Losers & Weirdos Always Catch The Hero Drift

B-17 📋

My mind turned and twisted,
nothing but pain, wanting to get out. Someone Help,
were the words I wanted to yell so desperately.
The scientists saw me wringle in pain, nonetheless,
they didn't care.
Why should they?
When they were asked not to,
were convinced that I,
myself, was a fugitive,
a killer,
one that needed to be trained to be a soldier,
a soldier with a purpose,
of their purpose.
When resisting,
the shocks came, the needles came, sweat dripped, while blood ran from my veins.

"What are you..?"
He usually asked,
expecting the right answer to come from me.

Failing, again, and again

"My name...
I don't remember...
It started with an S...".

Wrong,
he would tell me.

More pain inflicted on me,
as I heard another scream,
or screams of another child or children.

To forget your name was a process,
as mothers were hard to get rid of, for the mind refuses to forget the one who brought them into the world.
But of course,
things take time, and time they had.

"What is your name..?" He asked, once more.

The name,
or label they had given me,
was a label I sensed and acknowledged.

It was then,
when my actual name wasn't there.

"B-17",
I had answered,

I knew my place,
a weapon, was what I was,
an occasional bodyguard who would kill those who tried a threat on the man's life.

People make mistakes, apparently the scientists who worked on me,
made those mistakes on me...

I would remember...
They didn't like that...
When I remembered things,
the small things,
it was enough to make me take casualties.

The ones who thought the pain on children was right,
I always got caught in the amidst of my escape.

The shocks,
the brain could only handle so much before it lost it's sanity,
before it lost the memories once more.

Strapped to a chair, hooked up to a dozen drugs to induce my ability to resist, to resist them.

To resist him...
Many surgeries that had me awake as they removed and replaced.

I remember the work of those scientists, scanning my eyes,
one was jealous of how my eyes glowed.

Simply jabbing me with needles in my chest so they'd make bruises.

When standing in line next to other,
6 and 7 year olds,
you knew you were in line to do as they say, or it's back to the cages and the boxes and mental shocks.

Each of us were in the B family,
one in C, as she was small.
Though who could remember those details, when your main interest was your target.

My head hung low, my hair was pulled,
as the man held my ponytail,
cutting it off. My hair now to my chin, sitting back in the chair as my arm was held out.

"We don't fail here, and just so you remember that..."

The man held the hammer high, bringing it down in my arm.

"Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!"

I sat up,
looking over to my alarm clock that was currently buzzing.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, "time to go to school" I muttered to myself, laying back down on my bed.

Revised date:
6/22/19