victoria {d2} fin, cbd3

I get it, I'm not supposed to be alive.

Born grey, it was clear the world didn't want me. My Mother cradled me in her arms and told me that everything would turn out fine, like a mother is supposed to, and there was a comfort in knowing someone was on my side. The world wasn't completely against me, I had someone.

And that was everything.

Ten years old and I'd sit with my back to the door. A protest against my Father's force to turn me into a career. Two has produced criminals of all kinds, killer children and thieves thicker than concrete who somehow manage to find a loophole in the justice system and get away with their petty crimes. I pledged not to become one, I pledged that peace was the loudest form of violence. And my Father heard, eventually.

It took a fall to the extremes. Collecting pennies from tartan sofas and selling prize possessions from the mantle piece. We got by, eventually. 

And then my Mother came down with a fever. People didn't extend a hand to the poor then, it was a dog eat dog world; every man, every woman was for themselves. She died and my Father changed--when he looked at me, he only saw her. Her small eyes, her wave in my hair, her pixie face. He listened to my pleas, my cries and for the first time, my pledge felt like it meant something.

Because he cared. I guess that he wanted to protect me because he didn't protect her.

It's a nice thought, a safe one, but the world doesn't for anyone or anything. I know it.