amelia russell }} district two }} fin

White roses laid upon a cradle. Death sentence unspoken with great expectation and I was plucked from a casket with chains welded to frail wrists. One, Two, Three, Me. Four years younger than One, two years older than Six. And my nanny let me call her mom. Didn't see much of the real thing, elegance with raven hair and we were meant to admire what amounted to a ghost with champagne between her fingertips. Daddy-dearest never wanted a boy and fate was one of many mistress he must have fucked over because she gave him five. There was me, of course, but worship and adoration was never what I felt for him. My family was all the same.

Overbearing control freaks with triangle sockets where my hands were square. Spite and hostility was found within my tendency to beat the shit out of my younger brothers every time they'd try to drag me from my room and into training centers meant for cardboard cutouts with no willpower of their own. Following a dream that was never their's to begin with. The scent of rain-worn asphalt called to me, sweet and seductive was the sound of sneakers against pavement. I was always running.

Long hours out and about, avoiding disappointed parents tucked away behind mansions with golden trim and green hedges. They'd never come looking for me, not in the places which I took to hiding, the kind that made my heart skip a beat with every sudden sound. Sweat stuck to my skin, adrenaline sending lightning through my veins and danger was a high to which I stood no chance. I was addicted to the pain, the fear, the feeling of being everything that I was not supposed to be.

It was almost funny, how they yelled and screamed when I knocked upon their pearly gates after hours spend digging my own grave. Words bounced off of thick skin like gauze off of my bloodied knuckles and perhaps I was a fool but at least I was happy. Torn between two sides of a broken coin, fraternizing with those considered enemies by the pompous and privileged while warm and tangled within silk sheets at day's end. It was unsustainable at best, suicidal at worst.

The high of rebellion began to dull. Father installed a lock on the outside of my door in a desperate attempt to fix what only he perceived as broken. My mother had given up, my siblings had too. If I felt love for any of them it was buried beneath layers of anger and resentment. Of insatiable hatred which found its way inside of me and it was all so tiring. I don't know why I am the way I am. I didn't bother trying to change any of it.

Boredom found me treading into deeper and deeper waters. Surrounded by those entrenched in the very life I yearned for, not because they wanted to be there but for the suffering of their starving families. For survival and not greed. And I felt something for them. Something different than before. Entrenched within chaos, there was a kind of peace that I found at its very core. A sense of belonging, or happiness.

Restless hands found themselves beneath a heavy head and I slept upon a warehouse floor the first night I felt at home. I found it not within four walls- within the comfort of a bed every night and food to fill a greedy belly. I found it in everything but. In greasy snacks shoved into the waist of tight pants that tasted all the better knowing every bite was forbidden.

Escalation turned to reputation. The home I knew became but a distant memory and strangers became blood. Impulsive, reactive, prone to bloody knuckles and it was exhilarating to point guns at pretty temples. That was not Amelia Russell, she was long dead. I was Mel and only that. A vixen, Fear was for the faint of heart and she? She was a warrior.

I am a warrior.

Not a leader, not a follower. Marching to the beat of a drum that only I have ever heard.
A rhythmic cadence that pounds over and over again. My footsteps break concrete, bloody lips turned upwards in hefty smiles and fists connect to jaws no matter how outmatched I may be pride is what keeps the soles of my shoes placed firmly upon the floor.

I go home with swollen skin and satisfaction. Who I always wanted to be became exactly who I was. Not a single penny clings to my new name and every bit of that is by choice. I don't want to be a goody two-shoe career with a stick up my ass as I wail on targets that cannot fight back.

They say there is no honor amongst thieves and yet I've found among nobles there is anything but. We are all the same, peasants playing pretend. No matter the silk sheets with golden lace, we all sleep six feet under.