2010 NaNoWriMo.

In once second, my life could be ended. My heart may no longer beat, no more air will fill me lungs. It all depends on me. I hold the object that will likely be my destruction. A knife, a small lethal little thing that I keep by me to cut strings or open packages. It hadn’t crossed my mind that I may commit suicide with it.
I had done much in my short life. I had lived through all of Word War III, seen everything evil there possibly is to see, but yet, I have accomplished nothing in this world. I have accomplished nothing good for the world. Ten years ago the world’s ways had been communist, and people all around the world were treated harshly. People began to rise up in protest. Most rebellions were quickly smothered, but one party, led by my master, Vaine D’Rone, started in secret and was undetected for many years. When the party finally burst free from secrecy, it appeared they were under the command of me. Brianne D’Vici, the angelic little eleven year old girl who was risking everything for peace and a fair world.
People were inspired to act, and soon the world war had begun, me appearing as the leader. In all truth I had no power. I was a mask. If a communist agent wanted to assassinate someone it, would be me, not Vaine D’Rone. Indeed, Vaine’s name was never mentioned. In public, he was unknown even though he ordered every move of the rebel battalions and decided where we attacked next. Everyone thought that that was my job. In this way, Vaine was safe from communist hatred, and safe from a secret assassination. It was me who was in danger, and who cares about me anyway?
I could not back out, or the rebels would kill me and my family, and at the time I had friends and family worth living for. However, things started to pick up soon enough. An assassination attempt was made on my behalf and my mother was killed trying to protect me from the spy . Only a month later, my brother died in battle. There was no one left except my last brother and my father and the handful of friends I’d maintained through the year of war we’d been through already. But then my father died in a gas explosion. I was not there. I was making a speech in India.
That same day I asked to resign from my position as icon of the rebellion. When D’Rone refused, and I insisted determinedly, they shot my best friend right in front of me just to prove I had to do everything they said, and there was no resigning for me. That day, death seemed like a friendly escape. But as I stood in my room, holding my gun to my head, I realized I was to much of a coward to end my life. Looking back now, I wish bitterly that I had pulled the trigger for everything went downhill after that point. My friends slowly dropped out of life one by one until the only person left in my life was my brother, and he was pondering suicide too.
Finally the rebels won World War III and I could finally resign from my job. I no longer have to make public appearances. They’ve shut me up in the city hall of the capitol so I can be forgotten and rot there for the rest of my life. I have a few rooms that you could compare to rooms you’d find in an insane asylum. I’m not usually allowed to see real sunlight. However, I did know what had happened in the outside world. Nothing had changed. It was as if our old communist leader had been replaced with D’Rone, and D’Rone had decided not to change a thing, and if he did change anything, it was only to make everything worse.
And that is why I am kneeling in the middle of my room with a knife against my breast. But despite all this I am trembling and I can see the tip of the knife vibrate. My hand starts to sweat and I’m struck by how amazing the human body is. One small movement, small, but with force, could end my life. Just do it. I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to force the knife into my heart. My arm starts to shake violently and tears start to fall down my cheeks.
The door bangs open, and my brother is there and the moment he sees my position a panicked expression takes over his face and he runs towards me screaming something, but I can’t hear it above the pounding of my heart.
He has weakened my resolve by walking in here, but I know I must kill myself now before he reaches me, or I will never be able to have the chance again.
With sudden force I plunge the blade into my body. Right before I am enveloped in pain, I register that I have not hit my heart with the knife and I will not die. Because of my panic I could not strike myself straightly.
I hate and love myself for it.


^My idea <3