slate. d9.

According to the law, Seb's technically my Dad.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

I know right?! HA-HAAAAAA! Look, I had to say somethin' to the Peacekeeper knocking on my door last year. I ain't gonna tell that bastard I don't have parents. Orphanages are boring. So I said Seb was my Dad, informally, formally, whatever, he scribbled it down and honestly I forgot about the whole thing until my next reaping when they pricked my finger and the blood pen said Slate Rothul.

HA!!!!!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!

The look on his face when I tell him that. HA! Can you imagine? Man, I gotta find me a camera just to get a picture. Naw, Seb's not a bad person, I shouldn't take the mickey - but I do. He feeds me, gave me a roof over my head and a reason to live, that's what any good parent would do right? I wouldn't know. But the Pride is family, that's what we say. We're in it for life. That basically means we're related. You can't get rid of family - well, my parents tried to, fuckers, HA! I found 'em with their new baby daughter and I got a little mad. Safe to say they don't have a daughter anymore, ha.

So Sebastian's technically my Dad. A father at 25, poor bastard, bet the Keeper didn't bother to do the math and realise a 10 year old can't have a kid. Daddy dearest Seb, HA! Only on paper though. I don't need no parents! Fuck 'em! I turned out just fine. Well, aside from the murdering, oops? Look - look, hear me out - it's not murder, I accidentally set their house on fire. Maybe somebody shouldn't've bought fancy curtains that weren't fire-proof. Maybe somebody shouldn't've given me a lighter. Not my fault people can't read signals! Hello? Who'd give ME a lighter?!?! I ain't a smoker!! God my sister's a dumbass. She's got a wicked right-hook but fuck, no brains. Must've gotten 'em punched out, HA!!!!

The Keepers don't even care as long as we're not setting fire to them so no harm done, huh? That's what ya get for leaving me on the street aged 4, they turned me into this. Fucked me up real good, ha! Karma's a bitch. This one time a Keeper actually paid me to hide a dead body. Money isn't exactly growing on trees here so of course I obliged, into one of the factory smelting ovens you go. Smelt like shit but hooooo boy we ate well that night. 

I was 10 years old when I killed someone for the first time. Slit his throat - closed my eyes when I did it, flinched a bit. I don't anymore. When you're that age and starving you'll do anything to get by. He was a bad person, too. A sicko. Notch in my belt of bad people that did bad things to me. It's not an excuse or anything, more like a reason. I woulda done it on a full stomach for a pack of toothpicks but desperate times called for desperate measures. The first time you see a dead body you get a little grossed out but by eight years old I'd seen plenty. By nine, I'd found the girls. We did what we had to do to get by. Messy, at first, but we learned how to do what we did the right way. This is District 9, whatdya expect? A fast kill, a clean-up crew and a morgue? HA!!!!!! We're all three!

Yeah so now I make a little money on the side doin' that shit. Disposing bodies is 100 bucks, killin' em four times as much, both? Triple the last rate, I ain't got all day!!! A girl's got places to be and people to see and they don't suspect you when you're a kid, they do when you're a teenager. Fifteen is pushing it in this industry, even Seb tells me I should keep it down but it's fuuuuun to be rich for a moment or two. I could go back to my day job making knives and forks in the factory, suckin' up fumes and burning my hands - but I still got the scars to show for it. Fuck that. I make twice as much in one gang job than I used to in a week. Besides, a girl needs her sustenance! I can't break necks with no arm muscle!

Maybe if I'd grown up in a nice, easily-burnable house I woulda turned out okay. Clean clothes and hair ribbons and full stomachs, all that bullshit I wanted so badly when I was small. Instead I got dirt under my nails and tangled hair, wonky teeth and a malnourished body. But shit happens when you're left alone and broken by people who are supposed to protect you from creeps and thugs and monsters. It ain't my fault I'm like this but I've gotta get by somehow so I could feel bad about what I do or, instead, make some money off being a terrible fucked up person.

Remember, I'm not the stupid one. I know a compromise when I see one.