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Ever since I was young, I had known nothing but war. My mother died when I was three and my father died two years after she had. Afterwards I was taken to a camp for the "special". There were thousands of kids around my age. All from different nations, we were told that we were picked to make the world a better place. We were given numbers and placed in 'classes' based on our skill. The classes were letters, and people could move up the system if they did better or down if they had failed. I was number six hundred ninety-five and I was placed in the E classes. Everyone else was so communicative, and smiling waiting to find out what was going to happen. Our trainer walked in with a boy by her side, and at that moment I knew he didn't belong. He was shy, and looked down instead of meeting the stares of the others. But unlike us he had a name, Zane Silvester or how the teacher demanded we called him Mr Silvester. It was obvious at the time that he had even more training than any of us. How he would always get the best scores and the best athletic ability than all of us.
Then over the years it was only him and I who had moved rapidly up the system. The trainers saw it and although at the time I was only ten years of age he was a year older than me. They partnered us up and sent us to our first mission. I won't go into much detail, however it was bloody, our own blood stained the floor we walked on. But with the five years of brutal training. That shaped us to their views of perfection had we walked out of that room once made of marbled white floors. Now stained with the blood of all fifteen men we had taken the lives of. With stab wounds in our body leaking blood by the second. Those memories are the ones that haunt me for years to come.
The minute we came back from that mission they had rushed to him praising him for his work, not a second believing that I had done anything. Or at least didn't kill more than he did., but I remember those nine people. Their eyes widened in terror, when they didn't close after life had been drained out of them. Yet he was the one given kind treatment, while I got scolded by the rest of the trainers. "If you weren't a failure, you wouldn't have gotten injured." "Look at you, what a mess go clean yourself up" "You aren't going to have food tonight for failing to learn a damn thing in avoiding a mere weapon or else punishment will be served in front of the lower classes." They told me. And I was sent back to my quarters, with blood still spilling from my arm, stomach and cheek. The others who slept in the same cabin we're most likely at dinner at the time. I took myself to the shower room. The water from the nozzle poured down my back like the lashes of a whip. Beating, and stinging every place it touched. I didn't scream, I didn't cry, all I remember was looking at my face in the mirror that night. My own eyes reflecting my internal pain. Hollow, and dead, just like the men who I killed without a second thought. With the first aid kit that we're given every year as a gift I took care of my wounds. And I went to sleep with an empty stomach.
It fell into routine, waking up at 3:00 am, train, eat, train, eat, mission, the mission would take up until 12 am at the most. 11 am if we were quick, in each mission I would get injured and go to sleep without food. With every mission I got better and got less concerning wounds as the trainers called them. It stayed that way for two long years, then Silvester came up to me. Scratching his neck, cheeks blushed with pink, looking at the floor. Looking as shy as the first day I saw him. In a rush he had asked me if I would date him. That was the first burst of emotions I remember ever feeling. My palms were sweaty, and I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks as I was overcome with his own stuttering as he attempted to apologise. Yet after he had calmed down he looked at me, his dark eyes bore into my brown ones. His eyes widened when he saw that I was also blushing along with him. So I told him, "Yes, I would like to date you." His smile brightened as he rushed forward to me and hugged me. He was taller than me but not by much. The missions became happier somehow, and I enjoyed myself.
Another two years went by and I found enjoyment in killing the people that we're hurting the innocent. And with Zane with me I was happy and I felt loved for once. But the illusion broke, when he returned to me from his private training. He looked different, unlike himself, and then he told me,"It's over between us." And walked away giving no further explanation. I felt so broken. I wanted to scream, cry, break everything that was in the room. Yet I also felt that if I did do the things I wanted to do, I would show weakness to everyone. So I stayed silent, only for the next day to arrive and hurt me more. When at lunch we were told that Zane no Silvester had a girlfriend. Who was the complete opposite of me, she was tall, slim, and had eyes full of life, her hair undamaged by the training that went on in the camp. Looking like gold silk was placed on her head, and walked with the grace of a princess. Not only that had hurt, but the fact that their relationship was public, but when he was with me it was private. Only known to us, that we were ever together. A memory lost in the back of his mind, but it hurt more than the bullets that I had taken. If only I was good enough for him, I wouldn't have lost him.
I took more solo missions in a day. That by Friday I had fifty missions done. By Saturday I was knocked unconscious for the whole day. I forgot to eat, and I lost a lot of weight. I was practically a pile of walking bones. That was the only thing I remember, I didn't feel pain anymore and I loved it. This continued for months, until I had ended up passed out for a week. The day when I woke up, I woke up weak, pain covering me like a blanket. A blanket that I got used to over the time, that I didn't sleep. I laughed as my tears coated my cheeks like a paintbrush to a canvas. They slid down so gently, so comforting that if I were to die I wouldn't have cared. Then again when have I ever cared about something so simple as life. I took lives, at the risk of mine.
I went to the lunchroom that night for dinner. I saw the stares I got, I heard the whispers, but showed no emotion whatsoever. Glancing around was a mistake, I saw him, smiling happy with her. So was everyone around them, that they didn't notice me, or at least didn't care about the world around them. I took my bag of food and went to my quarters. I tried to eat, my dear I tried, but any bit of food I took came back up. I couldn't eat, but I was so terribly hungry. I was only able to drink the disgusting healthy green liquid that they served. I didn't acknowledge the tears down my face until I layed in bed. Closing my eye's shut hoping to drown everything, everyone, out of my mind. Just to get a bit of silence.
