pulling your heartstrings .} Ella

[Deleted]

damien stine where's the light in your deep, dark room? a shock of white can save you from the shadows. where's the light behind the moon? out of reach, until the light is shattered.

I hold the keys to the puppets' cages. They jingle in my hand as I walked towards the door to the dollhouse. The sun has sunken below the horizon, leaving the sky dark. The black sky is starless tonight. The sound of footsteps ceased long ago, leaving the Stine house silent. My family drifted off into sleep hours ago; it's just me and the puppets. The floorboards creak eerily as I take a step forward. I place the key in the door and turn it. Click. I turn the handle and push the door open. Another creak, this time coming from the door, tears into the silence. I see the puppets in their cages. They sleep soundly in their cages, submerged in serene sleep. I wonder if they're having sweet dreams or horrific nightmares. Maybe they dream of escaping from their prison and living a happy life, and when they woke up, maybe they hope that that dream will come true. My first grade teacher once told the class that all dreams come true. I raised my hand and said bluntly, "Mrs. Strauss, nightmares are dreams, too. You wouldn't want those dreams to come true." Kids in my class then burst into tears because they didn't want their nightmares to come true. I got suspended. My eyes travel from Cadman to Deja to Ashling to Mercy and then to Claire. Claire Constantino is peculiar. She isn't like the other puppets, who cower in fear when they're in the presence of a Stine. Claire somehow holds herself together and somehow she stays strong. Whenever I hear her voice, so confident and bold, I know that she still has hope. I loathe Claire, and Claire loathes me. But there's a part of me that is amazed by her strength. I know that I would have died from despair by now if I was in Claire's position. She has been here, locked up and forced to be a puppet, since before Samara was born. I don't even know how long it's been. Is she even whole? Has she shattered into a million pieces like a porcelain vase? Has she been ripped to shreds like paper? I bet she's been shattered and ripped apart by despair, but then she glues herself back together with hope. But there will always be cracks that can never be fixed, little particles that can never be found. Maybe Claire will be a void one day, a person that holds nothing, has nothing to live for. I hope that Claire won't become a void, won't become empty. But then there's that sinister, monstrous part of me that wants Claire to suffer so much that she'll shatter into a million pieces and won't be able to glue herself back together. The sinister part of me wants to burn out Claire's fire that appalls me. The monster in me wants to truly break her. SIXTEEN MALE DISTRICT III by lulu Words: 475

[Ella]

▲

A bright, blinding sun sits right above my head, with a beautiful blue surrounding it. My large feet stand bare in the forest-green grass, tickling my toes. Then, I run through the meadow. Picking up wildflowers as I run, laughing sounds coming out of my mouth. Then, out of nowhere, somebody floats down from the sky wearing nothing but a full, stinky diaper. (Good think it's a boy). As he lands on the ground, his chubby legs run towards me, his mouth growing vampire fangs. So, therefore, I run as fast as I can away from him. That's when I woke up. Dreams can be funny sometimes. Most of the time, it has something to do with real life. I know who that baby resembles, it's quite obvious actually. In fact, he's standing in this room, looking around at all of us puppets. Damien. My pale hands rub my eyes to see more clearly. It's still dark, of course. That's when he always comes. At night. I can never figure out why he comes at night, although he does come during the day, too. Maybe because he likes to be alone? I have absolutely no idea, frankly. "What do you want?" I mutter sleepily, although he probably doesn't even want me. Most likely one of his puppets. Ah well, sucks to be them. (Even if I always wake when he comes, being a light sleeper isn't as good as people think). My throat catches a yawn, blurring my eyes once again. One thing I've learned in sixteen years: It's a waste of time to rub your eyes when you had just woken up. I've always wondered all the Stines felt about this. Having puppets, torturing us and treating us like we're no more then toys. Do they ever feel bad? Do they feel the way that they let on? A million questions are left unanswered for me, and probably Deja, Cadman, and Mercy, too. Damien, Samara, Annabelle, and Future probably have questions for us, too. What does it feel like to be a puppet? Does this hurt? Do you hate us? Would you leave if we let you go? Why did you come here? That last one they all probably already know, though. We were tricked. We were taken. All of that fun stuff. Part of me is usually tugging at sleep, to escape from this. To just go back to dreamland with flying babies and dancing penguins. Another part usually likes to stay awake, to watch them. To listen. To know that I'm not alone.

Notes: 
WC: 419
Made by Coal of Adoxography steal and pay the consequenceses

[Deleted]

damien stine where's the light in your deep, dark room? a shock of white can save you from the shadows. where's the light behind the moon? out of reach, until the light is shattered.

