Lucina Duchanne D6 FINISHED

I'm five years old again, a happy girl living a happy life with her mom and dad. I mean how many kids lived a life worse than me, countless, so I knew that I needed to love my life and be happy with what I had. It could all be taken away from me so quickly, and I could only be thankful that mom and dad loved eachother and they loved me. Most kids in this district couldn't even brag having that, here in District 6 we sort of have a reputation of being...involved with some...questionable things. In any event that's not how my family is...or was...and I was proud of that. I was a good girl living a life as close to perfection as one could live while you were in one of the districts. So yeah, five years old, happy life...then it all changed.

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I was wandering around our small home, at such a young age I believed it to be a mansion, and I heard yelling coming from our kitchen. I was scared, I'd never heard either of my parents raise their voices before, it had always been about working together and loving eachother. They weren't supposed to argue like that, at least not while I was awake, and they certainly didn't yell at eachother. Quietly I slunk into the kitchen and stood in the corner watching them yell at eachother until my mom pushed my dad and he fell backwards onto the floor. I remember screaming as I ran at dad and wrapped my small arms around him begging him and mom to stop fighting. They did stop when they found out I was there, but not before I caught them glaring at eachother with such anger and hatred I almost didn't believe it was my parents.

Things seemed tense after that, my perfect world was crumbling around me, and my parents didn't seem to love eachother like they used to. I didn't understand it, I didn't know what had changed...every now and again I would be able to pick up bits and pieces of their conversations. Dad said everything was fine, that it would continue to be fine, but mom insisted that we were in worse shape than he said we were. She insisted that he get another job, even if it meant not seeing me or mom for long periods of time. He was so full of pride though, he told mom that he could take care of us with the job he had and we would be able to rise to even greater heights within District 6. My mom said it was garbage and told him that if he didn't get another job she would take drastic measures.

So things went by normally for a little while, and it seemed like my parents were getting back to our normal routine. I was happy again because my mom and dad were happy again. It was funny how my fragile five year old heart could be healed by something so simple as my parents not arguing anymore. Oh how happiness is fleeting and painful to a five year old child, I woke up one morning to find Peacekeepers hurrying throughout the house...my father...was dead. My whole life came apart at that news, and all I can remember was the look on my mother's face. It wasn't remorse for what she had lost or even shock...it was a look of...satisfaction. I never forgot that look or that day...and in just two short years I would make ammends for what I had THOUGHT happened that day.

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My life continued on normally for two years after that, accept for the growing resentment in my heart for my mother. I still had that image burned into my memory, of that look of satisfaction on her face as the Peacekeepers carried the body of my father out of the house. I couldn't shake the feeling that she had something to do with it, that I was living in a house with a murderer. I tried to just be natural with her and pretend that it hadn't happened, but there were times when I couldn't contain my tears anymore. Naturally my mom thought nothing of it, she tried to comfort me in her own way telling me it was for the best that dad had passed on. I could tell her words were hollow though, that she didn't want me crying over my dad. Her eyes betrayed her real thoughts though, that her emotions weren't in the words she intended to be a comfort for me.

Slowly I devised a plan...a cruel plan...a plan that no seven year old should ever think about. Of course it scared me at first that I was even considering it as a viable option...that I even had it in me to try it. A week from today I told myself, that's when I would do it, a week from today my life would get better. I would smile at my mother and entertain her with polite conversation whenever she tried to talk to me, but deep inside I knew what I had to do. The days went by slowly, with me continuing to put on the facade that everything was normal and I was happy. Finally, the day came when I would execute my plan and make ammends for something that had happened two years ago. Did two wrongs make a right though...my seven year old mind didn't even stop to consider the consequences of what I was doing.

It was storming that night, a rather terrible storm actually, it scared me how powerful the winds were and how loud the thunder was. It was like something out of one of those horror stories my dad used to tell me that he heard his workmates talking about. It did nothing to slow down my rapidly fluttering heart...was it fear or excitement...or maybe both that were causing that to happen. I couldn't have second thoughts now though, my mom had killed my father in cold blood, and there was no turning back now. I took a knife from the kitchen, the most wicked looking knife I could find and I found the room my mother was in. She was dozing in a chair, a look of peace on her face, and I almost had second thoughts about what I was doing. To make sure that I could still go through it I focused on the look my mother had the night I found out dad was dead.

