corey song || district three || cb || fin

In a world like your own, how does one learn to survive?

Belonging to the lowest tier on the wealth ladder at home in Three? Check. Son to parents who did everything they could to deserve their spot there and nothing to earn an escape out? Check. Born as the fifth child of six, with three older sisters, an older brother, and a younger twin brother who command a full ninety eight of the attention for said overworked, beleaguered parents? Motherfucking check.

So yeah. It's not easy. The youngest of a large family by technicality but befit of the actual prime status of youngest sibling by a wombmate born thirteen minutes later, you have to make do where you can. First, you started with the angelic route, the cute little kid that could do no wrong when he brought out the puppy eyes. When that immunity was developed, or perhaps it was just when you got too old for that to be realistic, dramatics were a good shift. Do something outlandish, wild, borderline rulebreaking in nature, and well, then someone would have to notice you then. You even once resorted to straight up begging, before you realized that even attention wasn't worth staining your dignity over.

So you turned to delinquency. Harmless pranks at first that gave you a chiding in response. Then, when that came to be expected, you'd turn the notch up higher. And higher. Pranks turned into destruction, into bullying, for you found it as much a catharsis as a warning call, an addiction that once you started, became nigh impossible to stop, not that you had any desire to.

You grew. You learned. A flashy, charming smile and some crocodile tears were usually more than enough to absolve you of the blame. And even if that failed, it was a win win even then.

For in a world like your own, you adapt in whatever way you can. And in your world, any attention is better than none.