Prologue

                A sea of angry people gathered in tight proximity around the man behind the podium. She hugged her mother’s arm as tight as she could as they weaved throughout the crowd, trying to make their way to the front.

"Freaks!" a woman cried.

"They're disgusting!" a second voice rang out

"Not just that... they're dangerous too! Mr. President, what do you intend to do about this new menace?"

"Please calm down. We only found out about this a few years ago-" The man in the suit tried to cut in with his own commentary a grimace crossing his face as there were a few gasps and shouts of surprise from the flustered mob surrounding them. "Now I know that sounds like a long time, but these kinds of things are complicated. Panic is exactly what we were trying to avoid. We don't even know where these things originated from. We-"

"What are we going to call them?" her mother spoke out from beside her.

"Excuse me?"

"Well we can't keep calling them freaks or things. They are living beings. What should we call them?" she asked again, as impatient as the rest of the audience, if not more so.

She clung to her mother’s arm in fear as she looked up at the well-dressed man with strong conviction. Her stance was sturdy never shifting her weight to one foot, even for a second. They stood apart from the crowd… or the crowd stood apart from them, the girl couldn’t tell which. Either way she could sense the waves of disgust coming from the people around her as well as the woman she stayed latched on to.

"We have been calling them the gifted. I am well aware that some people believe that these... people came from outer space, but a large number of human mothers die after giving birth to the-"

"MONSTROSITIES!" someone yelled.

An angry, curt voice cut in, "Mr. President, you have yet to answer my question. What is going to be done about these gifted… humans? As you stated they are dangerous from the moment they are born. Probably even before that, and there are records of parents taking their own lives because they cannot bear to have a child that is such a freak of nature-"

"If you don't mind me interrupting," her mother growled, "neither of your examples was because the children wished their parents dead."

"Can you prove that they didn't?"

"Can you prove that they did?"

The man glared in their direction and continued, "There was another attack from a five year old boy who used some kind of possession to force his own father to kill his mother and then himself. This happened yesterday afternoon. I'm guessing most of you saw the story in the newspaper or you wouldn't be here right now." Many people around him nodded and a few gasped. He smirked at her mother who he had been verbally sparring with through this whole ordeal.

The suited man hushed them all and gave them his decision, "I have been speaking with representatives of United Nations and we believe it is best to put all gifted beings from ages two to eighteen into a sort of... rehabilitation program. There they will learn to control their gifts and will be disciplined if they use them irresponsibly. We have already begun construction of this institution in the Sahara Desert. We are also working on ways for enforcers to keep control of these children so that they will be in full control of the situation. We are estimating about three months to finish everything."

Her mother was not pleased, "Hold on just a minute! Any man with a gun has the potential to be just as dangerous, if not more so than these children. I don't see you locking up every person that owns firearms, and they were created to kill!"

"Please miss. Guns can be removed and to own a gun legally you must have a license," his voice was strained, clearly becoming tired of the argument.

"So you are saying that these children, most of which have no idea that they are any different than us, need a license for something that they were born with?" Her pretty features were now flushed in disdain and the girl shifted closer to her, trying to offer some sort of calming comfort to her distressed parent who then smiled down at her reassuringly.

A man dressed all in black stepped out of the crowed and walked toward them. His sunglasses hid his eyes while giving off a blinding glare from the bright sun. When he was next to the young woman he whispered in a gruff voice so that only she and her daughter could hear him, "Why do you protect them? You are only endangering yourself."

The small girl dug her nails into her mother's forearm even tighter as she stared at the man with an eerie intensity, almost as though she was looking straight through him. After a moment her eyes widened turned from light brown to an icy blue with fear. Tears started forming as she tried to pull her mother away from the man, "MAMA! HE'S GONNA SHOOT YOU!" she shrieked.

The man gave her an animalistic growl, knocking her to the ground as he whipped a gun out from one of his coat pockets. The crowd backed away from them as fast as they could. The suited man stood in utter shock. Goosebumps appeared on the girl’s skin, despite the hot sun that was beating down upon them.

"So, you're one of them!" it wasn’t a question as he aimed the gun at the girl and the earsplitting sound of gunfire followed. She was immediately drenched in warm crimson liquid, yet she felt no pain.

She watched in helpless horror as her mother fell to her knees in what seemed like slow motion, but the look on her face surprised the child. It wasn't one of pain or sadness, instead she looked satisfied. Her eyes gleamed with something strange… triumph perhaps? It looked that way, but it just didn't fit.

"Fool," she heard the dying woman choke out, "you just proved my point,” she glanced down at her daughter, "You must live," gasping; she paused for a moment as she coughed up blood. She gave one last loving look to the beautiful little girl kneeling next to her and with that her brave mother closed her eyes and fell down to the scorching hot asphalt, dead.

