dane allore | district ten | fin

D A N E
in some sad way
i already knew

"Who are you?"

I don't know.

I've never known.

I am Dane. I know that much. I have both of my parents' eyes, which is something quite unique to me if I do say so myself. One one my father's blue, the other of my mother's brown. I have big ears and a flat face, with pouty lips and hair that is eternally a mess. My last name? Take your pick: Merchoff, Allore, Da Monte, the choices just grow and grow and grow. It was Mirchoff first, when I had my first family. My parents spoiled Egon and I as best as they could afford, which was never much. But I loved them, I think. I remember Egon teaching me to fight, laughing when he would throw me on his shoulders and race through the fields. I remember Mom always shouting for him to "take it easy" and I was always a bit glad that Egon was never a good listener.

Dad would ask for our help with the horses and we'd spend the day under the sun and when we got home we would eat dinner and crawl into our beds for the night. It was never much but it was what I knew. It was happiness.

My name became Allore when they all disappeared. Mom and Dad first, and Egon later. I've waited for years, for them to come back and take me next, but the only place I was taken to was a beaten-down community home with peeling paint and giant rooms filled with beds and old toys and broken souls like my own. I was all alone in the world, a shadow too small to be noticed, a beam of light to dim to help anyone see me for what I was. "Allore's Home for Second Chances" was the name of my new home. Second Chances. I lived with delinquents and criminals who were given one last shot at living in society before they got a one-way ticket to the Detention Center. I never understood why I belonged to a place like that. I never understood why I should be punished for being alone. But I guess it wasn't up to me to decide, so I stayed in the corner and I never made friends. More than a few times, I had to use the tips Egon had taught me, and more than once I was punished and threatened and ridiculed.

I was ten when I was finally released, and it was as if I had stepped a single foot away from the gates of Hell and discovered the closest thing to happiness I have had in a very long time. The Da Monte family already had their children. Both were older, neither seemed particularly excited to have me at first. Through the years we've grown so close that it's true: the are like my new family.

Andy is two years older than me and I have learned that, at least as far as I am concerned, he works better when he distances himself from me. I think there is some sort of conflict within him, a need that ins't being met, a need to hate me. And I think he fights against it as best as he can because he also loves me, but it is just easier if he forgets about me all together. And I know he cares. I just wish I could fix whatever issues he has. He doesn't ask about me, and I shouldn't ask about him. It's only fair, but the need to know is maddening at times, and sometimes I am so close to just asking him what is wrong that my mouth is open and I can feel my tongue moving to create the words before I can stop myself. Some day I'll ask, though. Some day I'll let my recklessness get the best of me.

Alida is one year older than me, and quite possibly, she has at least a decade's more life-experience than I. Alcohol and lust and plastic smiles and warm hugs are a quick sum of my older sister. She is an impossible flirt and usually people can't say no to such a gorgeous face and radiant personality. A queen in her own right, a dragon to her enemies, and a siren to any she fancies, Alida holds a power more dangerous than any weapon I could ever wield: manipulation.

Separately we would all break eventually. Strong forces can only push so far when standing alone. But together we are a force to be reckoned with, a force none would dare to cross. Somehow, we make it work, despite each of us being just as directionless as the next.

But perhaps new faces could bring us more power. There is safety in numbers and comfort in lovers, and I have decided I might want both for once. A wrecking ball with burning hair and a firecracker heart, Paige Lowe has kept me curious for too long to admit. Pretty and lethal and definitely no good for me, but also completely, irrevocably interesting at the same time. She is frustrating but wonderful and my acidic words have no effect on her yet hers burn holes through my armor with ease. Paige will be the death of me, I swear it.

But a death I think I'm fine with experiencing.

"Where is home?"

"Where is home?"

That one's easy: home is not a place. I've slept in too many places that people called home. Home is not a place. Home is who I'm with. And they are my home. They are my security and my comfort and my warmth and my life. My family is my home.

"Home is where they are."