S he stirs and says drowsily, "What do you want?" She opens her mouth to yawn, and I remember that it's the middle of the night. I must have woken her up from a dream. I'm surprised that I wake her when I come into the dollhouse at night. I'm quiet, but the house is not. The doors and the floors creak when they're touched (the creaking probably woke her up). I didn't come to play, not tonight. I couldn't access the drugs to make the puppets go limp. I came to be alone because I can't sleep, but that's not going to happen, because Claire is awake. We're alone, and I have questions for her. "I don't have the drugs," I tell her, as if that makes her feel better. "But I have questions," I continue. Why do you continue to fight, even though the battle's already lost? I think. We won, Claire, and we'll win again. You're powerless, locked in this cage, forced to obey us, you're powerless. All of you are. Claire has been powerless her whole life, I suppose. As an infant, she was powerless and other people controlled her life (that's the way it is with all infants). I was that way as well. She must have been so innocent and free, a sweet little baby with her whole life ahead of her. We must have been not so different back then, before our paths crossed. And when she was a young child, we stole her away, taking her future along with us. I forget that the puppets have families (parents, siblings), people who love them. The reason why I forget is because if I always thought about everything they lost, I would be insane by now (maybe I already am). We love our puppets, too, but we know that they don't return these feelings. We're all twisted, and so are the puppets. But if they want to survive, they'll have to learn to love us back and be grateful that they're not dead. SIXTEEN MALE DISTRICT III by lulu Words: 334

[Ella]

▲

"I don't have the drugs," Oh well. He probably isn't aloud down here at night or something, so he couldn't access them. Whatever the reason, it's not any of my concern. "But I have questions." I pull my shoulders up, and let them fall back down into a shrug. (Now his questions can finally be answered, then. Even though mine will forever remain a mystery.) I don't see why he waits for me to reply, he'd just ask them anyway, no matter if I say yes or no. It takes another moment for me to reply, "Fine." One simple word is all that needs to be spoken. Well, until he says his few simple (or not) choice words. Then I'd need to say a few more of my simple words and then he needs to say more of his and then it goes on and on until the conversation ends. (Which I hope is soon). My hand reaches up to touch my long, brown hair and push it out of the way of my chocolatey brown eyes, never tearing my gaze from the metal columns of my area. No doubt the most interesting thing to look at. Well, in here at least. I wonder if mom and dad still remember me. If they still pray that someday I'll come back, running into their arms like nothing every happened. Or if they've moved on. If they've had more kids and have almost forgotten about me. It's been years, so any of that is possible. Although, how could they forget about me? Well, to be honest, I barely remember them. Maybe they've died? I could technically be an orphan right this very moment. Anything could've happened to them and I'd have no way of knowing. But of course, I'll probably never know.

Notes:
WC: 300 agh sorry it's REALLY short it'll get longer I promise
Made by Coal of Adoxography steal and pay the consequenceses

[Deleted]

damien stine where's the light in your deep, dark room? a shock of white can save you from the shadows. where's the light behind the moon? out of reach, until the light is shattered.

C laire speaks only one word in response. "Fine." I expected a rant about how I don't deserve to ask her questions, or that she would be happy if I'd shut up and go away. Rants are as annoying as chalk squeaking on the chalkboard as the teacher writes on it. Rants are a collection of words that mean nothing. They express one's opinion, but those around the ranter don't care about their opinion. So I'm glad when Claire responds with only a single word instead of several meaningless sentences. Claire pushes the dark curtain of hair away from her face. Her brown eyes are not fixed on me. She is looking at the metal bars of her cage. Perhaps she is imagining having the strength to thrust them apart or the power to melt them with her touch. I don't think she wants to look at me - why would she? We're not quite enemies, but we dislike each other. But for whatever reason, I find myself staring at her. "Do you think you're still being searched for?" I ask. I doubt that anyone is still searching for Claire. She's been here for so long, she is probably just a shadow of the past, a hole in her loved ones' hearts that has shrunken over time. She must be a blurry memory by now, a blurry memory that people want to forget completely. Is she forgotten? Is she sought out? I haven't heard any whispers on the streets of her disappearance. I haven't seen missing posters. Perhaps everyone has forgotten that Claire Constantino exists. SIXTEEN MALE DISTRICT III by lulu Words: 257

[Ella]

