Chapter 1:

Cyrus’s Journal

June 18, 2546

Why is it that when you wake you're cold? Is it because you have stopped trying to be warm, or is it because your dreams aren't dreams but nightmares that freeze you to the bone? That chill is what confronted me when I woke up only to see that my nightmare was real. But by day ten...or I think ten...inside the walls of my cell, I should know that I’m not going to be dreaming anymore...


January 10, 2525: It was this day that the world would never be the same. It would take many years for Cyrus to learn what he was and what he would do. But on this day, Cyrus was born. A child born into a family, a family that no one would say was a bad family. Their family was merely average, like the rest of society. In fact, every family, person, or thing you could call the same. Everything was the same. Every house, every street, every town, every face was the same. But today this chain of congruency was broken by the birth of a young boy who looked...different.


In the year 2403, Society had came be so advanced that everyone looked the same. Every gene was the same, and every detail of every life was in mirror image. Brown hair for everyone, and blue eyes to match. How sad it is not to feel unique, to feel like a single entity. This blank slate would lay undisturbed for years, and those who didn’t look the like societies clone were in hiding. From what though? Did they do anything wrong or chose a life that would deny them acceptance? No! They were born in this form and they couldn’t change it permanently. But outcasts they would be never the less.


But aside from it all, Cyrus is born. His family rejoices with smiles so bright, so happy that a new blank and dull face was to be born. But...they didn’t know that what was really born was rebellion and a fire that couldn’t be put out. A child born as unique and special as could be. One that would live up to this calling.


“Your child was cleaned and is ready to be returned. Would you like to see him?”states the nurse, its mechanical arms and robotic body clinking so lightly that many have no sense to the noise.

“Why yes! Why wouldn't I?” says the mother.

“The child seems to have something wrong...he’ll live but...I’ll let you see.”



And now the joy stops. The mother’s smile dissolves away into fright. What is wrong? Nothing is supposed to go wrong. I thought they fixed everything, where nothing can go wrong. Is he ill? Is he too small, too big? Or -and her mind drifts away on a river of fear and terror of what it could be. And then the child screaming and crying like any other newborn is handed to his unwitted mother. She stares for one moment puzzled. Then her face changes again. It was filled with guilt, anger, disgust, and even more fear bringing tears to the poor mothers eyes. How could she have known? It wasn’t her fault. She simply gave birth...to a child with blonde hair and brown eyes. His face carved with an unusually large nose and a face shaped...different.



Her face was almost amusing. She stared at the young child as if he was a package delivered, but wasn’t what she ordered. From the very beginning, Cyrus faces separation, hate, and disapproval. So cruel to not even to feel love from the time you're born!! Imagine to feel like the trash we hate and dispose of simply because you don’t fit in. But then again, everyone is the same, so what's the worry, right?

And so the mother thinks of plans, plans of what she’ll do with this thing, this thing she loves with her heart, but not with her eyes. She has so long forgotten the feelings of the heart, however, that she can’t feel that emotion. So she stares with that blank slate of a face and she just stares because there is nothing she can do, nothing really that can fix or redo this mistake. And the child so warm, now, quietly breathing against his mother's chest feels comfort but can you feel comfort without having love?

And the day passes, the sun goes down, its warmth gone. But really, was there warmth when it was here? The child lays in the room of brown and blue eyed babies, already sticking out like a sore thumb. What did he do to deserve this? Nothing. But nevertheless, the child lay till next morn where his stressed mother, annoyed father, and confused brother come to collect their mistaken package, to deal with something that they don’t want in a society where everything is supposed to be right.

“What's wrong with his face? It looks all screwed up,” his brother Titus, too young to understand, states so loudly.
“Now don’t be so rude, Titus! This is your new brother. We will love him no matter what,” lies the mother.
The father can only laugh, then storms off to the car. He can’t stand the look of his son, even though his face hadn’t even been in existence longer than two days. And when the child finally gets home, the family immediately puts him away to the crib. He’s far enough, not that they would be associated with...it, but close enough to not seem inconsiderate. So much just about the image of themselves. They only care about what people see even though in reality, everyone looks the same! Shame...such a shame. Cyrus breaths slowly. In, out, in, out, the smallest, faintest breath. This breath would go on and on, only to be woken by an occasional cry out for help, which was comforted by a stroke of the hair, a bottle to the mouth, the soft vibration of the crib, and back to the soft breath. And this was bliss. For now, just bliss. For now.







