[ WP ] In the realm where souls reside before we 're born , everything is pretty great . There 's no poverty , no one wants for anything , everyone knows their role and purpose . It is , essentially , perfect . But that perfection is accomplished via draconian law : the only punishment is the `` birth penalty ''

`` Hey girl what are you doing here.'' The guard said stoically. 
 
 I turned to see the guard's dark brown eyes piercing my soul, his pale untainted skin, glowing in the sunlight. 
 
 `` Yes sir, I was looking for the restroom.'' I said with the cutest voice I could muster. 
 
 My charmed seemed to work. He began to walk me back. `` Oh, sorry honey, let me show you to the restroom, you're new here right? You actually just walked by it, it was in the --'' 
 
 I interrupted him. `` Hey sir?'' 
 
 He turned around and looked inquisitively at me. 
 
 `` How about you go fuck yourself,'' I said dryly. 
 
 The guard stared at with his mouth agape. Before he knew it I scurried under him and headbutt straight him straight in the gonads. He buckled in pain as his hand swiftly moved toward his sword. 
 
 `` Hey buddy, I'd think twice about using that, you might get in BIIIIIIIG TROOOOUUUBLE if they found a poor little girl murdered in the Prison gardens...'' I said in a high pitched mocking tone. 
 
 I leaned over to his kneeling body and wrapped a steel wire around his neck. I flipped my body upside down, swung my legs around his neck and pulled with all my might. 
 
 On earth, it may have looked like a father playing around with his daughter in the park. But in the realm of endless souls, it is a rare sight. Any `` higher'' level of excitement, jubilation, or imagination for that matter, is punishable. 
 
 As the guard's soul drifted from his Temporary, I could feel thousands of empty gazes witnessing the act. But I knew most of them would n't react. They were too far gone. There were a few that understood the situation. Those that had n't yet gone through the full birth penalty `` correctional'' treatments. My friends from the inside. 
 
 I lit a match and flung it behind my shoulder. The flames picked up immediately. Artificial flowers turned out to be highly flammable. I dragged the guard's Temporary into the flames. Then, I quickly sat down on an empty patch of grass. I looked toward cell 66 and met the eyes of a man I had come to know simply as Mason Allen, the writer. He gave me a thumbs up, I nodded. 
 
 I began to cry. I cried and cried, as loudly and obnoxiously as I could. Those we had not witness my killing immediately turned toward me. After a few moments, I could hear hundreds of thundering footsteps. 
 
 `` All guards, report to the central garden!'' 
 
 As more guards poured in I began to shout, `` HELP, MY LEG IS INJURED, I CA N'T MOVE!'' 
 
 I heard the leader shout, `` UNIT 4 we need medical supplies, return to --'' 
 
 Then we heard it. A massive explosion in the East Prison, from cell 66. 
 
 The revolution had begun. I screamed in joy, as the smoke from the explosion masked my position. I began throw what Mason called `` bomb balls'' at the guards. They were quite effective to say the least. 
 
 As Mason expected, those we were far gone, began to wake up simultaneously like trained soldiers. All marching to the beat of organized chaos. 
 
 I ran up the winding stairs of the nearby main Prison watchtower, careful not to trip over the fallen guards. At the top of the watchtower, I pulled out of my pocket, the last match. I lit it the firewood beacon. 
 
 The revolution had begun. 
 

