verity layne {district 2} finished

I run my calloused hands against the smooth, frigid walls of the empty house. The difference between the two textures is almost insufferable, reminding me of myself and those who surround me. Just like years of training and neglect have made my interior rough and scarred, others have gotten years of care and love, making theirs as smooth as the stones that lay in the riverbed. Memories begin to flash through my head, none of the good ones either. My eyes start to water and I quickly turn around and punch the wall behind me out of frustration. I grimace as the pain seeps up my hand, extending from the tips of my fingers and finally stopping at my elbow. I begin shaking my hand out and massaging it, trying to make the pain go away, but of course it never really does leave you. It becomes another scar, reminding you of all the choices and mistakes you made, the ones that shape you. I continue walking down the hall, in hopes of walking away from the memories of my past, but of it doesn't happen, it all just keeps replaying in my mind. My pace quickens and so does my heart as I try to free myself from these awful thoughts. I'm almost in a full out sprint running down the long hallway, longing to escape the memories that entrap me. In one last desperate attempt to escape them, I pick the first door I see on my right and slam the door behind me. I lean back on the door trying to catch my breath, my eyes closed and breathing slowly. It all starts to fade away, the memories, the feelings of hate, they're all gone. When I finally open my eyes I can't help but gasp, my worst nightmare is right in front of me.



The Picture Room, as my parents like to call it. It was the room where they placed all of our achievements and awards, and a timeline of pictures from when we were small, until now. I preferred to call it The Room of Failure because it was a constant reminder from my parents how much I failed at life, how much I failed at acquiring their love. I timidly looked around, knowing what I'd see. Pictures of my siblings and their awards covering the walls, taunting me, and where my wall was there would be practically nothing. I scowled at my brother's plaques and certificates of achievement, wanting to puke at the fact they appreciated him more than me. I was trying not to look at my wall, knowing what wouldn't would be there, when I saw something out of the corner of my eye that caught my attention. A picture of me, and not just any old picture, a recent picture. I walk over slowly, scared that it would disappear if I stared too hard. When I finally got to the wall I was astonished. This picture was only about a month old, and I hadn't even realized they'd taken it.

I ran my fingers over the soft canvas, making sure that it was actually real, and then I stared. I stared at the picture for a long time, five minutes, an hour, maybe even days. I don't really know how long it was, I was trying to capture every aspect of this photo. It looks like it was taken right outside of our house, near the big pine tree in our front yard. The way the sun was hitting my face showed every detail in clear distinction. You can easily see the way my lower lip is slightly larger than my upper and how my nose is way too small for the proportions of my face. My hair looks even darker brown than it normally does, it could almost have been considered blonde when I was a baby if you can believe that. My green eyes look emerald from the light and my already tan skin looks even darker. Even though my whole body isn't visible, you can tell I'm small in stature just by looking at my shoulders. They're small and not at all muscular, making me look like a little girl . Being only 5'2" doesn't help my cause either, the shortest one out of all my siblings. The times I have been mistaken as the youngest are too may to count, the worst part is I could probably take all of them in a fight no problem. I turn away from the picture, I've seen enough of my own face to last me a lifetime.

* * *

For all of my siblings there is a picture of them for every single year they lived, but for me, there's only three. One of me when I was a baby, still cradled in my mother's arms, one of me when I was toddler, and then the most recent one of me. Years and years of memories not put up on the wall, but that's okay, I still remember all of them. Like when I was a baby, the minute I could walk on my own my parents never picked me up again. They didn't nurture me, or care for me, they barely payed any attention to me, I was practically left to fend for myself. Of course they would feed me, but that was about it, I was almost like the pet dog that was forgotten about. I strived to get there attention from that point on doing whatever it took. I began by doing little things that I thought would make them happy, I drew pictures, wrote them cute little letters, I even attempted to make them breakfast once. But did they care? Of course not. They would either shoo me away or scold me for something. "This note has spelling errors," my mom would say. Or "Your supposed to color inside the lines, not all over the page," was my dad's most common line. But my personal favorite was "The milk is supposed to go in the bowl, not all over the floor!" I laugh at the memory. It disgusts me that they expected so much from a small child, they didn't care how much I loved them, all they cared about was perfection.



