The assumptions made, that i am an illogical weapon are quite funny.
This is what i see in the newspaper, i am looked at more stangely then ever.
I am the outsider. As one it takes a while to let one in.
My name is easily forgotten so is my figure.
I am the unormal average from that i am loathed.
What i have to say of it i will keep quite, no one has the right to know my thoughts. At least not their roots.
Ok, ok i'll stop with the over the top drama and dramatic sentences which conclusions i hope you find. I am sylvia with this ordinary, well used to be ordinary, name.
To make relevance to all the words you have heard, to no doubt you question now, the opinion that you have of me is no doubt a privaliged girl.
I have a home, my life must have just begun, and i have a pain that i wish for a special preson to see.
That of which i had always dreamed up.
That is what the image has faded to just a image no more no less that can't even be seen clearly.
The death started the day i was granted sight.
The scientists, captors, dehumanizers, or whatever fits the description of wicked best for you were the adults that never let us children do much.
As such the light was a pleasent welcome as we were going to all be excepted into the society that we were raised to know.
The fact was that we didn't know everything that we though we knew, we knew even less.
The test was made to look simple fight 'till one drops.
What they didn't tell was who'd get back up.
When one is covered in blood they were distinguished as inhuman whether or not it was their own.
Lies were made and deceptions were a daily routine after that, blood ran everyday if not a body did.
No one was looked at as human only an adaptation to it.
As such the more resistence and strength was shown the fewer lived.
I am the few of the last.
The final inquary so to speak in the last chapter.
As i wait for processions of of those who mourn no one but their own shadows.
All in black some in all white others and the rest others in complete color schemes that defied my imagination.
How cynical can these pompous fools be?
I am at the last fueral held for the dead ones who would've been me, i have no complaints jemini would have been better at this... smiling at those grinning faces, bowing her head to those with scowls, laughing with those who disturb the undug graves of all those who she knew.
I am not her i have not seen blood spilled so furvantly for this purpose alone, they are dead more precisly living corpses.
The director stands at the stand a distance away from the disapointements that give him reason to dress outragously.
"May i have your attention?"
No doubt the heads turn for the voice that has commended thw same for certain dead.
Oh yes indeed. Your front and center.
