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Footsteps bounced off of the tunnel walls. It was the sound of hardened, leather shoes pounding against a cobble-stone walkway. Sondra’s chest burned with the lack of oxygen as she raced down the secret passage. I have to make it, she thought. I just have to.

She burst through the door of her house, immediately noticing the smell of lavender and the purple tinge to everything in the room.

“Da?” she called. “John? Ty?” Her tone changed from desperate to hopeless. “Stupid war with the stupid draft and my stupid work,” she mumbled, tears slipping down her cheeks. She stood up from where she had fallen and pulled back her long, brown hair, fighting the urge to scream out. She went to her room and changed out of her oil-stained jump-suit and into shorts and a t-shirt. She went to her bathroom and, having already washed her face before leaving the factory, Sondra wiped the tears away and washed her arms. The factory was where everyone between the ages of 10 and 16 worked. Sondra and everyone her age worked hard everyday, sometimes coming home to family and sometimes coming home to lavender. That was life in Samonella, named after the founder, Samonny.