When I was about eleven I realized all the little things I was doing to try and get their attention was all in vain. I made the decision to do everything bigger and better than my siblings. If a perfect child is what they wanted, it was a perfect child they would get. From then on I made sure I always looked perfect for everything, school, training, and especially family events, just so they could show me off. But did they? Ha. Of course not. It was all about Tobias and 'look how sweet he is,' and 'there's not a mean bone in this kid's body.' Ew. Who needs nice when you have power? When I noticed that wasn't working I did whatever it took to be at the top of my class, both in school and at training. I succeed of course, my grades were almost perfect and I was one of the strongest in my class. The day we got our report cards I proudly walked home with a huge smile on my face, excited to show my parents how much I had improved. I walked into the house, practically skipping, and found my parents both in the kitchen, my mom preparing diner and my dad reading the newspaper at the table. "Look Ma!" I said, shoving the piece of paper in her face, a grin spreading from ear to ear. I was so excited, this time they had to notice me, they just had to. "I'm busy," she said dismissively, waving her had as if she could swat me away. "Go show your father." My face fell a little. It was happening again. "Dad, look how well I did," I said a little less enthusiastically. "That's great honey," he said without even glancing up. "But you didn't even look!" a pout was evident on my face. My mom stopped what she was doing and turned around "You know we don't have time for this petty stuff," she said angrily "Now go to your room and find something to do." I ran out of the room, the tears streaming down my face. The one time I thought I did something to finally make them proud ended up showing me that I would never be able to make them care.

* * * 

That day was the day that I realized I was going to have to get the love that I needed from some place else. Maybe I didn't need the kind of love that I thought I did, maybe I just needed people to adore me and tell me how amazing I am, even if they didn't mean it. School was the only other place that I could think of with a ton of people possibly willing to listen to my every command. Most prefer to call these people 'friends', but I see 'minions' as a more appropriate term for them. So the first day back I stood at the head of the lunch table, trying to spot out a group of girls who looked like they could fulfill my needs. I finally found a table of girls who appeared to be absolutely perfect, they were in the center of the room with people surrounding them, definitely the popular crowd. I make my way over to the table and stand at the head, waiting to be acknowledged. They didn't even flinch when I arrived, as if I was some wanna-be loser. Puh-lease. They continued with their conversations, until finally I cleared my throat . Each and every one of them stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at me. "Hi," I said, my high-pitched voice and height probably made them think I was about 11 years old, "You guys are going to be my new friends!" I said with a smile. They all continued to stare at me until one girl at the other end spoke up. "And why-" I looked at her and narrowed my eyes as if I was daring her to continue. She stopped immediately and stared at her food for the rest of the time. "Alright," I continued "My name is Verity but you will all call me Vee. Got it?" They all nodded with wide eyes, terrified to oppose me. "Now who's going to move so I can take a seat?" The right side of the table all shifted over so I could fit, the girl who spoke out was pushed off the bench. "Hey!" came her muffled cry from the ground, but nobody took any notice to her.



All the conversations continued and nobody dared to speak out against me again. Whether it was out of respect or fear I'm not really sure, nor do I care. I began to realize that I don't need the love that I thought I did. I could replace that desire with the feeling of power. It was almost as good as being loved, the only difference is that having control over people gives me a rush. After school, I ran home, excited to tell my parents all about my new friends at school, and how they all practically feared me. I walk into the house to find my mother in the living room, dusting off some shelves. "Mom!" I say excitedly, "You'll never believe-" She cut me off in the middle of my sentence "Can't you see how busy I am Vee?" she scoffed. I gave a short humorless laugh, "Why am I not surprised." She turned around as if she were about to say something but it was too late, I was already gone. I walk outside and slam the door behind me, I head to my usual place of comfort, the large pine tree right outside the house. I sit near it's trunk and bring my knees up to my chest, burying my face in them. I began to cry, it's the hardest crying I've done in a while. The sound of foot steps approaching distracts me from my thoughts, I had a feeling it was going to be my mother to scold me for walking out on her, but surprisingly it wasn't.


