fiona strauss . d2 . done

Fear consumes your every thought. Each of your movements is thought out, planned in advance. Each potential scenario rolls together into an avalanche of worry. Like a train crash, each thought collides into each other like each car slamming into another. So you try your best to be perfect, someone who will never let their fear be shown to the world.

Tossed away after the only parents who ever had your back had been dragged away by peacekeepers for trying to keep you fed, you had thought that you finally had everything figured out when they came to finally take you away, that you had a way to ease your ceaseless fear of isolation. You had thought that the nice family would take you away and you would live a life you had been deprived of.

You could have never seen what they had in store for you.

You know you aren't perfect. You know that eventually, they will figure it out. You mask your fear through gritted teeth in your shining smile and your silken laugh. You loudly praise the siblings as your saviors from a life of misery while you plot your escape from damnation. They took Annabelle away from you for a slight mistake, and despite affirmations from your siblings not to fear, your heart knows that you're next.

You're not like the rest of them. You haven't killed. You don't even want to. You haven't slept your way into other's hearts. You aren't coldblooded. You are barely a career. You are what you strive not to be, weak, and you know that deep in your soul.

You know that you need to get your act together if you want to survive in this ruthless masquerade. You know that eventually you'll need to raise your sword or brandish a knife past the pang in your chest that comes with each stroke into a dummy's heart, your heart filled with contempt for those that have placed you in the position where you would need to do what you would never want to do, in the position your Godfearing parents had never wanted you to be. They had placed themselves in danger, in hell's pathway so that you would never have to commit the ultimate sin to survive like all the other monsters in your home: kill.

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My eyes were closed when Finn's sword pierced Annabelle.

I know they should be open like everyone else's. I know should be watching, studying, learning how to do the same for the future. But I couldn't. I couldn't feel the coldness that they want me to feel. I know I'm not perfect. All I could feel was exactly what they wanted to numb me to, my soul tearing into pieces alongside Annabelle's.

When they told me I had to train to be a career in the hunger games, I had done so graciously. I pretended to be ecstatic, excited by the opportunity. That was one of the many masks I would need to put on in this endless masquerade. I wanted their love, their affection. Each comment on my hair, my voice, my anything would send shivers of joy through my bones. I craved that. I wanted to be perfect for them. I wanted to be who they wanted me to be, not who I was.

Anyways, I had thought, I would never really have to kill anybody. The exchange for throwing knives around a room for love suited me perfectly.

I fell prey to my pride. Their comments elated me, lifting me up onto a golden chandelier I had thought I'd never be able to reach. They showed me the love I had been deprived of ever since the peacekeepers had dragged mine away.

I had forgotten my prayers after a little while until Annabelle's death.

That night I had torn myself away from ambitious eyes to my covers. I refused to let anyone see or hear me. They would take it as weakness, a way to kill me off for their gain.

I prayed silently, hoping that anyone would hear me, that I would be forgiven for my sins. I apologized to my parents, hoping that they were somewhere out there, ready to take me away from my purgatory.

I'm not like the rest of them. I'm not perfect. I'm not a doll of a career who was able to throw my weight around and kill at will. I would never be able to bring myself to that, and I know that even if I wanted to I probably couldn't. I'm not strong, I'm not powerful, I don't think I'd be able to muster the force that Finn had to push his sword into Annabelle's chest.

Each night I remind myself now after my prayers.

They aren't my parents, they are devils in disguise, tempting me towards eternal damnation.

They aren't my siblings. They are angels of death, waiting to pounce on every misstep.

Abaddon may take me yet, but I won't let that happen anytime soon. I will keep my mask on, hiding my true emotions away from the rest of them. I know that I'll be next, that Annabelle was just the start of my demise.

Then, one night, as if God had brought the thoughts into my brain, the revelation came to me behind tears hidden by my bedsheets.

I was trapped by the promise of love, of wanting something that just won't be found at the edge of a sword.

I need to run.

I need to escape.

And maybe I will be able to find someone else who can give me what I so desperately crave.