I looked at the item I had just stole for the first time in my life. It was a small black device that had a huge silver circle, a lens the new museum people called it. It’s metallic black coating glistened in the hot sun as I stood outside, frightened and not knowing what to do . I was only seven at the time, and had taken the so called camera object out of the glass box just to examine it. I was used to examining things in the museum when my father was the owner of the place. Now he was the ruler of the civilization and I couldn’t do that. Not anymore.

My father was James Ryans and was way different as a museum owner. He was nice and never liked the government teachings. He was interested in the tall tales entitled “American history” ,which included so many stories about a country so similar to our civilization. But because of that people treated my family harshly and looked down at us, especially the government. Even though things were tough, that was the way my father always liked it; rebellion against the government along with action at every corner. Mom and I like this as well.

I remembered the day everything changed. He was originally going to show me the camera, but was one day taken by the people in the jumpsuits, who interview and take people to the mental institution for the government. Everyone knows by the news that the mental institution was a horrible place and therefore Mom was scared. They took her soon after father was gone and put me in a foster home with two horrible people. It was miserable in there and when they took me out on my sixth birthday, almost a year later, it only got worse.

When I saw my father I cried out of joy but he only nodded his head to me and ignored me for the first time. But of course it the first for many things. First time I learned the words ’legal’ and ’illegal’. First time I had to memorize rules and never talk about history. The first time I was yelled at and smacked for mentioning history. It was also the first and ongoing time that I disliked my new ‘better’ parents. Everyone suddenly liked them except for me. I never changed my ways or the beliefs my old father use to believe.

I guess that’s why I stole the camera. It was ours in the first place and was supposed to be mine. I knew I shouldn’t be doing it, for my 'new daddy’ would smack me again for the umpteenth time. But I was used to that and did not care.

I started to run as fast as my little feet could go towards the direction in front of me. I used a new word I read from a book which my parents restricted me from saying, claming it was a bad word; my feet hurt like crazy and the camera burned in my small stubby hands.

I heard the sounds of sirens and I said the bad word again, this time in a high-pitched squeal- I wanted everyone to know that the ruler’s daughter was rebelling against her own parents. I sprinted across the parking lot and into the playground, kicking my new but muddy flat shoes off. I climbed up the slide and jumped off, grunting as I hit the sandy floor but moving on into the shopping center.

I ran inside and to the center of the shopping area, circling around and around the pole that had the video camera. It was live so I was hoping the security guards would just get dizzy watching me. Of coursed my seven year old brain had not thought out the plan entirely and I ended up the only dizzy person.


I soon saw people in jumpsuits and police officer coming in through the shopping center’s doors, along with the security guards running downstairs towards my direction. I gently put the camera down and used my last act of defiance before the police harshly grabbed my tiny arms and cuffed me.

“Shoot.”