pent up energy of a cripple who had been cooped up inside for three years straight, she ran. Although her heart was racing and her breath was depleting, she ran.
There were no trees to climb (not that it would have been easy to climb one without arms) - trees were a rarity now - even the parks were devoid of them. She had never even seen one in person. But, then again, there were a lot of things she hadn't seen. She had always wanted to see a tree, not to mention the rest of the world, but she was quickly beginning to see just how difficult everything was without arms - not to mention, dangerous.
Boom. Boom. The world around her seemed to slow down as the blood pumped her heartbeat into her ears. With every beat, her body grew weaker; and with every beat, her vision grew darker. She wasn't wearing shoes, and her bare feet hitting the metal sidewalk below were starting to go numb and bleed. If the police and their dogs didn't catch her, they would surely be able to track her by the crimson trail she was undoubtedly leaving behind. But, none the less, she kept running.
Boom. Boom. She couldn't tell anymore if it was the sound of her heartbeat, her tattered feet hitting the ground, the robot dogs behind her, or the police shooting at her. Everything was spinning, and she was losing blood from the glass that still clung to her skin, pulling and scraping deeper with every bound. She had to stop running soon - escaping was beginning to look more dangerous than being caught.
Kylie Jude is an author and musician, as well as video editor and graphic artist with her small production company Frozen Creek Studios. Passionate about helping others see their potential and strength, and doing her small part to help make the world a better place, one spark of inspiration at a time.
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