asriel dreamurr ㅁ district two} done

asriel.

He locks me away. Like a dirty bit of treasure I am kept hidden behind closed doors, contained by molding planks. I am disgusting to him, an infected wound he hasn't the heart to get treated. The only remaining bit of a woman he fucked and what's left of two lives taken away. But he doesn't care about me. He cares about them. And he's too broken to tell that he has broken me too.

I am fire, I am anger. It runs through my veins like lightning, strangling my breaths at night as I curl myself into something no bigger than a seed and just like that, I am insignificant. I am forgotten. And it hurts. It hurts so bad, there is such pain that I want to rip my hair from my head, I want to wrap my hands around another's throat and to show them just what it is to be ruined.

Because that is what he has done to me.

(Look at what you have done to me.)

(Just fucking look at me for once.)

And then I did. I hurt someone. After that surge of power, the release of rage and of every labored breath that fogged up thick rimmed glasses came something I never expected. Regret. Tugging at my heartstrings. Humanity begging me to release the little girl that had become some kind of evil mastermind to eyes clouded with rage. She was just his pawn, in the end. They are all just his pawns.

I let her go. I let the monster go and yet here I am locked away and all I can see are the buttercups that grow in the fields outside my window. A single window whose sill I often sleep on, despite the obviously made bed clear across my prison room. It's more comfortable here, close to the outside world.

One they have never seen. The subjects in this twisted kingdom.

My father is a madman, a king torn by bullets and blood, by a son he failed in raising and a daughter that never was. I didn't know her well, the sister born upon the same eve as I. I don't know who was older, who took their breaths first but I guess that doesn't matter because her heart is gone and so is mine.

But at least I can breathe.

Sometimes.

Sometimes I just want to die in here. Sometimes I think it would be better. I have so desperately clung to life, fought tooth and nail to reach my sixteenth birthday when surely father was hoping that I would die in here. Hoping that I would kill myself like mom because we both know it's his fault that she is dead and that if he wasn't stuck on some stupid political agenda, we'd be happy.

We'd all be alive.

Instead the both of us are left one half of a whole and two strings short of sanity.

It wouldn't be like this if mom was still alive. But she would tell me that father is not a bad man, that he has done what he thought was best. He did all he could with what little he was given. She would tell me that I cannot judge the desperation of a man who is trying to protect more than just himself. More than just me. He has the others to think of, after all. The others that he is ruining and yet they look at him as though the ground he walks upon is blessed.

They think of him as a noble king and yet he keeps his own son locked away. A son no doubt gone mad with grief, with the anger and rage, with the white hot that is sometimes all I can ever hope to feel. Sometimes it consumes me, sometimes it is all that is left. And it is good because then nothing has to hurt.

Sometimes I am scared. Sometimes I remember that I am not big and I am not strong.

I am as intimidating as a flower stained bright golden.

I like to keep them around, my father's favorites. They give me attention when father will not even meet my eyes, not even give me the cold glances that he used to when I would scream until some part of his fucked up paternal instinct finally told him to unlock my door and to come quiet me down. But I'm not good at making friends so i torment them instead. There are loose panels I have torn up from the ground, ones that ripped my nails from their beds so violently that the blood left me cold upon the attic floor for twenty minutes. I slipped under the insulation, cracking skin and dropping rose's petals in my wake.

But at least I am free. I can crawl through the spaces between the walls and I can see them living, see them growing and laughing and loving when they do not know what is out there. They do not know that there is a world with clean air and pretty flowers, with beauty that does not hide in carpet patterns and thick drapes.

And I don't know if I pity or envy their ignorance because it'd be a helluva lot easier to smile if I was like them. To be happy with this world, this vessel I have been bound to. I was dragged kicking and screaming into a body that I do not belong. There is nothing I can do. There is no hope, no reason.

He brought home a new one. One that looks like her. They're as dumb as the rest, they're just like them and I just wish they'd go away because they are just like her and it hurts.

The mischief I cause takes the pain away, if only for a moment.

Because misery loves company and I am tired of being alone.