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What.
What even
I’m still RP-ing over at riddledritter and charly-raquen lskjdflskdj what even is this
She is little, so little, barely three years old but so wise, too. She might be little but her eyes are big and they stare, not without comprehension, at the images on the screen, at the little girls and boys who shatter and die. At the little girls and boys with their skulls cracked and broken and their spines cleaved as easily as a day old loaf of bread.
These are not the days that her eyes falter. These are not the days that her eyes want to shrink and hide, that her teeth want to bite. These are not the days that Darling has nothing to go back to, but her life has become a countdown of which she is not aware.
Those days will come. Her mother will slap her hand across her face and leave a bright and angry red mark, her father will spit at her shoes, and they will leave, and her District will think them dead and her the culprit. There will be one that will believe her. He has hands that are too big and eyes that are too small and her mother is not the only one that leaves red marks on her skin.
Today are not those days.
“Why don’t they fight back?” Her voice is so small and the screen is so big and the little bodies do not move.
And she does not understand.
“They need to get up!” She is three and she is mad, because she has not changed yet. She has not had herself changed by rough hands and harsh voices.
“They’re dead.” Perhaps her parents never knew how to really talk to her. That is her father, who speaks behind her, who tells her. Who speaks the first words she’s never known about before.
“Dead means they’re broken?”
“Dead means they’re gone.” Her mom says, and starts to pull her away from the TV. But Darling points, little finger too pale, too thin.
“But they’re not! They’re there! They’re still there!”
They’re still there.
you shouldn’t be here, not you, not with me.
They are not just tears, they are the frightened, dying tears of a child, one so small I could cradle her, carry her against me with only one arm.
She was a child once, but the light dulled when she was four.