Chapter 2:

April 15 2529:
Young little Cyrus woke up that night screaming in terror from a terrifying dream, a nightmare that seemed so real. But when heard his brother tell him to f****** shut up from the other room, he felt good to know that he was safe and ok. The nightmare inside his head felt so real, but wasn’t to do any harm. But it’s the nightmare he lives in reality thats wrong, yet he doesn’t understand it's wrong. His mother comes in a few seconds later to say in a tired voice, “You ok, honey?”. He likes it when she calls him honey. It makes him feel warm inside as if she cares. But to him, he thinks she always cares, which was a lie.


“I had a scary dream, but it went away. I’m hungry, when’s breakfast?” states Cyrus so bluntly.

“Its 3:30 in the morning. Go back to bed and we will have muffins in the morning.”

“But isn’t it already morning? It’s after midnight.”

“I said go to bed and don’t make me repeat myself.”

And with that she stomps out the room back to her side of the bed, now cold from her leave. Or was it already cold from the ice inside that soul of hers that, to Cyrus, was normal, but was really so...blank. And with that, Cyrus lies down, not to sleep for his mind was already off to the races, where its stampeded with imagination and creativity. And he rode the horse that didn’t have bets, who was supposed to lose, but was already a mile ahead.


A genius, from so early. A gifted person, indeed. A tigerlily in patch of dandelions. And you think such a being would be praised for what he is, for what he can do. But instead he is being choked out by the weeds, the dandelions. Ferocious lions, going in for the kill. Won’t the tiger fight back? Black stripes, orange colour just so beautiful, so unique.


His mind thinks all the way till the dawn of the sun. Its colours so bright and warm. Yellow, orange, red, and white flowing together in a harmony so beautiful that you can only stand in awe. And for a moment, Cyrus’s vibrant green eyes dance to the suns beat, only to walk away, for the colours can’t dance forever. His heart beats away in dance with his mind. And maybe he’s under the upper hand but he’ll still fly no matter who clips his wings.


“I thought I told you to go back to bed,” suddenly say his mother, materializing behind him.

Cyrus turns around from the window.

“Get away from there. Someone may see you. I tell you every day.”

“But the sun. Its so beautiful. More than all those ugly cars and houses out there. They are just metal pieces of junk to me. And I read that there are trees and plants of beautiful colours. Why aren’t there any out there?”

“I told you stop reading those books.”

“But what's wrong with them? They are true. Or I think so. Are they?”

“Some are but some just lies.” Just like her. “Fiction is this the word. Fictitious, fake.”Fake huh. She must be talking about herself.

“Why would they write something that lies?”

“I don’t know. No more questions. What do you want to eat?”

“Pancakes and chocolate milk!” Smart food.

“You have that everyday. Don’t you want something else to eat?” But then again, isn’t everyone the same? So what if someone wants the same thing everyday.


He heard the kitchen robot clinking and clanking in the kitchen as it made him his delicious pancakes. Oh, how cyrus loved pancakes. Their fluffy buttery taste and soft texture so nice and fulfilling. They comfort him, unlike anything else in the world. The smells of the machine creating his pancakes made him smile so wide, one only a child can emulate. But the mother just looks at him and sighs a deep breath, one that denied Cyrus love and comfort.


He gladly jumps into the chair at the metal table and grabs the electric fork, meant to keep food warm as it goes to the mouth. Cyrus didn’t like it that everything was made of these alloys, and he didn’t like the buzz of the fork, for it made him nervous. As long as he had pancakes though, everything was bliss. His chair was cold, his hand was cold, and his home was cold even on this warm spring day, but his heart and personality was warm and comforting...


Cyrus’s Journal

June 19, 2546

I remember those days when I would wake up early and make the ikitchen bot 5 bake some warm fluffy pancakes, and I would make sure it was extra quiet by covering it with towels. Then I’d eat them before mom, dad or titus would wake up and they’d think I was still asleep in my bedroom. I didn’t really realize that I had an actually good memory of my childhood until I was shoved into this cell, this tity white room, so blank so pale...





