No-one is ever going to read this.

I'm writing it on the back of a norsefire propagande poster. I tore it down and decided it might as well have something true written on it.

My name is Jazz Ashton. Short for Jasmine. I've spent my entire life hiding from my government. Why?

Because I'm black.

I'm probably going to die soon. I've been running for so long. Sooner or later they will catch me.

Then they'll kill me.

I'll hide this when I've written it. No-one will ever find it or read about my life. The name Jasmine Ashton will disapear into history. Maybe if I'm lucky people will remember be as Cass's sister. She died eight years ago. But people still talk about her occasionally. Her death wasn't something you could forget. No-one will read this but I wanted to leave something behind. Something tangible. Some record of my life.

I am seventeen years old. I was born in an abandoned tube station some time in April. I don't know the exact date. I never met my father. My mother used to sleep with strange men in exchange for food. He was just another customer. My mother died when I was three. I remember very little about her. I had one sister. Her name was Cassandra and she was ten years older than me. She used to tell me stories about before. Back when it was ok to be black and Norsefire was a minor irritation. She took care of me.

We travelled a lot. It was dangerouse to stay still. My life was a carousal of abandoned houses and running away. We wore hoodies with the hoods pulled low. Wrapped scarves around the lower half of our faces. Arranged our hair so that it covered as much skin as possible. Travelled at night. Keep your head down keep your skin covered. And whatever happens never let anyone see your face.

It was a hard way to live.

When I was five we fell in with a boy called Vic. He was Cass's age. He was a muslim. His parents had been black 'd escaped out the window. He had a koran. It was very beautiful. I couldn't read it but it didn't matter. It was still beautiful.

Vic's parents had converted to Islam when he was a baby. He could probably have gone into a youth reclamation project or something. Had a normal life. As normal as it gets these days anyway. But he had such a strong sense of Justice. He'd never have gone along with it. He prayed every day at the right times and defaced a poster of Lewis prothero once. To him Norsefire was a bad joke. He refused to give in and was always cracking jokes at there expense. He was a joker and a rouge and he could make life seem less bleak.

We'd often spend our nights trying to outrun the Finger. Or huddling in an alley listening to the sirens of the police. Out looking for the black girl who's hood had blown down. Or the muslim boy who'd been recognised. Trying to find the dangerouse fugitives who'd stolen a loaf of bread from a supply train.

Vic stayed with us for three years. Then one day he went out to get food. He never came out. The finger must have got him. Our joker. My big brother in all but blood. Was gone. A bit of bad luck. Sometimes that's all it takes. He probably went to the detainment camps. It was the only time I ever saw my sister cry.

She kept his koran. She said that it was a symbol. An act of defiance.

After that she started fighting back. She defaced norsefire propaganda. She stole food from supply trains heading for Suttler. Not the poor quality rations that the rest of the populace ate. She started carrying a chain. I never thought she'd use it. I didn't think my sister had it in her to kill. I was wrong. One night some finger men came upon us in an alley. She swung that chain like a whip. she wrapped it around one mans neck and tore his throat out. Another flick of her wrist and it hit a mans eye. Straight into his brain.

She killed three men. Her expression was empty the whole time.

When I was nine the house we were hiding in was raided. She told me to run then pulled out her chain. I ran and hid. Watching. She broke wrists and whipped out eyes. She was very good. Then one of them aimed his gun after me. Cass leapt on him. Strangling him with her chain. He fumbled with his gun and shot her in the stomache. She fell to the ground.

He told her to beg.

She refused.

He shot her in the leg. She screamed.

He told her to beg.

She refused.

The next bullet was in her head.

I didn't cry. I couldn't. The only way to survive here is to bottle up everything bad. Vic survived by laughing. Hiding the fear behind smiles. Cass fought. Right until the end.

Cass used to talk about dignity. About courage. Back in the old days. There were stories about people in resistances and rebellions. The hero was always brave. Always fought. Never ran away and eventually led a huge attack against the evil leader.

My life is nothing like that.

There is no resistance. No rebellion. Only survivors at best. Attacking the evil leader will just get you killed. And sometimes the only way to survive is to run.

Cass used to say that there was a line between cowardice and common sense. That the issue was where does the line come.

For Vic the line was his faith.

For Cass the line was begging.

Our dignity is all we have. Pride integrity. You can't touch it you can't wield it as a weapon. It won't save you.

But it is worth dying for.

I've survived alone since then. I run I hide. I feel nothing.

Once I went back to the house where Cass died. I laid a flower there. Just a dandelion from the park. Nothing special.

Her blood was still on the floor.

The chain she'd fought with lay in the corner. Encrusted in blood.

I took it cleaned it. Used it.

I went after the man who shot my sister. Killed him and left his body for the rats of London.

Vengeance is sweet.

I still use the chain. I killed three fingermen last night. It's my revenge. For me, my sister, my mother, Vic. And all the others who've died because of these monsters in control. I know that doing this is likely to get me killed. I don't care. I kill and I feel nothing.

I rarely do.

For a while I thought that I was the only one who killed fingermen. Who cared more about revenge than survival.

Then HE showed up.

He blew up the old Bailey. Appeared on the television. I'd put money him being the one who silenced the 'voice of London'.

The man in a Guy Fawkes mask.

The man who calls himself V.

I find it hard to picture any world except this one. A world where I don't have to hide.

But I'll fight for it.

Tonight is the fifth of November. And I am going out.

Maybe I'll be the only one. Maybe I won't.

It doesn't matter.

This is my defiance.

This is my Koran.

My laughter.

My symbol.

My faith.

My vengeance.

My hope.

I may die tonight. I don't care. My life has been difficult. The country is in bad times and I was unfortunate enough to be born here.

But it's the darkest places where you find the brightest people.

I had a brother who never stopped laughing and a sister that never stopped fighting.

I lost them, and sometimes when I think about the world I live in. I wish I'd never been born.

Then I remember Cass's smile. Vic's laugh. The beauty of a Koran. The taste of REAL butter stolen from Chancellor Suttler. The darkest night is before the dawn. And those moments. Those people. They were the stars that got me through it.

Cass, Vic, all the others, people I only met once, who helped us for no reason other than they thought it was right. I remember them all.

They were made my life what it was.

That's why I wouldn't change my life for anything in the world.

I am who I am because I needed to be to survive.

That's why I never even try to forget.

Why I choose to remember every second of it.

Good or bad.

I've always lived my life how I chose.

I have no regrets.

I have killed many people.

Time, time is the greatest murderer of them all.

And he is against me.

I will be caught. I will be killed. Sooner or later it will happen. Maybe tonight.

But I will die dignity.

Cass, Vic.

I hope I make you proud.

And if anyone does find this. And is reading about my life.

I hope that you never have to make the choices I've had to make. I hope you never have to live knowing that in the eyes of many your very existance is a crime.

But if you do.

Never apologise. Never stop fighting.

Never let them win

Jazz

A/N I have become obsessed with V for Vendetta. This is warmup for a multichapter fic I may do. The way I figure it. V probably wasn't the only person with a personal vendetta. And no way could Norsefire catch EVERYONE. There must have been people in hiding. Like Anne Frank and The Nazis. Admittedly Jazz is nothing like Anne Frank but regardless. She is a survivor. This is heavily based off Valeries last letter. And the thing with the Koran is inspired by Deidritch keeping one in his house.

I know that the movie doesn't actually SAY that Norsefire goes after blacks. But there were black people in the scene's from larkhill and at no other point in the movie do we see a black person. So I figure it's probably accurate.

Please review. It's my first V for Vendetta fic so I'd love some pointers. I apologise for any typos.