For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a prisoner.
A prisoner of what you ask? Well, you see, I can’t really answer that. I mean, I know what the government is doing to me, but their motives remain questionable, and I don’t understand why they are even doing this at all. Why would you cause harm to a human who could be destined for greatness? Why would you shoot a soldier who would save your country? Why would you spit on someone who just paid you an act of kindness? All these questions I cannot answer, but I hope that one day the people who are responsible for killing so many lives can learn the error of their ways.
*
Unlike my isolated friends, I know where I came from.
However, that doesn’t make me any happier. In fact, it almost makes it worse. If my parents loved me, than why would they let this happen to me? It’s a question I ask myself everyday. I ask it so much, and it gets me so angry, that I started hating my parents. I hated them so much that I couldn’t even talk about them without getting angry.
But even though my mind tells me to hate them, my heart tells me to love them, and I often find myself torn into pieces. I’m so torn sometimes, that it hurts to even breathe. And while my mind often overpowers my heart, I keep holding onto memories of them, just incase they ever want me back.
My fondest memory is of my mother. She was a lovely woman, and the radiance of her love kept me warm as a child. Everything about her, her smile, her laugh, her beauty and her personality, were all things I wanted; I aspired to be like her one day.
I couldn’t really be like her in occupation when I grew up, because she had no job. I was her main priority, and she would sacrifice any time she could spare for me. She had lots of free time, and instead of using it to pursue personal interests, she spent all of it doing things like brushing my pin-straight raven hair, or reading me fairytales at night. I remember looking into her kind brown eyes and feelings safe, knowing that if anything ever happened, she would be there.
But I also remember my dad.
There truly was no family man like my dad. Even though he was away a lot because he worked for the FBI, he loved me more than life itself.
Not that his life was perfect though. Because he worked so much he was always tired and seemed impatient and angry all the time. However, even though he was all these things, I loved my daddy. He was always there when I needed him. Whenever there was a monster under the bed, or a storm outside, he was the first to come to my rescue.
A prisoner of what you ask? Well, you see, I can’t really answer that. I mean, I know what the government is doing to me, but their motives remain questionable, and I don’t understand why they are even doing this at all. Why would you cause harm to a human who could be destined for greatness? Why would you shoot a soldier who would save your country? Why would you spit on someone who just paid you an act of kindness? All these questions I cannot answer, but I hope that one day the people who are responsible for killing so many lives can learn the error of their ways.
*
Unlike my isolated friends, I know where I came from.
However, that doesn’t make me any happier. In fact, it almost makes it worse. If my parents loved me, than why would they let this happen to me? It’s a question I ask myself everyday. I ask it so much, and it gets me so angry, that I started hating my parents. I hated them so much that I couldn’t even talk about them without getting angry.
But even though my mind tells me to hate them, my heart tells me to love them, and I often find myself torn into pieces. I’m so torn sometimes, that it hurts to even breathe. And while my mind often overpowers my heart, I keep holding onto memories of them, just incase they ever want me back.
My fondest memory is of my mother. She was a lovely woman, and the radiance of her love kept me warm as a child. Everything about her, her smile, her laugh, her beauty and her personality, were all things I wanted; I aspired to be like her one day.
I couldn’t really be like her in occupation when I grew up, because she had no job. I was her main priority, and she would sacrifice any time she could spare for me. She had lots of free time, and instead of using it to pursue personal interests, she spent all of it doing things like brushing my pin-straight raven hair, or reading me fairytales at night. I remember looking into her kind brown eyes and feelings safe, knowing that if anything ever happened, she would be there.
But I also remember my dad.
There truly was no family man like my dad. Even though he was away a lot because he worked for the FBI, he loved me more than life itself.
Not that his life was perfect though. Because he worked so much he was always tired and seemed impatient and angry all the time. However, even though he was all these things, I loved my daddy. He was always there when I needed him. Whenever there was a monster under the bed, or a storm outside, he was the first to come to my rescue.
I thought my family was perfect, but they weren’t. And as soon as Bush came into office, 2004, I was knocked unconscious by some friends of my dad and shipped of to a lab in Texas called the Southern Institute, or SI in codename.
I was so young, and so scared. I felt all alone in this big world, and spent many days and nights crying for my mother, who I thought would save me. I waited for a whole year, until I was eight for her to come, but she never did.
I grew very quiet, talking only when I was forced to. Because I didn’t talk, I failed a lot of tests the scientists gave me. In all reality, my scores were the worst in the Institute. Scientists started mocking me and calling me stupid, and I truly believe they thought I was mentally retarded, but I wasn’t. And it made me angry that they made fun of people different then them. Because I was being put down everyday, I became very depressed, and started having violent periods.
I was becoming too much for the Institute. Even the other mutants were afraid of me.
After much thinking, they decided to give me the option to transfer, which I gladly took; even though I had been told several times that it would be worse. These were the words someone had once uttered:
“Don’t take for granted the experiences you have had, for your life here is easy when compared to the lab in Canada. Unlike here, you will not be pitied or nurtured. Every yell will only lead to a consequence, and with that consequence will come physical pain.
“You will have no privacy. Every moment of the day you will be watched by observers. There will be times when you want a minute alone, but that will not be possible.
At times you will feel embarrassed or defeated, and you will want to die, but if they can control it, they will not let you.
“You will see things you will want to stop, but you can do nothing. Everyday your superiors will try and break you, and you might even give in. The experience will be cruel, but if you can survive the torture, you will change the world.”
I was ignorant to what they had said, but now that I am here I know they were right. And it’s because of this that I am so maternal over my friends; because they are all that I have and because I want to better their experiences’. As for me being vain, I do not know why I am that way, but as with every bad quality, there will be a day when my ways will change.
I was so young, and so scared. I felt all alone in this big world, and spent many days and nights crying for my mother, who I thought would save me. I waited for a whole year, until I was eight for her to come, but she never did.
I grew very quiet, talking only when I was forced to. Because I didn’t talk, I failed a lot of tests the scientists gave me. In all reality, my scores were the worst in the Institute. Scientists started mocking me and calling me stupid, and I truly believe they thought I was mentally retarded, but I wasn’t. And it made me angry that they made fun of people different then them. Because I was being put down everyday, I became very depressed, and started having violent periods.
I was becoming too much for the Institute. Even the other mutants were afraid of me.
After much thinking, they decided to give me the option to transfer, which I gladly took; even though I had been told several times that it would be worse. These were the words someone had once uttered:
“Don’t take for granted the experiences you have had, for your life here is easy when compared to the lab in Canada. Unlike here, you will not be pitied or nurtured. Every yell will only lead to a consequence, and with that consequence will come physical pain.
“You will have no privacy. Every moment of the day you will be watched by observers. There will be times when you want a minute alone, but that will not be possible.
At times you will feel embarrassed or defeated, and you will want to die, but if they can control it, they will not let you.
“You will see things you will want to stop, but you can do nothing. Everyday your superiors will try and break you, and you might even give in. The experience will be cruel, but if you can survive the torture, you will change the world.”
I was ignorant to what they had said, but now that I am here I know they were right. And it’s because of this that I am so maternal over my friends; because they are all that I have and because I want to better their experiences’. As for me being vain, I do not know why I am that way, but as with every bad quality, there will be a day when my ways will change.
Luv you all through the pain,
Aletta.
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