Perfectly Broken

8...

Khal dw at this point i'm waiting for the thousand '*' to come. You're like my personal autocorrector.

The end could be better and i apologise. But i can always edit it, no?

'Some people survive chaos,
and that is how they grow.

And some people thrive in chaos, because chaos is all they know.'

~ ☆ ~ ☆ ~ ☆ ~

What had the present for her?

Nothing.

Internet and tv gave you and idea of the outside world, thought sometimes she wished certain news never reached her ears. Some people were getting all they wanted. All making their long wished dreams true. Some being adored even.

And the heroes were getting trophies. Most of them seemed quite deserving of those honours, but some seemed to be going on a blaze of undeserved glory for doing nothing. For sins.

Not like she was a saint, no. The whole opposite actually, but at least she wouldn't bother to fake perfection or being innocent. She would be in an exibition if she was one.

She was in something, and that was drowned in misery and frustration. In regret.

Her hands had taken countless lives. Probably not even the whole ink of the state would be enough to write all the names from the innocent people who's lives she had stolen.

The look of pure horror and the distance of their eyes, their life flashing through them. Why had she done it? It should've been easy to drop the gun, to stop pulling the trigger every single time, or to take the knives back, not thrust them into guiltless people, why had it been impossible to stop bringing torture?

And since so young, but she'd grown up. And she should have realised that it all was wrong, why did it never happened? In what moment she succumbed to the monsters in her head? She was a killer, and she wondered why that people let her out. Why didn't they locked her away? That was all she deserved at the end, even when the idea did made her afraid, but perhaps she deserved it.

Now all she had was pain. Why would she deserve to be happy? Maybe she shouldn't feel bad for feeling pain, she didn't earned better.

How could someone forget their own family? What kind of person could forget that people and those years that they made sure were only hapiness and love? She did. And the blame was only hers. If she had been strong enough no power in the world would have been able to take all that away.

It was so draining, so infuriating how she tried but those memories where her mother was supposed to be didn't came. Worse was she knew it was her the one who couldn't remember, not that they never existed.

Or pherhaps they never did and she only wished for comfort in imagining that all of it was once real?

That the oh so comforting love and laughts, were now all drowned, that the warm sun light, was all but a taunt of her mind. Birds chirping, became a machine screeching. Sweet dreams turned into fear. A rose became a gun, and love became the unknown.

It broke her apart everytime those thoughts found their way into the front of her mind.

All they were now was memories.

Memories like whisp of smoke, drifting in and out of her mind, some were bright and clear as a day, some were faded, hard to find.