▲

I never intended to come here. In fact, I do not even remember how I had the misfortune to come here in the first place so, so many years ago. Perhaps Damien was my "friend" at one point when I was a little, naive girl, then lured me to his house so that I could become a lonely puppet. (Although, if that was the case I'd be Damien's puppet, wouldn't I?) So then maybe I was lost, and came knocking innocently at the door of the Stine household. Then that was the end of it. The end of Claire Constantino. "Do you think you're still being searched for?" He speaks smoothly, and his words ring in my ears. He knows this answer, so why does he ask it? (To break me.) He knows that I know the answer (and always will) yet he asks it anyhow. He just wants me to admit everything. (And to learn my secrets.) "No. It all happened years ago, I bet they think I'm dead, or something." I speak those words like normal: so much bitterness, but also sadness and confidence. (A whole mix of emotions.) You know, sometimes I think that it would be nice to get reaped for the Hunger Games. At least then, my parents would know I still exist and am alive. (Even if not for long.) Also, it would be nice to get away from being a puppet. Nice to be free from this horrid family. Maybe, just maybe, people would believe me when I told them that they're cruel. That they kidnap people to make them their toys. It would make everybody terrified of them. Much too terrified to ever come near them again. (It could keep them safe.) The blanket of dark brown hair falls in front of my face yet again but this time, I don't care enough to push it away. There's nothing worth looking at here, in this lonely room. I remember having suggested giving us cellmates, though the request was quickly turned down by the puppeteers. (Even the puppets dismissed it quickly.) Why they all rejected it will remain a mystery to me, as I thought it was a wonderful idea. (Although I could be biased with coming up with the idea.) Maybe they've already given up hope, those other puppets, and just want to be alone. To cry with nobody watching them. To think with no interruptions.

WC: 400

Made by Coal of Adoxography steal and pay the consequenceses

[Deleted]

damien stine where's the light in your deep, dark room? a shock of white can save you from the shadows. where's the light behind the moon? out of reach, until the light is shattered.

S he says, "No. It all happened years ago, I bet they think I'm dead, or something." Claire's words are bitter, but there are other things that I can hear in her voice. There are gloomy clouds of dejection, but also sparks of confidence. Claire is right. Her parents must have called off the search long ago. They must have been heartbroken, but time heals all wounds. They had to accept that their daughter was gone. (She may as well be a corpse.) I wonder what it's like for a parent to lose their child. It must hurt more than any cut, any burn, or any painful memory that has made a scar in one's heart. "Why do you have hope?" I ask. "You have nothing. There's no way out. Not even being Reaped can save you because you can't be Reaped. You're missing and you're assumed to be dead. You're nothing, Claire, just a marionette that belongs to my sister." My words sound as soft as velvet, but they are savage. There are no hints of pity or regret. There are solid, like the sharpened steel blade of a sword that's ready to cut the throat of its target. "Why not just give up and accept your fate? You have nothing to live for," I continue. "And if you do have something to live for, do tell." Fate is a cruel thing. It's something that's meant to be and can't be changed. Claire's future is set in stone now. She's trapped in that metal cage forever. What is she thinking while she's in there? I can't imagine how someone would be able to think while they're trapped like that - like . . . like an animal, forced against their will to be there. SIXTEEN MALE DISTRICT III by lulu Words: 290

[Ella]

▲

It's quite funny, really, how quickly your view on somebody can change. One moment, you can think they're being... okay, maybe even nice. Then the next moment, they can be colder then the metal bars of my cage. From good to bad in the blink of an eye. For example, Damien. Sometimes, I feel that he's decent. Not exactly the best, but not terrible either. Then, next thing I know, he's like a bitter witch. It's happened with Samara, too, and Future, even.  "Why do you have hope?" He asks me, and it's even worse then the first question. I don't know, is what I want to say. Though, the problem is that it's a lie. I do know why, but if he knew, too, he'd take that away from me. "You have nothing. There's no way out. Not even being Reaped can save you because you can't be Reaped. You're missing and you're assumed to be dead. You're nothing, Claire, just a marionette that belongs to my sister."  True, true, all true words. Although, I'm quite positive I could be reaped. They know I still exist. They might think I can't be reaped, but I can. Just... it hasn't happened yet. If it already did, I wouldn't be here, would I? If I'm not gone in the next two years, there's no hope for me ever getting out. Anyhow, I wouldn't be able to survive out there. With complete strangers, that probably think I'm dead. "Why not just give up and accept your fate? You have nothing to live for," Damien adds. "And if you do have something to live for, do tell." His words are like a knife through the heart. It shouldn't hurt, but it does. It's something about the way he said it, or something hidden in those words that make me feel pain. But I just can't place my finger on it. "Oh, I do have things to live for. But why should I tell you?" I say, making myself gradually louder by the end. I have many things to live for, even though most wouldn't understand how much they mean to me. Finally, I push myself up with small hands, and turn my head to face towards Damien. "You would just take them away first chance you got, or make it so I would never get it in the first place."

