Kyros Moreno [D1]

Kyros Moreno – 17 – Male – District One

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Today, the air is warm and I’m feeling alright.

I think I’ve wanted to say this for a long time, even if it’s kind of weird. I don’t know where to start, or what words to use, but I guess nobody’s reading it anyway.

Alright. Okay. Here goes nothing.

You’re a good kid. Your heart’s really in the right place, and you’ve got all this curly hair that people like to comment on all the goddamn time, and then you’ve got the dimples. I mean, dimples. You might as well get used to them, but at least the hair situation gets better when you hit, like, 14 when the curls mellow out. And you get taller - a lot taller, if I’m going to be honest. If you think the Career kids are impressive, you should see yourself. Six feet? Maybe a few inches more, I don’t know; it’s been a while since I’ve bothered to measure. As ever, your adopted parents give you nice clothes. If something is ripped and ruined, it’s like new stuff starts raining from the sky. Two shirts to replace a stained one. Three pairs of shoes for the pair someone stole. And do they really expect you to use all the hair gel?

But I guess you know most of that stuff, because those things haven’t changed much. You still don’t do anything to your hair. Your eyes are still blue. Your jaw is still weirdly wide.

I know that you like to look at the Career kids, and that you envy them. I know you think you’re weak compared to the rest of them. And let’s be honest – you are.

You’re so strong now.

You can run like the devil when you’re up for it, and you lift all the time. You’re stronger than a lot of them, and that’s saying something. Can you believe it? You, Kyros, a flesh-and-blood Career – a good Career. You must like to hear about that. If there’s one thing that you can be proud of, it’s that you are capable. You are not weak. I know other people like to beat up on you now, but you will destroy them. And then you’ll laugh your ass off because breaking noses is kind of its own form of therapy. I can’t stress this enough: being strong isn’t an issue.

I just don’t know if I should tell you how much worse everything else is. I don’t know if I can even think about it, let alone write it out.

I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.

It’s not like it matters, right? I’m talking to myself, a letter to myself, and it won’t do anything. I can’t go back in time and change things. Okay. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. I’ll just write. Ripred, this was such a stupid idea. Whatever.

Here goes something.

You think you have it hard now, but just wait. I’m not exactly sure when everything changed -- maybe a little while after you started training? Guess it doesn’t matter. I’d like to say that everything got better once you got a little stronger, but I’d be lying and you’re not an idiot anyways. It’s just.. it should have been obvious, what happened. You were always a punching bag to the kids at school and even to your “brothers” and “sisters,” and those fuckers always did enjoy the attention that Mom and Dad gave them. They’re going to punch and kick and spit in your face because they want the glory, and when they’re done they’re going to stand over you and tell you a lot of things that you won’t be able to deal with.

They’re going to tell you how much of a slut your mother is for being a prostitute, and how you’re filth not just for being her son, but for being one of three triplets, an excess child that should have just been drowned at birth. That you should just wander off and die somewhere because you don’t matter. That there is not one single person on this planet that cares if you’re alive. That if you were worth anything at all you would be able to defend yourself without freaking out. That you are weak. That you should never say another word, because nothing that you have to say means anything to anyone.

That all anyone wants to do is take a knife and run you through the chest with it so you’ll just shut up.

And because of Mom and Dad and their policy of not intervening when things go wrong, you can bet that they’re going to try. But you’re strong; I already told you that. Only it’s not the type of strong that lets you hold your head up and be proud of who you are. It’s not the type of strong that makes for a level head and a witty comeback when shit happens. You let everything get to you, and that will always be your problem. I don’t think it’s ever going to get better. When people walk all over you and give you a black eye for good measure, you can’t handle it. It’s like the world gets just a little bit darker and suddenly there’s so much rage, so much, only it’s a sad kind of darkness too. You’re unbelievably sad, and there’s hardly a thing on this earth that can make it better. It takes over everything, from the way you act to the way you see things. You lash out with those muscles of yours and it’s not even like you’re defending yourself anymore. You give into it, you know how terrible you are, how the world doesn’t want you. You’re so angry at everyone that even looks at you wrong, but you know, deep down, that you don’t hate the world or any of the people for all that they are. No, you hate the way you feel because you are in this world, and how imperfect you are alongside it.

You hate the way the world has made you.

Maybe you were weak all along; I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, because you’re a mess. It takes a lot of work to bring you back from a downward spiral, and only your brother and sister can really talk you out of it. Colette will talk and talk and talk, and if it’s a good day you’ll fume for a while and then go about your business. On a bad day, not so much. You’re like those jerks that terrified you as a kid, only you’re stronger and bigger and more unpredictable, because you’re not a controlled kind of mean. Just know that those kids have grown up, and they are every bit as scary as they were before. They’re the ones with the deadly precision and the witty remarks – you’re the one who destroys. It’s like you’re a bomb waiting to go off, and it only takes a few ugly words to make you angry. It poisons your whole day, and people don’t like being around you. Nobody wants to be friends with a kid who sees the world as if it’s all just stupid and pointless. A kid who thinks he’s stupid and pointless. Let’s face it: being told all of these ugly things your whole life has made you ugly, inside and out.

And one day, you’re going to wake up, and there’s going to be someone with a knife standing over your bed, and you’re going to have to defend yourself. You’ll scream and cry and ask why why why and there isn’t going to be an answer to that question. You’ll think for hours and hours: what would have happened if the Morenos hadn’t adopted the three of you? What if your mother hadn’t given you up? Would you be sitting in a comfy bed and a tiny house, drinking warm coffee from a mug and sitting by a fire? Would you actually do well in school? Would you be loud? Would you be angry? Would you be happy?

You won’t ever know, and I’m sorry for that.

Please don’t give up.

– Kyros

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odair