^Elmo^Drakken^D7^FIN^

We are dead to rights born and raised

We are thick and thin 'til our last days

So hold me close and I'll surrender to your heart

You know how to give and how to take

Elmo. Soldier. Warrior. Survivor. I have had a lot of names throughout the years, each more important than the last. These names define everything I have been through, everything I represent, everything I am.


Elmo.
Poverty are the roots of my life. I never knew my father, a faceless john that my mother met during the dead of night, just one of many customers. She was nothing to me, a simple prostitute, she had many love babies over the years, including all my siblings. They weren't bad, my half siblings, each individual in every way. I got close to a few, and together we learned to survive. Our mother never had enough, so we lived off the scraps of the upper classes. It wasn't much, but we learned to accept it and make the best of it. Well, the others did, but I was not happy, I resented everything my mother gave us. We were forced to do things that squashed our morales. Yet, our poverty was not the worst of the district, not until I was 10.

Mom went out one night and she never came home. My siblings and I sat around for days, waiting for her in silence, as if voicing our fear would make them come true. That was how the children with red hair lost their mother. Maybe it was the sudden shift in pattern, the older ones began to take charge, going to the black market, while the younger ones stayed home and played. Whatever the reason, some one figured out we were alone, and turned us in. The day the peacekeepers barged into my house, the older kids acted as though they had the entire scenario planned out. Two older boys ran forward and destracted the peacekeepers while my half-sister grabbed the younger three kids and shoved us onto the fire escape. She slammed the window closed and we climbed into the dark alley beneath us, scared an alone.

You see every hope I locked away

So pull me close and surrender to my heart

Before the flame goes out tonight

Yeah, we'll live until we die

Warrior.
Dayton was 13, Elise was 11, and I was 10. We were a small legion of children against the great world around us. Dayton was resourceful, Elise was smart, and I was just along for the ride. I grew bitter as I watched my siblings scramble to pull together scraps. I grew angry as I watched their cheeks hallow. I grew frustrated as I tried time and time again to help. I grew weary as the effects of starvation began to set in. There wasn't much we could do as we became scavengers, the people you pretended not to notice along the street corners. We were fighting a losing battle against starvation.

Dayton died first. It was my 11th birthday. I was so happy that I had reached 11, so glad to share it with the boy with the same blue eyes, and the girl with the same freckles. I woke up that day, and pulled my rags a little tighter around me as I walked over to Dayton. With a kick and a laugh I turned him on his side, expecting him to wake up and scold me. But his eyes didn't open, and his lips were cold. When I looked back I couldn't remember him eating anything, always pushing the scraps towards Elise and me. He gave his life so ours could continue, yet it was in vain. Elise and me ran away from his body, two twig figures pushing over people as we ducked from ally to ally. We stopped, and found a small pile of scraps. Anger bubbled inside of me, but I pushed it down, and instead cried with Elise mourning our brother.

Elise... oh, Elise... my sweet sister. Our blood only partially similar, yet our appearance almost identical. Same bright red hair, same tall frame, same bright eyes. We were going to be okay, as I learned to care for myself. We lasted two years together, dodging peacekeepers became a daily routine. We never suspected their would be others on the streets. The boys were much older than us, at least 18 or 19. Their eyes filled with filthy lust as they spotted my sister and me in our pathetic box. They made me watch, laughing as I squirmed beneath their grip. Her eyes met mine for a second, and suddenly I felt her pain, her fear, her despair. She was defenseless, and they killed her, not before doing other horrible things. When they released me I wept, falling to my knees next to her still form. I held my sister as the boys walked away, making the mistake of turning their backs on me. That anger that built up over the years, from dealing with this poverty, from my brother dying, from my sister's murder, it all spilled over on that night. I grabbed that knife and I revenged my sister, I killed them all. The fire burned in me, demanding to be fed. That is what I was, a fire of grief, anger and regret, and I was burning like a conflagration.

So come out, come out, come out

Won't you turn my soul into a raging fire?

Come out, come out, come out

'Til we lose control into a raging fire

Soldier.
They found me when I was 14.  I was alone, my family all dead or missing. There was no point, I was angry at the world. There was no point in being good, so I became a furious little mugger. I imagined Dayton and Elise pushing me to live, to make a better life for myself. They drove me to attack people and to steal, something that we never did when they were alive. One day I jumped a random guy, and was surprised when he pulled out a knife and shoved me into a doorway. I was even more surprised to see a group of people waiting for me inside. They were small group of people, they called themselves the Fighters. They were just a group of punks like me. They were the thieves, the assaulters, and the druggies. But they were angry, just like me.

They became my family, because they weren't brutal like Elise's killers, but they were just angry enough to understand me. We spent months discussing the misfortunes we have faced, the poverty that plagued us, and the lose of our loved ones. Who first brought up fighting back? I will never know, but some one did, some one planted the seed in our heads. Slowly it grew, as the years went by we grew more and more rowdy, and just frustrated at everything. A kid who went by Darwin was the tipping point. He was caught dealing, and the peacekeepers grabbed him before he even realized what happened. He was hung and left in the square, as an example they said. They treated him like a piece of shit, and we weren't going to take it anymore.

The attack was planned out, every step carefully executed, we planned every step, but we were destined to fail. See thieves, fighters, and druggies can not be trusted. One of us was twisted, and could not become attached to really trust us. So they opened their mouth to the peacekeepers, and committed the ultimate betrayal. And so once again I was forced to watch as my family was ripped apart. They were merciless, I watched my best friend die, I watched as guys I considered brothers were shot in the head. We tried to fight back, tried so hard to get out, but they knew our plan. They mowed us down, but I wasn't going to give up. I fought and fought, until I was the only rebel standing. Then I broke down, and ran, ran like a coward. I was the only survivor, once again. Why? Why did I survive?

You know time will give and time will take
All the memories made will wash away
Even though we've changed, I'm still here with you
If you listen close, you'll hear the sound

Survivor.
I am alive. Alone again I wander the streets, with a small job as a lumberjack I can provide for myself. I no longer wonder about my future, now all my questions are about the past. They haunt me, a presence that builds up inside of me. Every time I close my eyes, every time I see a boy on the street, I see my family, both blood and otherwise. They are there, some times encouraging me to live to survive another day. But there are times when they scream obscenities, cursing me for living, damning me to their hell. They fight me, pushing me onto the ground and cause me to put my hands over my ears. I try to push them out, but they remain, always there whether it is for better or worse.

Of all the ghosts that bring us down
Hold on to what makes you feel
Don't let go, it's what makes you real

oDair
"Raging Fire"
Devon Usher
1397