Winter 2529: Cyrus always liked winter. He liked the snow that would hit the window so lightly and stick, a sticker that shimmered in the sun. Plus, he loved the hot cocoa. It was just the perfect thing to poor little Cyrus. Maybe, though, he wouldn’t like it so much had he ever set foot out of the house he mine as well called it the world. And, to him, this was normal. This, was bliss. He loved looking out of his little tiny circle window in his room, the one his parents use to replace the big one in his room, since they didn’t want someone to catch a glimpse of his blond hair.



He backed away from the window and sat on his bed, looking at his blank room. A cabinet, for clothes, and a chest where he would store his poems, drawings, and other things he would write. He made sure that he always had the finger identification scanner locked after he closed something away. He didn’t want stupid Titus to go destroying all of his hard work. But aside from the cabinet and dresser, plus a stiff, cold bed, his room was just bland.

He sprouted an idea just then, a lightbulb, a new one lit among all the other light bulbs inside Cyrus’s head. But this one, he, due to the thought of his blank room, wanted to execute. He thought of a million ways to do so but he would eventually find the one. The one that would take him...outside. He found himself in a sudden rush of adrenaline, as if though he was watching a movie, waiting for that moment when the the monster was going jump out, scaring him to the bone. And then he executed. He walked into the living room, to see his mother, watching the holographic television. He look at her for a moment, then started talking.

“Mommy, what's it like outside?” he calls from the room.
“Why do ya wanna know?’ his mom answers.
“It seems so cool, with all the snow and the metallic trees shining even brighter, the white so pretty. Is it like what it seems?”
“It’s nice, I guess. I mean its cold. Really cold. But you're not going outside anytime soon so don’t get your hopes up.” Spiteful old hag, a witch holding her prisoner indoors to rot away.
“I know. Thanks anyways.” And when he turns around smiling an almost impish smile.

He walked at a normal pace, not to seem like he's up to something but fast enough not to get caught. He walked down the hallway with the bedrooms, which led to the kitchen, leading all the way to the front door. During the walk down this road, he made to slow down slightly at his door , and to close it so that it would seem that he was in his bedroom. He shut it as quietly normal as he could, and then just as quietly moved forward much more quiet now.

He made sure there was no follower and no blockade, as he slips into the kitchen. He goes faintly around the ikitchen bot 5 so it wouldn’t notice me. Then he was there, big door showing its face right in front of him. But he was smart enough not to try and open the palm recognizing knob, for his was not in the system. He looked around luckily finding his fathers glove. he put on the glove as well as his his brothers jacket that was more like a trench coat on him. And with his fathers glove, he opens the door.

He did it. He unlocked the door to his later life, to a new path. He takes one step outside, the cold confronting his socks. He felt the cold going down his lungs. It felt so good yet somewhat painful. But he had to go, he had to run if he wanted to see more of this world. So he started a fast pace, running fast, but not too fast so he could keep running. And as he ran, he smelled all sorts of smells. There was gas, food, and people that his nose wafted as it ran by. He ran all the way to the end of the street. Then it split where one way went towards skyscrapers, there tall heights scaring Cyrus. The other way was full of other children, laughing and screaming as they run around in the snow. And so he ran towards the sounds of giddy children.

He ran until he was right next to the street they played in. He turned and walked down the street. He was smiling, for these would, he thought, become his new friends. But sadly, he thought wrong. One child noticed he was there. At first, he seemed nice, but then he smile twisted into a bitter frown, a scared frown. More and more of the children saw im and backed away.

“Hi, my name is Cyrus. Nice to meet you.”
Silence. The children just stared at him.
“Who...or what he is he, daddy?” murmur one little girl to her dad.
“I’m not sure sweety,” he replies.“Lets go inside.”
And one by one the families and children backed away from the weird boy who looked so weird and wore no shoes, and just look creepy.

Poor Cyrus. His eyes welled up with tears and his fell to his knees in a burst of tears. The hot tears rolled down his frozen face. He felt like a fool, like something broken. Is this why I’m not allowed outside. Do people not like me? poor Cyrus wonders. Curled up in a ball, he laid on the snow covered street. He didn’t care anymore he just wanted to be home, but he was too stiff from shame to move. He suddenly heard sirens blasting down the street. Suddenly he was surrounded by hovercars abroad. And men in white uniforms, blending into the snow, came and roughly grabbed him, so rough. But he didn’t care. He just cried and cried and cried...