WC: 395

Made by Coal of Adoxography steal and pay the consequenceses

[Deleted]

damien stine where's the light in your deep, dark room? a shock of white can save you from the shadows. where's the light behind the moon? out of reach, until the light is shattered.

S he says in reply to my question, "Oh, I do have things to live for. But why should I tell you?" Claire pushes herself up with her hands and turns her head to face me. "You would just take them away first chance you got, or make it so I would never get it in the first place." I shake my head. "I don't think you understand, Claire," I say. "There's nothing I can take away from you because you have nothing." I can take away her hope, but that isn't something to live for. What does she have? What could she possibly have to hold onto? Hope is a very strong thing, but it can't last forever. Eventually flames get burnt out. I step towards Claire's cage so that I'm only a few feet away from her. I say slowly, "Really, what do you have to live for? Love? Who loves you, Claire? You're forgotten. Hope, maybe? Hope doesn't last forever, sweetheart. Nothing does." She's barely even living, but there's something else that keeps her going besides hope. There has to be. I have never stood this close to Claire before, and for the first time, I get a good look at her. She is prettier than I thought she was. Claire isn't pretty in that elegant, graceful way that Mercy is. She is pretty in a gamine way, like the tomboy girl with a pixie cut who sits with all boys at lunch at school. No girl at school has ever caught my eye, and I'm taken aback when I realize that I'm staring at her (again). It is strange for me to actually look at a girl. I don't . . . see them in the way that other boys do. I don't admire them, I don't look and them and think that they're beautiful. None of them are worth my time, either. The girls at school (at least the ones I know) are shallow and have no motivation in life. All they care about is being popular and being wealthy, which are not things to strive for in life. Claire is different, and maybe that's the reason why I found myself staring at her twice in one night. SIXTEEN MALE DISTRICT III by lulu Words: 368

[Ella]

▲

I've never noticed in sixteen years of living, that you tend to love the most the person you think that you hate the most. Although I have nearly no experience, I do have some. I've heard stories, for one, from people who've loved. Then I'm living some experience right now. Damien. Okay, not to be one of those sweet little girls that I pity fall in love with every single boy they'll ever meet, but I think I have a crush on me. Yes, judge me all you want. I'm judging myself, too, after all. But then the worst part. I think he likes me too, because I can just catch him staring at me. "I don't think you understand, Claire," He says to me, shaking his head a bit. "There's nothing I can take away from you because you have nothing." There are many things. Food. My life. Love. Emotion. Happiness. Hope. Everything I own. "Really, what do you have to live for? Love? Who loves you, Claire? You're forgotten. Hope, maybe? Hope doesn't last forever, sweetheart. Nothing does." I know the answer to the first question. He knows it, too, probably. Or maybe he doesn't, and I'm wrong. I doubt it. Some things last forever. Maybe not hope, that'll die out soon enough. But some things. There aren't many, but some. Nothing is a strong word, because you don't know everything, nor nothing. "You." I wait a moment, maybe letting the words sink in before adding, "And I'm not forgotten. They still remember me, you can't forget your only daughter." I pause, thinking of what to say. Light bulb moment. "I know that hope doesn't last forever. It lasts long enough, though, but some things do last forever." I finish my words, saying the last part almost like a mumble. Possibly so he doesn't hear, and use it against me someday. Although I know he did hear. Of course he did. Maybe, I don't really love him. I could just be that desperate. Am I really that desperate? To fall in love with somebody that's held me against my will for years? Love does funny things, or so I've heard. You can love somebody you've never thought you could ever love, you can hate somebody you thought you would always love. It's what love is, unpredictable.

WC: 388

Made by Coal of Adoxography steal and pay the consequenceses

[Deleted]

damien stine where's the light in your deep, dark room? a shock of white can save you from the shadows. where's the light behind the moon? out of reach, until the light is shattered.

