liz kranth { d2 } done

Elizabeth.

It sounds too formal. It doesn't sound like a name one of my friends would call me as the chase me down in the streets to force me to go shopping with them.

Every day I hear it as my parents call to me, and I need to pretend to nod and smile like the good little girl they think I am. I need to endure every their voices with every time they say Elizabeth.

It's stiff. It's unmoving. It's the perfect name for the daughter of two wealthy parents from district two. That's who Elizabeth is. Elizabeth is the girl who stands in front of her parents, a placid smile on her face as they tell her what chores she needs to get done. Elizabeth is the girl who gives her parents a hug and kiss as she walks out the door. Elizabeth is the girl who does as she's told and doesn't get in trouble.

I don't want to be Elizabeth.

I am Liz.

Liz is the name of a girl who runs down the streets with her friends. Liz is the name of a career who grins and laughs along with a sword slicing along a rubber neck. Liz is the name of a girl who gets drunk at parties.

My mask of innocent freckles hides my deceitful green eyes from my parents.

They'll never know who I really am. They'll never know the girl getting high and hooking up at night. They'll never know the girl slicing a dummy open and grinning. They'll never know anything about me except my placid smile and polite stature.

They'll never know how I sneak out at night to go get high at a party. They'll never know how I sneak boys into my room just a short hallway away from theirs. They'll never know how my blade tears through the fake flesh to create a smile on my face.

They think I'm a good little girl. They think that I only do career training to look cool, not that I actually enjoy it. They think that they know me. It's a laughable idea.

My friends jokingly call me Satan's Sister, my red hair and bad-girl attitude assuring them that is who I am. I am not mother's little girl, I am not daddy's little angel, I am not my parent's precious little Elizabeth.

I am Liz, and I won't let that stupid pompous name hold me back from being who I am.

At home I wear my good natured button ups and jeans, but when I'm free on my own outside of home (my parents never worry about me getting into trouble, I "never" get into trouble) I wear my ripped jeans and t-shirts. I can't stand the sight of the clothes my parents buy me, but I wear them to make them happy, at least at home.

My life at my own home is lie, but I never even think of telling the truth. The truth would ruin my relationship with my parents. The truth would destroy my income (which has always had a steady flow from my parents who think I use it to go buy candy, and I kind of do in a way if you count drug filled gummy bears). The truth would destroy half of my life.

Sneaking down the hallways of my home, a boy in tow, held by one of my small hands, doesn't worry me, though. My parents don't think I could do anything remotely straying from their perception of me through the closed doors of my home.

"It's for a project at school." I would say, and they wouldn't think anything of it. Their precious Elizabeth would never lie to them. They're too busy to pay attention to me or to whatever I'm doing in any detail anyways. It's just another dot in their business filled days.

Later in those days, after my pale skin had been run under the shower for a little while, I would say to them, "I'm going over to a friend's house." They would think nothing of it, but as I sneak out to the edge of the district with a lighter I bought with their money, I think about how foolish they are for trusting their daughter who's innocent freckles make her seem just so... innocent.