With that thought still fresh in my mind I plunged the knife into her, and her eyes snapped open and looked directly into my eyes. There was a mixture of shock and pain on her face as she looked from me to the knife protruding from her abdomen. All I did was look at her without pity, giving her the same look, as best I could with a seven year old's face, she had when my father had died. Slowly the color drained from her face and she went limp...she was dead...and I had killed her. I set about with the second part of my plan, destroying the evidence, and I lit a fire in the kitchen and in the livingroom. For several seconds I watched the flames race around the livingroom and engulf the chair my mother had been sitting it. A flash of lightning illuminated the room and I felt myself breaking down as I watched my mother...my whole life burning down around me. I couldn't take it any longer...I ran away, as far away from my old life as I could, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, just so long as I was far away from here.

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Three years have passed since the day I murdered my own mother and burned our house and her to the ground. Sadly my situation wasn't any better. After running away from the burning form of my home I had begun crying, blindly running wherever my feet carried me. I had been caught though, not far from the border fence, by a group of teenage boys who looked me up and down hungrily. I tried to run away but there were to many of them for me to outrun or out maneuver, especially with my tired body. They toyed with me for a little while, letting me think I had escaped them before finally grabbing me and taking me as their slave. I was their slave in more ways than one, nothing but a form of entertainment for them as I wandered around serving their needs in little more then a few rags.

Like I said, it had been three years since I was caught by them, my situation has improved little. I'm still their slave, stripped of everything at this point, my clothes, pride, dignity...even my virginity had been compromised. I was beyond the point of any moral code, all that mattered to me was survival and getting out of this place as fast as I could. So I came up with another plan, a plan that would get me out of here once and for all, and maybe to some place better then this hell hole. It was the group leaders turn to have his fun with me tonight, I'd run the usual routines and wind up alone with him in the dark where he would have his fun with me. Tonight would be different though, I had taken extra care to have his weapons put in his room, and I'd be more than willing to use them. That's exactly what I did, while he got drunk and tipsy I grabbed one of his knives and slipped it into the waistband of my panties. When he called me over and pulled me into him I took the knife out...smiled at him...and plunged it into his neck.

Death was instantanious and I knew I would have a little bit of time to escape while the group wondered what had happened. While they ran into the room I slipped out and ran away as fast as I could. I had no idea where I was going or what I would do when I obtained freedom, all I knew was I HAD to be free. I didn't stop running until I felt like I was far out of reach of that gang, and for the first time I looked around me at the scenery. I had run myself straight into the middle of District 6, I was in the district square. Lost, that's how I felt, I had no where to go, no family to turn to, and I was nothing but a ten year old mouth to feed. I was a murderer on two ccunts and was far from being a model child, so who would want to take me in...unless I sold myself out to people. Would it be so bad to voluntarily place myself into the position that I had been in with the gang? I needed money, clothes, food, and someplace I could sleep...I think it would be worth it.

So that's exactly what I did, and what better place to start then at the top...the mayors house. A tall for her age, desheveled looking girl with innocent blue eyes knocked on the door of the mayor's home trying to look as helpless as possible. The servant opened the door and surveyed me critically, stopping only for a moment to take in my clothes...or lack thereof. I fed him some sob story about my family being killed by a gang, and how I had barely escaped with my life. The big idiot bought the whole thing, and when I asked if I could talk to the mayor he called him down. Thus began my career in that particular business, a career as a prositute. That's how it's been for years now, I've lost track of how long I've been a street urchin, leeching off of other people and taking advantage of their own obsene pleasures. Who was I to deny them what they want though...as long as I get payed. Besides...what was to stop me from slipping a knife into them when I grew bored with the situation...I'd gotten away with it twice already.

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I'm not unhappy with my life right now, though sometimes I wonder if things could have been different. If my mom hadn't killed my father, if I hadn't killed my mom, would things really be different or would they just have taken longer to develop. It's hard to break into the real world at such a young age, seven years old is rough, and I lost everything to that gang. I did learn how to survive from them though, I learned that you have to be willing to sacrifice a little bit of your own pride and modesty if you want to make it. Of late I've taken up the bad habit of drinking and drugs, blowing a majority of the money I make from my prostitution on it. I've sort of grown immune to the drink though, I wanted to make sure that I could remain sober enough to be aware of my surroundings. I'm pretty sharp for a...however old I am...girl, living on the streets has made me into what I am today. As long as there is business to be had I'll survive, but I'm not all bad I promise. I still want to be a normal girl sometimes...to make friends and live a normal life.

Or at least as normal a life as a murderous girl can live at this point. I doubt I have much in common with any of the girls my age anymore. I find it unlikely that any of the girls my age can say they killed their moms...or became a slave at age seven...or sold herself out to survive at age ten. I'm not all bad though I swear, just give me time and I can be a fierce friend...I think.