Chapter One
It's cold in here, but it always is. The metal table I'm sitting on is freezing cold, and I wish he'd let me wear pants instead of shorts and t-shirts. I guess this makes it easier for him to give me the shots or something. I'm still cold, though.
He walks in smiling. I smile hopefully--maybe today we'll do something fun, like play a game! Dad never has time for games, though. He's an important scientist who's working to improve the quality of the time we spend on the Planet. I'm not really sure what that means, but he says it means he helps people out. I think this is nice of him, but I wonder if his shots make other people feel as bad as they make me feel. Maybe he doesn't give other people shots. Maybe it's only me. Mom's kind of like a scientist too, only she says she's more of a doctor. I don't really understand it, because aren't doctors supposed to give you shots? Maybe Dad's a doctor too.
"Hi, Dad!"
"Hello," he says. He sounds bored. Why does he always sound bored? Am I a bad kid? Do I make him bored?
"Are we gonna play a game now?"
"No, not now."
"Do you not have time?"
'"No," he says angrily. "I don't want to play a game. You don't need to play games anyway! Games are for the weak, and you will not be weak!"
I shut up fast. He really wants me to be strong someday, but I'm not strong enough now. I keep asking Mom when I'll be strong enough, but it makes her cry. I wish she didn't have to cry all the time.
"...then am I getting more shots?" I have to ask. If I don't know, then I get afraid, and if I get afraid, he gets mad. Being afraid is the same as being weak. I wonder what it means to be really strong. Everything I do is weak.
"Yes," he says, holding all the shots. I feel sick. I always feel sick anymore, I never feel good. He gives me these shots that hurt and then make me tired, but I'm not allowed to sleep. Instead I have to run around the room. It's all to make me stronger, but if this is what it takes to be strong, then I don't wanna.
"Then do I have to run laps?"
"Fifty," he says, and now I feel like crying. I don't feel good. I don't want to do fifty laps. I always lose count and end up doing even more. I turn my head as he gets the shots ready. He grabs my face and makes me look at my arm. He says I have to face my fears, and I need to be a man and look when I'm getting shots. They don't hurt, he says. He doesn't know. He's not the one that gets them. I watch as the thin needle goes under my skin and he shoots some pink liquid into it. I don't feel good. I don't feel good anymore. I try to look away again, but he just grabs me again and makes me look. This makes him lose his grip on the shot, and it wiggles around a little. It hurts, but I can't cry. Crying means push-ups. I don't feel like doing push-ups either. Four more shots and Dad leaves without saying bye. I think he's mad at me. I guess I wasn't strong enough for him.
Mom comes in next, but she looks sick. I think Dad's giving her shots too, but she won't tell me, even if he is. She has band-aids and lets me pick out ones to put on my arm. It doesn't matter to me...they're all brown, they all look the same. One time, Mom bought some with superheroes on them. Dad got mad and said those were for the weak. Dad doesn't like me to use band-aids at all, but Mom always gets him to change his mind. I pick one out anyway, just to make Mom happy, and she puts it on my arm. I can already feel the thing in the back of my head moving. I know it's not real--Dad says it's just my imagination. But I used to be able to control my imagination. Now it talks to me like it's a person, and I can't make it stop. I told Dad about it, but he said that every kid felt like this.
"Lucrecia! Get out!" Dad yells, and I get mad. I don't want him yelling at Mom. Mom didn't do anything to him. Mom gets up and runs out, and Dad comes in with a weird animal. He hands me what looks like a big knife. It's a sword. He's talked about them before. He says I'll be really good if I practice. I hope I'll be good someday. Maybe then I won't be weak, and I can stop getting shots. "Fight him."
"But it's--"
"FIGHT IT!" Dad screams, and the animal gets mad and charges at me. I don't want to fight it. It didn't hurt me. But the second that it does, I suddenly don't feel like not hurting it anymore. In fact, my 'imagination' starts talking to me, and I don't feel sick anymore. I grab the sword and run around it, finally getting behind it. I shove the sword all the way through it, watch it die...I feel really sick again, now, but my imagination likes it a lot...
"That was good, Sephiroth."
"Mom..."
"Don't make me think you're weak!" he grabs another shot and quickly injects it. I feel worse than ever now. Why did I feel good for only a minute, and then feel sick again? I let him give me the shots, and then take the medicine he gives me as well. I don't feel like I can move again. As soon as Dad leaves I sit down, and Mom runs in. She picks me up and carries me to my room.
"Happy birthday, Sephiroth," she whispers in my ear as she lays me down.
I was seven years old.
A/n: Well…feels shy for some reason Hope you liked it…please go ahead and read the second chapter, please…review if you'd like, I'd appreciate it…
Squenix formerly Squaresoft owns Final Fantasy VII. Since I'm still on the 2nd disc of the game, I'm a bit uneducated about exactly what all has happened…I mean, I understand a lot of it, but there's still a bit that may be inaccurate in this, so…please forgive me.
Xifa