M y heart skips a beat when she says, "You." My entire body tenses. My veins turn to ice. Claire pauses to let what she said sink in. (and they do.) "You." That one word seeps into my mind like ink on skin, staining it forever, creating a permanent mark. Even after a while of processing it, I'm still asking, What the fuck just happened? "And I'm not forgotten. They still remember me, you can't forget your only daughter," Claire continues, shattering my thoughts. "I know that hope doesn't last forever. It lasts long enough, though, but some things do last forever." Like what? I ask, but I don't say it aloud. What lasts forever? Love ends when you die. Humans don't last forever. Even the strongest of structures will crumble. You're strong, Claire, but you'll fall eventually. And when you do, there will be no one to catch you. I have too much pride to admit to any feelings. I thought I had none for a long time, that I was just a hollow machine. And there is no way I'm showing any weakness to Claire, of all people. But the shock is clear on my face and there is something in my eyes that has been absent for a long time. Light. You idiot, whispers a voice in my head. Have you forgotten who you are? I am Damien Stine, the puppet master. I am Damien Stine, the dark and hollow. I am Damien Stine and I don't love. (my family is an exception and so are my puppets.) I am Damien Stine, and I don't show weakness. I am Damien fucking Stine, for crying out loud, and I have no mercy! I am darkness in the flesh. Although I try to stay strong, I am crumbling on the inside. One word has the power of an earthquake. I feel like a small child, hiding in the corner of my room, crying my eyes out because of fear. I was scared of my father and his hobby. I didn't want to hurt anyone. But I changed. I'm not the same pathetic, scared little boy anymore, and Claire isn't about to reduce me to that. I collect myself quickly so my shock doesn't show, and the light in my eyes vanishes, leaving them empty again. This is a chance. Not a chance for redemption, but a chance to crush Claire. I have a dark desire to see her broken. "Brave words for someone so small," I say coldly. "Maybe I do . . . fancy you. What difference would it make?" SIXTEEN MALE DISTRICT III by lulu Words: 422

[Ella]

▲

Sometimes I feel like I know everything. That I'm a genius, and have the answer to any question somebody may ask me. Then somebody asks me a question. Even if I do know it, sometimes I can't say it. I get too nervous. That's when nothing at all comes out. When I don't know the answer, though, words come out. Beginning the sentence before stuttering, stopping, and trailing off. I never intended to speak. If I never spoke, where would I be? Not here. My talking, I'm pretty sure, got me here. Making friends with just the wrong people. Making friends with the ones who are cold inside. "Brave words for someone so small," He says to me in a cold tone. I'm not small. I'm just as old, mature, and "big" as you Damien. "Maybe I do . . . fancy you. What difference would it make?" This is one of those questions. I was so sure that I knew the answer, that I didn't bother to tell myself what it actually was. The answer was right there in front of me before wiping itself away, clear in front of my eyes at the worst possible time. When I need it most. "I..." The words are trapped in my mouth, not willing to come out. Kind of like a tongue twister, I remember those. The right words were always trapped in your mouth, and the wrong ones came out. Of course, this isn't exactly like a tongue twister. There are no right words. They're all wrong words. Nothing I can say will ever be right. Somebody will always make them wrong again, no matter how right. "I..." I repeat, this time not wanting to let the words leave my mouth. "I don't know." As I speak those words, I know that they were wrong. Very wrong. I do know the answer. It was so simple, yet I couldn't figure it out. He can't kill me. I mean, technically he can, but I know he wont. If he "loved" me, he would never have the heart to kill me. Now it's too late, though. I've already spoken the words and I can't change my mind. He knows that I know, probably. Yet if he does, he probably doesn't know why I didn't just straight out say it.  I have my reasons.

WC: 388
Notes: Sorry for the REALLY late reply and it's short D:

Made by Coal of Adoxography steal and pay the consequenceses

[Deleted]

damien stine where's the light in your deep, dark room? a shock of white can save you from the shadows. where's the light behind the moon? out of reach, until the light is shattered.

I already know what I'm going to do before Claire opens her mouth. My hand tingles, as if my body is urging me to open her cage. I can feel coldness of the keys in my hands. In my hand, the keys make me feel powerful, like I can carry the world with my own two hands. Remember, Damien? whispers a voice in my head. You're just a scrawny weak little boy who hides from his daddy. Heat rushes to my face, a river of red tinging my fair skin pink in embarrassment, although nothing was said aloud. (Thankfully, otherwise Claire would have heard.) I do not hide, I protest. I do not hide. But I'm wrong, and I know. I push back the flood of regret, despair, and anger with a titanium wall. Don't you dare, Damien Stine, I tell myself. Don't you dare show weakness. "I . . . " starts Claire. She pauses, as if she is trying to conjure words but can't think of anything to say. "I . . . I don't know." I move closer to Claire's cage and hold up the key. I insert the key into the lock and turn it. As it makes a click, I say, "It makes a lot of difference." Claire's cage door opens with a creak, but by that time it's too late to take back what I've done. I know that I'm screwed if they - my family, my father - finds out, but I . . . I don't care. A little freedom can't hurt anything. (Or can it?) I offer Claire my hand to help her out of her cage, and I find myself . . . desiring Claire's lips against mine. But if I give in, I will crumble, and I can't afford that. I won't be brought down by a sixteen-year-old girl. She may have deadly flames, but they are not enough to bring me burning to the ground. SIXTEEN MALE DISTRICT III by lulu Words: 322

