blade. five. cb.

Mom gave me a strong name. Said it might instill power in me, confidence and a sharp tongue, hearing it every day. We got about half-way there, I've got a knack for quick comebacks and I'm resilient. Not a quitter. Can't afford to be one around here. I wouldn't say I'm the most confident person, and I've gotta stop second-guessing myself, ending everything I say with an unsure question mark. But I'm learning, slowly, not to focus on the negative so much. I like to think I'm a realist, commenting on how inhaling all this factory smog can't be good for us but Mom doesn't like that 'sad talk', would rather we go look at the colourful parrots at the few breeding ranches still left about. It's around then that I comment about their little lungs probably are't doing to well either and she bops me over the head and tells me to stop bein' so miserable. She's right. They are beautiful birds, I'll give them that. Nice to see something so strangely wonderful, so colourful, so bright in this smoggy hole of a District. They're much prettier than I - but I hope one day, if I get the chance, I too can live as freely as they. For now we'll stay in our cages. A practical expectation. But it doesn't mean that one can't save a pretty dream for a rainy afternoon.