Dawn of Rebellion (Dawn of Rebellion Series Book 1) Page 18
It's noon and I desperately need some air and to stretch my legs. Reluctantly, I get up to leave Dawn’s bedside and as I walk by the mirror over the hospital sink, I stop. I barely recognize myself. I am a grotty wreck. My beautiful hair is no longer sleek and smooth. It has been frayed and damaged by months on the run. I have a scar above my right eye that is still red and painful to touch. I have grown thin and gaunt and the clothes they have given me hang on me like sacks. I would have never worn anything like this back home; lightweight blue pants and a white shirt; the same as about half the people here. I hate it because I was made to stand out, not to disappear in the crowd. I take the stairs and soon find myself outside.
The Republic of Texas. It’s a strange place. Everything is so…orderly. The streets are pristine and the buildings, every one of them, are made of red brick to match the wall that encircles the city. I’ve been told that this is only one of three walled cities that make up the Republic. I don’t know whether to feel safe or trapped.
People are staring. I used to like it when people stared. I liked the attention. In London, when I caught someone’s eye, it was usually because of my long legs or my blonde hair. I guess ogling would be a better word to describe it than staring. It gave me confidence. But, here in the Republic of Texas, they don’t look my way because they find me beautiful. Here they’re just curious or suspicious and that makes me nervous.
It is close to noon and the streets are full of people. None of them talk to me.
A bell rings from somewhere on my right and, all at once, the crowd on the street starts moving in the same direction and I am pulled along. We wind through the streets until we reach a large building, the only one not made of brick. Instead, it is white, with a pointed roof and large windows. The group funnels through the front doors and we are in a long room lined with benches. There is a table in the front and a man in a black robe standing behind it.
The entire town must be here. No seat is empty and many people stand at the back. I am one of them; opting to stand close to the door so that I can easily leg it if I need to. I don’t know what’s going on here.
The man at the front raises his arms and the room falls silent. “My brothers and sisters,” he begins, “welcome to the house of the lord. God invites his chosen people into his prophet's presence.”
So, this is church, right out in the open. I’ve heard about underground churches in London but mostly only the ones that got raided. I have been taught my entire life to fear church; that it is forbidden for a reason. I don’t know if I believe that anymore. I am about to sneak out when a woman appears up front. She too wears a robe but it is white this time.
“Faithful followers,” she begins, “as mayor of this city and prophet to the people, I must inform you of the heathens that breached our borders. As God willed it, we took care of the enemy soldiers. Just remember, that those who choose the righteous path that we follow will not go without while those who stray will find this world a harsh place.” I look around and some people are nodding their heads along with this woman's words while others mumble, “Amen.”
Uncomfortable, I move to leave. I barely take a couple steps before two men block my way. They stand with their arms folded across their chests and their feet shoulder width apart.
“The service is not over yet” one of them says to me, his voice stern. Worshipers are looking toward the door to see what is going on and I can feel their eyes burning on my back.
“You're not going to let me leave?” my voice goes up an octave on the last word. They don't respond. I try to go around them but they force me back. The woman at the front has not stopped her speech and shows no indication that she sees what's going on. At this point, I am fuming. Not wanting to start a row, I don't fight any longer. When the service ends, I want out of there as quickly as humanly possible. I squeeze out the door and take off running back to the hospital. I don't know what the hell is going on here.
Back at Dawn’s side, I sit by her bed and only look up when a nurse comes in. She is one of the only people who will tell me anything. She smiles at me as she checks the monitors for my sister’s vitals.
“I was here an hour ago and didn’t see you,” she says as she changes the IV bags around.
“I went for a walk,” I respond.
“How nice. Did you attend the service? I am always sad when I have to miss it but working at the hospital, you can't just leave.”
“Yes,” I say coldly. I don't want to talk about it and she doesn't press me further.
“How do you like the city?” she asks.
“I haven't decided yet,” I answer honestly.
She must hear the doubt in my voice because she says, “they’ll warm up to you. People here have been through a lot.” I want to say that I doubt they’ve been through as much as me. I want to say that none of their sisters are laying in a coma. I want to say so much more but I don’t. The nurse is only trying to help. Instead, I just nod and watch her leave the room.
“Dawn,” I whisper, “I love you and I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me here alone.”
About Michelle
Michelle Lynn graduated from Muskingum University in 2011 with a Bachelor of Arts degree and has battled illness and disability since then. She started writing as an outlet and fell in love with it immediately. She has always been an avid reader and was able to draw insight from some of her favorites like Diana Gabaldon, David Eddings, Robin Hobb, and countless others.
Lynn believes that ideas and motivation can come from the most unlikely of places such as a Columbus Blue Jackets hockey game, scuba diving, or even just an average day at home. One of the characters in this story was even inspired by a bird.
Michelle now resides in Venice, Florida, being inspired every day.
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