Contrary to popular belief, verbal abuse can really screw a person up, more than he or she knows. You never really realize it until you've stopped to think about it, and that's when it hits you like a bullet to the chest. But by then, it's gone too far; far beyond repair.
And here I am, shot in the stomach, the puddle of blood slowly growing. And no one's here to comfort me. No one's here to ease the pain that continues to gnaw at me.
"Elena, don't act so weak."
Right, Reno. I'm weak-- the weakest of the Turks. But what do you expect when I'm constantly bombarded by your insults? Am I supposed to be strengthened with each word? That's a load of shit. The mind weakens over time. I try to be physically strong; why do you think I hop into the frontlines in battle and take all the hits? To let the Avalanche bastards admire my beautiful body? I don't think so, though the times I've been treated as though that's my purpose are too many to count. Maybe I did it as a death wish? Could be. Maybe death would be a release from this hell. We'll see.
"Elena, you talk too much."
So, now I'm the talkative ditz who ruins the company plans. But didn't you know why, Tseng? Blinded by my eagerness to please you, I lost all sight of common sense, trying to complete every task you assigned to the best of my ability. Apparently, my best wasn't good enough. It was all to lose to the Ancient bitch-- loser to the end. And what did she do for you? What did she give you? Nothing that I'm aware of. She brought you nothing but your demise.
And what was I left with? Again, nothing-- unless you count an inferiority complex. I know it's there, but I can't change. I can't change because I know that for everything I do, I'll get shot down. With that in mind, it worsens with each passing day.
And here I am, gun in hand, ready to put myself out of my misery.
Is it the *best* thing to do?
I don't know. You'd always led me in the right direction, Tseng. But now that you're gone, I don't know anymore.
Is it the *cowardly* thing to do?
Does it matter? I'm the weak one. Cowardly thoughts and actions are expected from me. No matter what I do, I'll never rise to the same stature as the others. I'll always be seen in the background.
Is it the *smart* thing to do?
Talkative ditz. That's me. Nothing I do will be considered "smart," either. In the eyes of the others, I'll always be a moron; I'll be the one to be looked down upon, as the 'rookie.'
"Elena, don't act so weak."
So, here I am, finger lingering on the trigger of my gun, as I contemplate my own self destruction. Do I continue on as the fake peppy, careless Elena they all see me as? An ersatz Elena? Or would it be better for me to end it?
If only you could see me now, Reno.
Author's Note: Ah. I'm back again. Instead of having violent thoughts in my mind, I had depressing ones, this time. Anyway, I know it's not much. The idea just popped into my mind in the middle of the night, so I wrote. Simple as that. By the way... Elena's not really shot in the stomach; it's just a metaphor, and a bad one, at that. I'm sorry for the confusion! o.o; That's all, for now!