The voice of one of my lovely Black cousins reaches my ears "Hey are you alright?" he said. I don't look up to see who it is, honestly I don't really care, or want to know. "Oh yeah," I say "I'm just...peachy." The sarcasm in voice is evident, clearly I wasn't 'alright'. "Well if you want you can come over to the house or whatever, we're all there to listen." He replies, not even sounding slightly phased by how rude I was being. "Thanks but no thanks," I say, not even thinking about his offer. "Suit yourself," And I listen to his foot steps walk away until they have completely faded away. As soon as he is gone I look up and wipe the tears off from my face with the sleeve of my sweater. I take a moment and think about my choices, once I weigh my options I get up and walk to my cousins' house. The moment I walk through the door everyone stops what they're doing and stares at me. I've always liked being the center of attention, but not when it's like this. "Hi," I say so quietly it's almost a whisper. Then the room explodes with noise. The usual 'We haven't seen you in so long!' and the 'You're still this short?' with a kind-hearted laugh was coming from all over the place. Plus hugs, lots and lots of hugs. I feel a smile begin to spread across my face, this is the first time I've felt welcomed somewhere in what seemed like an eternity.



After the mandatory reunion hellos were in place we all began to talk. It started out with small talk and then they began to ask about me. They wanted to know everything about me, so I told them. All the things over the years that I tried to tell my parents with no success, they listened to. And they cared, they actually really care. They weren't just pretending either. Questions were asked and the occasional 'great job' or 'wow' was thrown in there as well. For the first time in a very long time, I actually felt happy. This was all I needed all along. I began visiting them everyday, just to keep them informed on what was happening with my life. Each and everyday they cared the same amount as the day before, I never seemed to fail at impressing them. After a while I began staying for diner, and then later and later each day after that. Eventually, I started spending nights there. I wondered if my parents were worrying about where I was, but then I realized they weren't my really family, the Black's were. They loved me and cared about me when no one else would. My parent were just figures, they never really did anything for me. I know in my heart that if anybody ever asked me what my name was I would say Verity Black without a moments hesitation.

* * * 

I inhale deeply, the sound of birds singing outside pull me out of my memories. I keep my eyes shut, not wanting to come back to reality, I would prefer to stay inside my own head, where I could picture my perfect life instead of the shitty one I have. When I finally open my eyes again I scan the room, looking for some kind of change. What exactly I expected to be different, I don't really know, but I keep looking around anyway. There's a picture on the table text to me, it's one that I've never seen before. I pick it up so I can examine it more closely. It's an old one, probably from when my parents first bought the house, they both have smiles on their faces that reach from ear to ear, I bet they're thinking about the wonderful life they'll have together. It almost makes me sick. All the anger and hatred I've built up for my parents over the years begins to reach the surface. The next thing I know the picture is flying across the room towards the opposite wall. I watch as it hits it and the glass in the frame shatters. I stand there for a minute, staring at what I've done, and then without warning, I begin to cry. I cry like I've never cried before, it gets so bad that I have to sit against the door. The sobs are wracking my body so hard, and I honestly don't even know why I'm crying. Fear? Anger? Actual sadness? I don't really know but I keep crying anyway. Eventually I stop, I can't produce anymore tears, not for them at least. I've cried one too many times for my parents, and today would be the last. I stand up and wipe the tears from face. Taking one last glance of the room, I turn around and walk out. I grab the handle of the door, both the door of this room and of my terrible memories, and shut them forever.



Codeword: Odair