Wronged

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- Anna's POV -

Sometimes the world doesn't need a hero. Sometimes it needs a monster.

It needs someone who causes destruction in order to clear a path. It needs someone who will do anything in order to get what the monster desires. It needs someone who tumbled through life cutting down trees, only to avoid wildfire. Someone who sacrifices something good for something great.

Because this world, whether anyone wants to hear it or not, sucks. It's a hell hole full of people who will do whatever it takes to clamber to the top of the ladder. But once they get to the top, all they find is a desk. A simple desk on the middle of the roof.

They eagerly run to this desk, expecting something amazing since they kicked everyone behind them on the ladder down and into the pit full of starved snakes and lions. With a glimmer in their eye, they peer onto the tabletop, only to find a glass of whiskey. They drink the whiskey, hoping for something in the glass. All they find is the bottom of it. Just like the bottom of the ladder, there is death. Except for lions and snakes, there's poison.

In the end, we all die. It doesn't matter who makes it to the top. As long as someone lives happily content in their lifetime, it doesn't matter how it ends. People just need to live happily, because we all get the same outcome.

And in order to live happily, you have to go through some sort of pain and strife to understand what happiness is. That's where the monster comes in. Because without him, no one would understand.

I've had many monsters in my lifetime. But they weren't the good kind that I speak of. More specifically, he wasn't the good kind. My father. He was the bad kind, the one that you never get over and never forget. The kind that leaves bruises on the mind and scars in the heart. He was more physically abusive than verbally, but the words often hurt more than the wounds. The tongue is a small thing, but what enormous damage it can do. It has no bones, but it can break a heart.

Maybe it was because Mom left us, and she's God knows where, roaming the earth on her bike. Maybe that hurt him so bad, that is destroyed every part of him, and he just took his alcoholic behavior out on me. But you can't fix yourself by breaking someone else.

I sigh and look out the window pane as the SUV rolls into my new neighborhood. Little droplets of rainwater tap-tap-tap at a peaceful beat against the body of the car, and I watch as darker shades of grey clouds conform as they crawl closer to the city. Soft sounds of thunder caress my ears into a roaring symphony.

Change isn't something that's uncommon for me. Or, at least it hasn't been uncommon for the past two years. I've been constantly moved around in different foster homes for years. Somehow, my father always finds me. But I manage to get away somehow.

The car comes to a halt with a quiet squeak in its step. Or...wheel. Whatever. I get out, going to the back of the car as the back pops open. Two suitcases and a duffle bag carry my belongings inside, and I grab them by the handle. When my escort, who's name I don't know, tries to take my backpack from the back seat where I originally was, I rip it from his hands.

"Not that one," I mutter, eyelids lowered and brows knitted together.

He releases it with ease when I take it from him, and instead goes for one of the suitcases and the duffle. His movements are hesitant, as if he's silently questioning whether or not it's okay for him to take them. His eyes glance between me and the bags to prove my point of his nervousness further. I nod in approval, and he picks them up with ease.