Rise from the ashes (an elemental tale)

Nature vs. Nurture

Nature vs. Nurture...

There's been many debates about it. About whether nature or nature has a greater impact on child development.

Nature is the traits we inherit, whereas nurture is the traits we learn.Which leads me to the greatest question of all.

Was I born a weapon or was I made a weapon?

I've been contemplating this since my eyes fluttered open. And I still ponder over it now, while tucking a dagger into the waistband of my jeans. Courtesy of my fight with Valencia yesterday.

The bagginess of the shirt I wore hides the hilt of the dagger sticking out of my jeans. I placed it at my side so it would be easy enough to reach should I need to defend myself with it.

The feel of the dagger against my side yet again prompts that question. Was I born a weapon or made one?

Honestly it's been too long since I've really thought about my parents, and any memories I had of them are forgotten for the time being, unless my mind decides to be nice and takes me for another trip down memory lane. Which I'm hoping doesn't occur today, or any day this week.

This whole school situation hasn't changed one bit, even after everything that has happened. Which means that I have to attend that awful place 5 days a week from 8am till 3pm. Having those random memories appearing out of nowhere would definitely not be welcomed.

So without those glimpses into my past I have no idea what my parents were like, which means I can't necessarily say I was or wasn't born a weapon.

It kind of pains me not to know what they were like, what traits I may have inherited from them.

I wonder if my mother was gentle and loving like most mothers are depicted or if she was strong and courageous like how I hope she is. I wonder if my father was stern and brave or angry and violent like most men I saw.

All these hopes and dreams are useless in the present. These are hopes I should have considered in the past when my parents were around.

But alas, all this hoping will get me nowhere. Not as school looms ahead of me.

As if sensing that I was finally ready to walk into that hell hole Connley bursts through the door bright eyed and bushy tailed, smirking at the promise of pain and torture lurking in the murky depths of my eyes. Reigning in my temper I loosed a breath and walked out the room with Connley on my tail.

"No good morning? I feel hurt," he stated, mockingly placing both hands over his chest where his "heart" is and pouting in that way that unnerves me.

"Good morning." I said apathetically.

Connley scoffed then stated, "I bet you'd give Valencia a better good morning than that. Don't think I didn't notice you two last night, alone in the backyard, talking about who knows what. I bet you even spilled-"

Connley's sentence got cut off as I whirled on him, an arm crushing his windpipe not a second after his words got under my skin.

"One more 'bet' out of your mouth Connley, and I'll make sure you have a missing tongue to bet for." I hissed out, barely controlling the rage bubbling up inside my person.

He raised his hands in surrender, smart guy. I released him and continued my trek downstairs to where a feast awaited us.

I sat down without any good mornings and dug into the food presented. Connley winced at my attack on the food and took a seat next to me, a safe distance away.