There was this girl, you see. She had been that little girl who was everyone else's Hell. That is to say, everyone loved her because they could release their suppressed anger onto her, for they knew she would do nothing in return, because she was just that sad little child who had been abused by some bastard pervert, and whose parents were divorced, her mother dieing somewhere in the country, and her father putting his life at risk for a country that doesn't appreciate his sacrifice. She was the quiet little girl who let the world believe she was weak. She let the world take advantage of her. And, eventually this little girl got angry. Eventually this little mouse became a lion who bit back at the Ring Master hitting it's cage. Eventually this little girl grew up… all too soon.
It all started when she was six years old and she was sitting in the hospital with her mother. The little girl didn't know or understand why her mother was crying, other than she was in pain. She didn't know why her mother was in pain, other than she was sick. She didn't know why her mother was sick, other than because, according to her mother, that's what the angels wanted. And she didn't know why the angels wanted her mother to suffer so, other than because that's what God wanted. Again, according to her mother. All she knew was that her mother was screaming for her to take away her pain. Even though that's what the angels wanted, and all the little girl could do was sit there confused, and, honestly, a little disoriented, and completely terrified.
This continued for six years. And then, exactly eleven days after the little girls twelfth birthday, her mother died. She was sitting there, on the bed next to her with her brother in the Hospice Care Center in Milton, Florida, drawing a butterfly, the symbol of life, to brighten up the room, when she looked up, into her mother's yellowed eyes, and watched life leave her with her last breath. Light and free. A butterfly on the wind. And then…
The little girl began hating angels.
And, as you are probably guessing, her tragedy didn't stop there. A month before the little girls mother had been dead a year, her Hero was diagnosed with a liver cancer. An irony, quite humorously. The Hero was a fighter, hand to hand, knives, daggers, guns. Unstoppable. Immortal. Defeated by no one, and nothing. That he could hit, stab, shoot. But this, this was a curse from the gods for all his righteous sinning that his country had condemned him to. Cancer. The little girl wanted to tear it to shreds. She wanted to take all her Hero's marvelous weapons she had come to fall in love with and put the damned word through the torment it was causing the both of them. "Be brave," the Hero would tell her, "Be brave, Baby Doll, if you're brave, I'm brave. That's how it's always been." The little girl didn't understand. She still doesn't understand. But, she feels responsible for what happens next, because maybe if she had been a little braver, he would have been strong enough to live. But he died. Ten days before her fourteenth birthday. And nine days later, her favorite uncle died of lung cancer. Irony. God you gotta love it, huh? And then…
The little girl began hating God.
Yes, you're right, her story doesn't end there. It continues on with the acceptance of guardianship by her "Uncle". We'll make this part short, for it's relatively simple. Uncle convinced her that she had killed her Hero by being such a disgrace and a disappointment that he just couldn't stand her anymore. He told her that if she had been a good little girl, Daddy would still be alive. If she had been perfect, Daddy would have been happy. If she had been someone else, Daddy would have loved her. And then…
The little girl lost faith in humanity.
Uncle made fun of the little girl because she was fat. Uncle yelled at the girl because she 'killed' his best friend, her Hero. Uncle told her that Big Brother didn't love her anymore. Uncle said that Big Brother was a disappointment and would never amount to anything. And then…
The little girl bit back.
The little girl fought.
The little girl yelled.
The little girl screamed.
The little girl became savage.
The little girl fell.
The little girl was engulfed in the suffocating black of hopelessness, guilt, regret, hate, loneliness.
Big Brother came to her rescue. Big Brother became New Hero. New Hero yelled at her to become better. New Hero picked her up and swam her out of the Murky Black and into the Breeze of Light. New Hero saved her life.
The little girl still bites back, she always will. The little girl still fights, that's who she is. The little girl still yells, it lets out her frustration. The little girl still screams… but with laughter at the jokes New Hero and her share. The little girl is still savage, but in the Free Spirit kind of way, and that's what she became. The little girl still falls, but not as deep, and sometimes she finds her own way back up.
The little girl is me.