Hiyori Iki {Wanderer}

Hiyori Iki

I never thought it would end up like this.

I used to be just plain Hiyori Iki, Capitol resident and student at the academy. I was a daughter, a friend, a scholar, and I was innocent.

Now I have nothing, but that was my choice.

You know how you adjust to certain things that your parents do? Like your mom asking you to close the toilet seat so often that you simply do it out of habit, or develop your own dislike for open toilets. Well, it happened to me too. I never used to question why my parents forced me to follow a strict curfew or think about how often they picked my clothes and my friends. It sounds like something I would notice, right? Because they were controlling me, trying to shape me into a completely different person to fit their ideals, and honestly I fell for it for a long time.

I don't know how to explain how I broke out of it. We all have our rebellious teen phases, but it felt different for me. I like to think that I have a strong sense of what is right and wrong, and that was how I managed to see them in their true light. But honestly it was probably because I stopped enjoying all of the things they forced me to do. The sports I played? I was horrible at them, and I never had any fun at the games. My friends? Boring snobs. Every party I attended was the same thing over and over again, and it always ended up with me hanging around the punch bowl while my friends danced with boys. It felt like a downward spiral, like I had stopped enjoying all of the things I used to like. The thing is, though, I'm pretty sure I never enjoyed those things. My parents just brainwashed me into thinking I did.

I started sneaking out of the house after that. Just by stepping one foot out of the comfort zone I discovered a new passion, one that completely contradicted the "lady-like" demeanor my parents imposed on me: Martial Arts. It was absolutely embarrassing how quickly I fell for such a macho sport, but what can I say? We don't choose the things we love. Love just happens, and that's a freedom I wish my parents could've known.

My friends were the only ones that knew about my obsession with Martial Arts. I dragged them to tournaments with me, hoping that I could finally share something with them besides drinks and empty words, but I was disappointed. I shouldn't be surprised, really. They were both "proper" ladies with no interest in fighting. They didn't even like the Hunger Games, and that's the biggest event of the year! I stopped hanging out with them after that. No matter how much my parents protested, I just couldn't stand to waste my time with people who had nothing in common with me but rich parents. It was ridiculous.

But not as ridiculous as what happened after that.

My parents never found out about my new passion, but they were still eager to control me like I was their robot daughter. Plastic surgery was their idea of conformity. They have this tradition where each family member chooses something artistic and unique to add to their bodies - just one - and turns their image into reality through plastic surgery. Example: my mom has striped irises and my dad replaced the skin of his right arm with snake's hide. They wanted to continue the tradition through me, and asked me one day to start thinking about what I might want. It was the only freedom they had ever given me, and I didn't want it. So for the first time in my life I said no, because I refused to scar my body for their sake. The martial artists I went to see didn't have things like colored skin or altered bodies. They were just their human selves, and I wanted to stay that way too.

I lost that battle, and they dragged me kicking and screaming to the plastic surgeon. And of all things they could think of, they grew me a tail. A tail. A furry cat's tail. A pink furry cat's tail that I can feel like an extra limb attached to by spinal cord. Yes, it hurts if you tug it. Yes, I can make it twitch.

No, I don't like it, and I cried about it for a long time.

The tail was the last straw, I think. I tried to confine myself to my room until they agreed to remove it, but that never happened. My next step was trying to cope. I stepped back into the world and tried to live my life like it was normal. That didn't work either. It wasn't the same, knowing that my parents could do these things to me without my consent. It took months of cowardice and crying for me to actually find a way out, and another month of planning to actually do it. But I did it, I ran away.

I ran, and when it was too late to turn back I kept running.

When they find me, they'll kill me. They'll see a girl with pink contacts to match her pink tail and know that I'm from the capitol.

I never thought my life would end up like this, running away like a fugitive for something as trivial as unhappiness.

I don't regret it.