soren {peacekeeper}

soren {peacekeeper} May 24, 2016 0:10:22 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on May 24, 2016 0:10:22 GMT -5

S O R E N C R O W E

I stole my own childhood. With hand stained red with my parent's blood and the blood of the man who got away, I sewed my curtains shut. Locked every door and threw their keys into the fireplace. I buried my nose in books filled to the brim with words I did not yet understand and sat until even the fine print had begun to make sense. I was not a protege born but raised, three instruments mastered in three years with sheer determination and hours spent practicing the same out of tune machines.

There was no time for friends, barely any time for food. The nannies the state assigned me would set the same dinner out on the table for three nights, the food only growing colder as a manic child rushed about the upstairs of his parent's empty mansion. I think they worried I would grow mad, with only myself and about a hundred thousand books to keep me company.

But I was perfectly happy, surrounding myself with strength. With tools. Turning my mind into a blade so sharp that I would wound anyone who looked too deep in my eyes. I never felt incomplete, never felt out of place. I never craved the company of another and yet I, a completely unremarkable fourteen year old, was thrown into a genius school for genius kids. Perhaps they thought that is what it was- that my intelligence came naturally. If only I was so blessed.

For four years I spent hours trying to become as good as them. To solve math equations without the help of pen or paper, to write novellas filled with beautiful prose and perfect grammar. Truly, the only thing I excelled at was martial arts- the physical was always so much easier for me to understand than the magic taking place behind one's skull.

So I finished school with c's in most everything else. And, oh, it stung to try so hard only to be branded barely good enough. It still bought me a ride to the peacekeeper academy- another competition. A hundred more sleepless nights memorizing terms and codes that I would most likely never see in my lifetime.

Not to mention how most other recruits despised the 'Capitol Brats' riding into lessons on scholarships and parent's money. We sat upon the bone of their loved ones, after all, how could we even begin to understand true strife? True, we hadn't a friend reaped. Didn't have to watch a loved one die-

on a screen anyway.

But I've always found the turn of a cheek to be more satisfying than any punch I could have thrown. No doubt I was stronger, no doubt I possessed more skill than a drunken asshole from district twelve and I could have turned his face into something unrecognizable. But I didn't. Not because I was better, not because I think myself above them, I was simply the better person in that instance. For that second.

I've come to know your past does not define you, only the actions of today. The bills pressed into a homeless mother's hand, the soothing of a boy who lost his mother in the crowd. No matter what I did yesterday or the day before- it doesn't define who I am today. I could kill a man in cold blood, could take away lives like I have so often seen. And it would brand me a monster for life- as it should.

It doesn't matter how good a person I was.

Justice is fickle, a matter of keeping a set of scales in perfect equilibrium. If one ruins a life, their own is now forfeit. And it's my job to set the weights upon the brass.

It took me a long while to get used to people, to get used to how they worked. There was a surprising difference in the characters I followed throughout thousands of pages and the imperfect things sat in front of me. Not that I minded. They were easy to charm, I was quite a sociable boy for one sat in one room most of his early life.

I found the skin of those who hated me particularly sweet. The ones who swore their hatred were particularly pretty leaving my quarters in the morning, broad shoulders slouched and cheeks red with shame.

It was a satisfying sort of revenge, calling men on their bluffs. The worst I ever got was a black eye, the best- that is better left unsaid. And I never said I was perfect- perhaps I am the most imperfect of them all. Smart enough to know better, too weak to stop myself.

Self control has always been an issue. In years of trying to master my words I have yet to figure out how to filter raw thoughts and snide comments- the rush of a war won is far too intoxicating.

So I guess I've stopped trying.