[Ella]

▲

"It makes a lot of difference," He says, and a confused look sprouts onto my round face, partly from his words, but mostly because he walks over to my cage. At first, I don't know what he's trying to do. Then I realize. he's opening my fucking cage. That can only mean one thing, drugging and 'playing,' but I know he can't. For one, he has no access to the drugs. I'm not sure why, not like his dad cares what they do to us. Then Future wouldn't let him. The puppet masters don't let other puppet masters use their puppets unless asking first, so I know he won't 'play' with me tonight.  Creak. The cage makes a whimpering sound as it opens. Damien reaches out a pale hand towards me, and I feel my face grow more confusion. I wait a moment, cautious to make sure this isn't all a trick to test me on something. I fail at tests. It could very well be, but it doesn't seem like it. I reach my hand out towards his and grab it. It feels weird in my hand, kind of warm I guess. I use my free hand to push myself off the cold ground, stiff legs almost breaking under my crouched body from sitting/lying down for so long. I spend most of my time here sitting, really, you'd think that I'd weigh five thousand pounds by now. Though of course, I don't, because I don't eat all that much. District 3, to begin with, isn't exactly the richest District, so Stine puppets definitely aren't getting much. If he 'loves' me can't he just let me go seriously hasn't he ever heard if you love something let it go jeez people should start following that rule because then life would be a lot easier for me and probably a bunch other people who are kidnapped by somebody who 'loves' them. Seriously, though.

WC: 321
Notes: APRIL FOOLS haha no srry no prank

Made by Coal of Adoxography steal and pay the consequenceses

[Deleted]

damien stine where's the light in your deep, dark room? a shock of white can save you from the shadows. where's the light behind the moon? out of reach, until the light is shattered.

W hat are you doing, Damien? What are you doing? A voice whispers protests in my head, but I try not to listen. I construct a concrete box around the protesting voice, blocking out the sound. I can here the slight protests of the voice, still. Damien, stop. You're not supposed to do thos. You're breaking the rules. The world is still for a moment. Frozen. Serene. Although the puppets sleep soundly in the room, they seem nonexistent to me, like they turned to nothing. I find myself staring into the dark eyes of Claire, wondering what she would look like if she was free from all of this. Free from the darkness, from the metal bars and locks that confine her here, free from the Stines. We must be monsters to her, heartless monsters. The kind that steal away joy and replace it with despair and darkness. Claire takes my hand and nearly collapses to the ground, but she stands her ground. She looks so fragile, like she's a glass statue falling from the sky and will shatter once it hits the ground. (I want to break her. I will. But can I go through with it?) It would be so easy to use force to destroy her, but I would much rather twist and taint her mind until there's no hope, no light left. But there is another part of me that wants to love Claire for real. (Even if I tried, I couldn't.) Without a second thought, I reach out to touch Claire's cheek, and I start to lean in. My intention is clear as I lean further in. Our lips are almost touching, and I hesitate. What am I doing? I ask. You're about to kiss her, a voice answers. The concrete box crumbles, and chaos takes over my mind. There are multiple voices this time, as if the single voice split itself into a multitude of voices. DAMIEN STOP THIS! one of them screams. Damien Damien Damien Damien Damien STOP! The screaming in my head of overwhelming. What would Future think? HUH, SMART ONE? DID YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT THIS? NO, YOU DIDN'T. I will the chaos to cease, but I am ignored. The war rages on. DAMIEN YOU HAVE TO STOP! STOP NOW! FUTURE WILL MURDER YOU! YOUR FATHER WILL BEHEAD YOU AND MOUNT YOUR SEVERED HEAD ON HIS WALL! I build another barrier to block out the voices. This time it works; the voices fade away, leaving me alone again. No, not alone, I remind myself. You're with Claire. SIXTEEN MALE DISTRICT III by lulu Words: 419