My life had been a lie, a cover up. It was 3 months to the day that I received the letter telling me that someone had come for my Aunt. At first I ignored it; practical jokes are so overrated. My aunt had died of medical negligence 5 years ago; I wasn’t sure who would find it funny to joke about. The letter laid forgotten for a while whilst the rest of my mundane life took over, until one morning, when my father found it tucked in my drawer. I came home to find him sitting on my bed with the letter clasped in his hands: palms sweaty and fingers shaking. “You need to leave,” he whispered. I had had a long day at school and wasn’t interested in silly games. I walked towards him to go and sit on the bed. “No! You need to go! I’ve packed you a bag, say nothing to no one. You have no father, you have no mother, you have no life here. Please go, or they will come for you too...” He’s glare was serious, but so was the pain gripping at his throat as he spoke. He handed me my passport, a pile of money and a travel bag. “But mum?” “Don’t ever come looking for her, for any of us.” As I took the keys and drove my mind was bursting with emotions, and overwhelmingly, confusion. What had happened? What’s did my aunt have to do with it? What was my father scared of? But more importantly, would I ever see him or mum again? I had been on the run for several weeks, tired, angry and weak. I had no food and the streets of London were not very giving. I laid in rain gutters and doorways whilst children my own age were heading off to school, wearing clean uniforms and holding a lunch box full of handpicked goodies. I was always one to follow the rules, I had very strict teachers and parents but one day I cracked. An older boy walked over, holding out his hands with the food his family had provided. Some good in humanity! I reached out but as I did he sneered and gobbled the lot down his throat. I turned! I didn’t even feel myself get up but, before I knew it, I was punching, kicking, scratching, with strength that even surprised me! A pair of strong large hands grabbed me by the shoulder and forced me to part from the boy. It was a police officer. He slung me in the back of his meat wagon. I was taken to a room with a large mirror. I had seen enough TV to know it was two-way. He started with simple questions, but I couldn’t provide a simple answer. “Who are you? Where are you from? Where are your parents?” I stayed quiet, for fear of lying and fear of telling the truth. He was losing patience. He took me to a room to have a photograph done, something to do with a police database for lost children. He told me to take my hoodie off and stand by the wall. As I passed him the hoodie he clasped my wrist. “What’s that?” “It’s a scar, or a birth mark. I don’t know.” I had a scar running across my wrist for as long as I could remember. It wasn’t straight, it wasn’t even one scar, it was multiple little dots, all creating what looked like connected lines. “Your one of them.” His narrow eyes filled with greed and a smile spread from ear to ear. “One of what?” I went to pull my wrist away but he held on tighter, squeezing, pulling me closer. “Your blood holds a key, a key to a cure”. “A cure to what?” “Everything! I didn’t think any of you kids survived the medical trials.” His eyes were transfixed. First at my wrist, and then at the rest of me. He started pulling me towards a door. It led to a dark corridor, one which was silent, unused. “You hold the key, the key to a longer life. Life without pain and suffering. Do you even realise how much money your blood could be worth?” I struggled against him, trying to get back to the door. I called but his hands gripped almost my entire face. He didn’t need to pull me down the corridor, he had to strength to easily lift me. Body and mouth bound within his grasp I was powerless. Down the corridor was a small cell, but the height suggested it could have been made for an animal. He handcuffed me to the metal and ran back up the corridor. I began to cry out of sheer confusion and frustration but a hand reached my shoulder. “Why did you allow yourself to get caught?” I turned. It was my aunt, arms stretching through her bars to reach my shoulder. I jumped back. The letter, this is who took her?” “What’s happening? Why are you here? Why did you send me the letter? My mother told me you died years ago!” “That woman wasn’t your mother. She was the one who took you from me! I knew it wouldn’t be long before you was old enough. Old enough for your blood to become valuable...harvested”.