kiri alagona | four . fin . cb

you aren't a killer.

yes you are.

it's a craving. a desire to hurt, to cause pain. an inflicted wound, a gash on the shoulder, immense gratification flows throughout your body.

you've tried to suppress the monster inside, the one that claws it's way up from the pits of your soul. you try to convince yourself that you are alright, but these feelings, you know they aren't natural, even for a career district like four. people yell out during the reaping, and kill to bring glory and pride to their name and district. they don't do it to see the blood drip of the poor foals they slaughter.

you cry at night, tears rushing down your caramel skin, golden brown hair sticking to your tear-stained face. you don't want to be like this, but the monster within whispers sweet nothings in your ear, and it's hard to not follow its commands.

a shaky hand closes around the end of a harpoon. you strike, sending the harpoon in the depths of the ocean. seagulls squawk and your father claps as you bring it up, a fish stabbed through the stomach with it. you didn't feel bad, you didn't care that you got food, you cared about the blood and guts that dripped off of it.

it's just you and pa. he isn't one that you feel you can open up to. he has certain expectations and ideals that if you open up, you feel you won't meet his expectations. ma's a dead fishy in the bottom of the ocean. you've never knew her, but that's what makes your story even more tragic.