Insurrection

Everything is grey. I can't feel my finger tips. My best friend is gone, and it's all my fault. I don't know where I am, but I'm on the television screen. They say everybody in the world is watching as they press the needles beneath my fingernails, trying to pry information from me.

They've come from a world none of us have ever heard of in search for a new home. But they say there's something about me that makes it impossible for them to accomplish their task; but they can't kill me.

I'm the one thing standing between them and their victory; their needles and probes don't scare me anymore. What's a little torture when the entire human population is depending on me staying strong?

But I'm only ten years old, and I think I'm going to die.