riva turow - d6 - cb - fin

Rebellion was in your blood. It was the world your parents worshiped - a hatred for the Capitol, plots to overthrow peacekeepers, secret ceremonies held to mourn the ones who died as a result of tyranny. You were a naive child, excited to attend every event. You thought you could change the world. You thought your parents were heroes.

They were idiots.

Mice cannot take down a bull, not even in a pack. They arrested your parents and you never saw them again. You don't know if they were executed or turned into Avox slaves. You'll never know. It haunts you in your sleep, and for the longest time you soaked your pillow in tears. Foster homes didn't know how to treat you. A child of rebels? How strange. What if he acts out? But you never did. What was the point? Your world had shattered. Reality was a hammer to your soul - there was no winning a battle against tyranny. Your parents were idealistic in a world of despair.

Everyone is powerless.

You kept to yourself in school, buried your face in books to avoid rumors. You were paranoid that people would label you the rebel child, but how would they know? Your parents vanished when you were twelve. Nobody cared anymore.

You're eighteen now and you're supposed to live on your own. You can't, but they kicked you out anyway. They didn't like you. You were quiet, secluded, aloof. You scraped by at a cafe job. A coworker suggested a better way to make money, and now you sell drugs for a cartel. It's the opposite of what you dreamed; you're not a hero, but instead you ruin people's lives by feeding their addictions.

You've also never been richer. You're not greedy, but this was the best way to survive. You have a house, furniture, food in the pantry.

It's not home, but it's close enough.