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They've been calling me X since I arrived, but I don't see why they would do that. It confuses me greatly, but I have now a real name, but I do not see the people here calling me by it. This disappoints me, but I suppose that at one point it may have been the same way for Arson. I will not, though, call him Maxwell.
Perhaps I will have to wait for the war to end before anyone will call me by my new name.
Kristine Just.
You see, Kristine finally decided to make her comment today while I was getting something to drink, but she didn't make it to me. But to little Kelly, who giggled in this mean, menacing way. I guess I sort of snapped, because I strode over to her and demanded to know what jokes she was making. I cannot tell you what words I chose, because I cannot remember. I do, though, recall the fury that I was in. I would've feared for anyone in my way.
They only laughed.
But they aren't laughing now.
I didn't even get charged anything for my act of violence because Arson said that that is simply the way living today is. Watch what you say, because you may end up underground.
That's where they are, now.
Arson said it was sentimental that I take the name of the first person I killed, though I know he is lying, this is not my first, this is only the first one I can remember, so that I can remember them. I want to ask him who the first person I really killed was, but I think he's locking those memories up as if they were a different person.
I feel like a murderer, and somehow, it is not a shock to me. I do not hate myself, nor do I hate those that I have just killed. I just know that I took their life.
It is odd, though, for I know that there is more violence to come.
But I am not sure I am ready.
Though, I know I should be.
Arson told me that I should call myself Kristy Just, because I am just Kristy, with no last name. He is my only friend in these times, for I do not even know those that I command. But they look at me as if I should.
It hurts, not being able to look them in the eye and tell them that they are my friends, like family. I do not even know their names.
I hope that I will remember.
I have a name and a face now, though, and this is the first step to having an identity of my own without stealing that that I had once before.
I look at myself in the mirror and I still see a stranger. I am too thin to be me, with long silver hair that is too straight and too long to possibly belong to anyone but some kind of hellish warrior. I still wear the casual army clothing that everyone else does, but I have switched out the boots. I feel like some sort of demon despite my big eyes, and long, pointed ears. I wonder if my appearance gives away something of what I was before.
And if so, why can I not see it?
I will ask Arson some questions tomorrow, I must if I will ever know anything about what is going on here. There is always some shade of fear on everyone's faces, buried beneath their eyes. I wonder why.
But I think something bad is coming.
I cannot say how good or bad my intuition is, but if it is as good as I have heard disaster is near in the future.
I wish we could steer course.
Kristine Just (45283)
Twelve sets after the bombing.
 X x __ compos M E N T i S · Thu Apr 10, 2008 @ 05:33pm · 0 Comments |
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