The murderer scowled in distaste and aimed once again at the child. She could hear the screams of protest all around her, but her vision had gone to a blinding white light. She felt something for this man that she had promised her mother she would never feel, no matter what happened - hatred. A powerful burst of energy started to burn her body and her instincts told her that she desperately needed an outlet. She felt her feet leave the ground and heard the sounds of amazement and fear vibrate all around her. She pitied the innocent people that surrounded her and her mother's murderer, but nothing could overcome the hate, not now. Not after she had witnessed the unthinkable. The last things she heard before she lost consciousness were her mother's words.

"You must live."

Author's Note

Let me know what you think! Be honest please!

Reviews

[anne]

wow...I was reading and left it when on last word....the brave mother with a lovely daughter...and when she left no remorse or pain...just wishes for her daughter....it is so well written...but I think many more answers will come in its extension part....I really love the role of the mother raising her voice...very strong character.....really very well penned Ashira..... :)

[Ashira Macy]

Thank you so much Anne, I am happy you enjoyed it!

[RAOrourke]

Wow, really enjoyed this beginning and felt the foreshadowing that this little girl would be one of the "gifted" Nicely done grasping the readers attention and pulling them into your story.

[Ashira Macy]

Thanks so much my friend, I am glad you liked it!

[C. Rose]

I'm excited.
That was an intense scene. I look forward to seeing where this goes.

"FLOATING HEADS"
In my opinion this needs more description to ground the needed, but a little bulky, dialogue.
"A sea of angry people gathered in tight proximity around the man behind the podium." doesn't give me enough information. What is the crowd doing that makes them appear angry? Are they outside or inside? Is there electrical lighting or is this before the modern era? Are people wearing Sunday formal clothes, work clothes, pajamas? Is it night or day? Is the crowd all adult, or are there other children too?
Answering some of these questions (or other details you choose) will help ground this scene so that the dialogue doesn't feel like it is floating.

Thank you for sharing this. Know that if I didn't think the piece was worth it, I wouldn't have spent the time on constructive criticism. Keep writing :)

[Ashira Macy]

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing this one Rose, I will revisit it and see what I can do to add in some description. Glad you enjoyed it!

[Albert Teague]

This was really good. I enjoyed it very much. Very Mutant-X kinda feel to it, unto the next chapter.

[Ashira Macy]

Thanks so much Albert, I am so glad you enjoyed it. Keep reading my friend. =)

[Jack Wolfe]

who used some kind of possession to force his own father (to) kill his mother and then himself.

Nice way to sneak gun control in . . .

This was for national security, why couldn’t she understand what a threat these new beings posed? (this is his enter thought?)

The crowd backed away as fast as they could as the president just stood there in utter shock. (omit needless words) 'The crowd backed away. The president stood in utter shock.'

The air seemed freezing (The air and feeling is not a perception, its either freezing or its not)

What she saw next (jump into the action of the sentence)

"Fool," she heard the dying woman choke out, "you just proved my point."
(She gave one last loving look) to her daughter, "You must live," she gasped, pausing for a moment as she coughed up blood. (She gave one last loving look) to the beautiful little girl kneeling next to her and with that the brave mother closed her eyes and fell down to the scorching hot asphalt, dead.
(Watch repetitive phrasing)

This story reminds me of the X-men, the 'gifted' the 'mutants' housed/imprisoned, shunned and feared by society. I'm interested to see where you go with this. The main issue here is you jump from perspectives, try to choose one. Either it's the president watching the scene, the woman experiencing the scene and her death, or the little girl's (which is the perspective I would choose) watching her mother arguing, scared, witnessing the death of her mother.

[Ashira Macy]

Thank you for all of your suggestions and edits Jack, I will try to go through and fix it today. I have noticed that I switch around perspectives a lot without meaning to, so I will have to work on that.

It is a bit like X-men, unfortunately it is hard to do a story like this without reminding people of the famous mutants, but hopefully I can move away from that. We will see as it progresses.

[Arrinae]

I like it. It caught my attention and draw me in very quickly. I was actually getting annoyed with my husband for distracting me as I was reading it cause I wanted to know what happened and he was trying to hold a conversation. lol

[Ashira Macy]

Thanks Kayla, I am so glad it was interesting to you. Hopefully there will be more coming soon, I have some serious plot to work on. That is kind of cute though, I guess he was just happy to have you home. =)

[Arrinae]

If only I were home. Im across the world in a desert. Won't be home for half a year at least but we talk daily on skype.

[Ashira Macy]

Aw I am sorry dear, long distance is awful. =(

[Arrinae]

Long distance can be lonel at times, but we can handle it. We dated long distance before we got married. Its really all about trust. I trust him enough to know he'd never betray me while I'm gone and vise versa. Trust is what makes it bearable. Those that don't trust their significant others fear betrayal and lose focus on what they need to be focusing on because their minds are on the home front and not getting the mission done.

[Ashira Macy]

Exactly right. I had a relationship like that once, but he didn't trust me which is ridiculous because I am super strict with my morals. It didn't end well.

[Arrinae]

I'm not surprised. It is as I've always said, there is no love without trust. And without love there is no happiness.

[Ashira Macy]

Exactly right. I am better off without him. And he gave me some nice material for poetry. It is what it is.