Prologue
You're not pretty, you're ugly.
You're never perfect, you're horrible.
Your not very strong, you're weak.
You're never the smart one, your stupid.
Make yourself look better.
Make yourself get good.
Make yourself stronger.
Make yourself smarter
That's what I've learnt. I can't be the best instantly, I have to work, for the lives of this village.
Everyone counts on you, the imperfect ones.
With my brothers and sisters, be will better ourselves. We will help. We will ensure everyone's safety, each other's safety.
That's what we've been taught.
But when sister killed brother, I'm starting to question it. I had to stab her arm to make her stop.
The caretaker praised me for incapacitating the enemy. I needed to stop them.
Stopping the ones who attack first is good. Someone yelled at me, then stole from me. I hurt them, stopped them.
SNAP
Their finger twisted at the wrong angle. I stared at them coldly, with indifference, they screamed. Scrambling away as they shouted foul curses, crying while doing so.
"Don't steal. It's not okay." I told them.
The caretakers praised me for defending myself.
That's defending myself, huh?
A girl came into my life. A weak little girl, not so cheerful or strong as the ones with more friends. Sharp nails and eyes. She only smiled at funny things, never happy things, just frowning when happy things came up. I smiled at her sometimes.
When I smiled at her, she smirked back. Then one day the friend disappeared. But an enemy appeared.
You're alone, not everyone is your friend.
Never be sure you can trust someone.
I agreed. My friend got angry, or at least, seemed angry. She cried, she screamed, she roared and scratched with her sharp, seemingly claw like hands. The boys tried to stop her gently. Cause she's a girl.
I didn't care, I didn't care that girls were supposed to be gentle. I was supposed to be gentle, I don't care about what everyone tells me then. She's an enemy. She was so quiet. I almost cried. She was sweet. But she's the enemy. An enemy to destroy. The ways girls weren't supposed to fight, it was stupid. I can fight, vicious.
I got angry. I ripped her head up by the hair, tearing some out, then smashed her face into the wooden planks. A scream tore from her throat. Sobs comping out in short bursts of rough sandpaper-like noise.
Her teeth falling out, chipping with every smash. The boy from under her getting away.
Everyone forming a circle around us.
"Your bad!" I screamed "You can't do that! It's not Okay!" I screamed through her screams. Her teeth embedding into places on her face. Her previously cute fake, swollen, leaking with blood and strewn with her teeth.
"It's not Okay! Your not okay! Your bad! BAD!" I screamed in a shrill voice before I stopped and stomped on her arm with my shoe, twisting it until a bruise formed on her.
"Your not okay." No one was good. So I used okay.
"F-friend..?" She wheezed out though rough sobs and chokes.
"Never." I hissed lowly.
The caretakers praised me. Taking out an enemy was good, crushing them. Hurting their feelings. It was good. Making them feel bad. It was good. Making it painful. It was good.
I was supposed to do it for everyone. My siblings can't help much, but I'll help them 'till they betray us, or me.
I'm not pretty, I'll just trick them.
I'm not perfect, but doesn't mean I'm bad.
I'm not very strong, doesn't mean I'm weak.
I'm not the smart one, then I can learn more.
That's what I've realized what they meant when they say I'm not pretty, I'm not perfect, I'm not very strong, and that I'm not the smart one.
I have room to build myself. That's what they meant. I'm glad I'm not perfect.
I smile to myself.
Another fight broke out as the days went by. More and more kids snapping and succumbing to the insanity, the pressure of the caretakers cracked and broke them. They don't understand what classifies as bad or okay.
I need to take down the enemy. The boy was beating their fists on someone else, scratching their blunted and chewed nails across their body, leaving white fading to red marks.
I ripped their head back by the hair, I learnt that it hurts when being pulled. My previously long hair resting in a well trimmed pixie cut. I threw them to the ground, their back slamming into it. The weak spots are more visible, but they can also move, so I crush their wrist with my foot, they clench it limply with their other hand, occupying their hands, I stomp on their knee, making it hard to move it.
I then push my foot onto their throat, constricting movement from the shocking feeling. At least that's what I theorize.
"Your bad." I told them. For a fact.
I grab some nearby scissors. Their eyes widen when I look back.
"You don't deserve to be here."
I stab right in their belly button and they scream. I drag the scissors up to their ribcage. This takes much effort. They're still screaming.
"Shut UP!" I slam the scissors into their neck.
That's when I first killed someone.
I left the smelly aftermath of copper in the air, his insides leaking out like dark red paint that was knocked over. Like the pie that oozed with tart cherries and thick red syrup. The skin paling as blood spilt from his neck, laboured and hoarse, yet squelching breaths. Pitiful attempts at coughs. My eyes shining with indifference.
They're the enemy, so I don't care.
~o•o~
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