My name is Veronika.
Today, I turned 8 years old, how cool is that? I feel so much bigger now, just like those girls behind the school. The rough ones with pointy ears, the cuts all over, and the jackets. They dress all in black, to me, that's cool. My auntie said I looked like one of them, with my sunflower yellow tentacles and bright yellow eyes she teased me about, saying the glow in the dark when I'm sleeping. But what's so special about them? I don't see many people in my school with yellow tentacles or eyes, it's usually pink, green, or orange. To others, I'm considered a prize to my family, a token not to be worn away by playing in the mud or jumping off buildings. People consider me gifted, but I'm not in a class with the highly intelligent, as my family wants me to avoid being burnt out. 'Gifted kid burnout,' my uncle sneaks gruff quite often, he knows a lot about that, whatever it truly means. Was he part of that? Or was he just a spectator? Who cares, I'm getting off track, diary, I have more things to say. First off, my birthday morning. I woke up to balloons, all yellow and blue as confetti was all over my dresser and bed. There they were, auntie and uncle, clapping softly as not to alarm me in my sleep fueled state. It takes me a moment to rub my eyes and wake up from slumber to see the lucid faces of my caretakers. My aunt helped me out of bed, to bathe and get dressed, as the angel she was. I was still small, my height not increasing from the year prior, except for 2 measly inches. Even so, they paraded me out in a fancy dress, a sash of blue and silver lettering, and a crown of metal painted to be royal looking. I moved with grace, or so I thought, as it was simply childish joy, so far enjoying my time. I was never prepared for life at this point, I was protected and pure. All I knew were colors, shapes and how to make friends, nothing could've prepped me for what was ahead, and what I would face. That day I ate a grand cake, my hands were stained, and my dress in perfect condition. As I looked towards the setting sun from the car window, holding a balloon painted with a marker and drawn to a smile, I wondered.
Who would I become?
My name is.
This year, I start 6th grade. It frightens me, shocks me to my core in most cases, as I was not prepared for this milestone in my life. My auntie and uncle were joyous, they celebrated with such joy that I initially thought they were drunk, yet that intoxication turned out to be excessive amounts of serotonin, both sharing it between them. They were enjoying themselves, I, not so much. All this time, I've heard horror stories of what the 6th grade is like, how they yell at you and pile on work, then blame the students and shame them. All throughout our playground talk, this was word every 3 minutes or so, and once that period ran out, it was back to childish gossip. To talk about skateboards and dollhouses, all the way to bikes and toy replicas of turf war weapons. I was one of the odd children, more into running outside than sitting and staying still. There were others who would join in, whose faces I've forgotten and whose yells I can hear at the back of my head. But how? It's only been a month since school ended, how could this possibly be? No time for questions, nobody has answers to them.
What to say, what to say, do I read aloud my going ons?
This is all a conflicting collection of thoughts, as I now feel divided across my life. Who do I trust? What thoughts should I have with myself? There are so many questions, yet many answers lack thereof. Tonight, I shall act, my own will is my best tool. Thinking, think, think again, I find myself with answers,
ones I could never find. The paper was empty, new it's full of ink and scribbles of dissatisfaction. Flowers now adorn the page, ripped from their white backing and placed upon the edges of the sheet. To me, it looked wonderful, like a grand piece of art stored somewhere in a museum for all to see. I write, I panic, I weep, all down on the sheet of white and adorned it with charm of my own hand. Alas, it was done, something put my frustrations into, something I wish I could burn. But I was still a tender age, 10 to be exact, so my fantasies simply couldn't be demonstrated. I lay in a bed, one claimed to be mine and decorated as such, color combinations of yellow and blue swirled the walls of my room. I could point out so many things from here, simply many, and many more. My wooden desk, littered with opened machine capsules filled with childish charms, their colored holders of several shapes and sizes, much like the keychains themselves. Such objects of affection, I observed that I've always wanted more of them, to fill the opening hole in my heart, void of much else. I longed for friends, to belong somewhere, to be wanted. Sure, I had my acquaintances, but those were temporary alliances, simply to bolster our fragile images and childish games. Images? Or were those simply just the clouding words in my fleeting dream of lies? The case wasn't solved, as I felt myself screaming, haunting those within earshot and sending vibrations through our insulated walls. Yet I didn't, I found myself without a mouth, without voice, without sound. I sit in my desolate room, lights blaring as I look at my skinny legs, so full of vigor and energy, yet the rest of my body could not comply. I wanted to scream so badly, I wanted my closed lips to be parted, and let out a yell to be heard across the ages, to let people know of my worries and struggles, to reach the ears of my aunt and uncle, to show them how blind they have been. I have no voice, but I must scream.
Who am I to become?
My name.
A few days ago, I happened to be in a dusty environment, armed with nothing but shades, a mask, a shawl, and a palm sized fish who I refer to as a friend. Today, I land myself in a large, glistening square, the likes of which I haven't seen since early adolescence. It felt like a curse, even if I had seen the sight all those years ago. Innocent years, those I spent in happiness, only for it to end up like this. In an apartment complex that filled with partying and music, celebrations I had no place in, somewhere I simply do not belong to, yet I continue to live there. I have met people in this strange place, I've had my fun and my trials, my wins and losses, my rises and falls, but none of those would prepare me for this.
I am lost, as I stand in the middle of an island full of snow, several remaining fossils of humanity surround me. There is not a voice in my ears, as I have discarded all my gear, left with nothing but my basic outline of clothes, barely intact. I can hear it, I can hear the ringing filling my ears and drowning everything out. My body contacts the ground, the static taking over. I am to apologize, says the growing static, taking ever each limb with ambition and no hesitance for my life. You are to drown in the sea of stars, they say again, now swelling my vision. I panic. The sky has switched through different colors, again and again the skies of the dome taunt me in destiny, leaving me to weep in whatever I have left. A cough comes from my throat, ooze that we worked so hard to defeat sat idly on the ground, barely grazing it for it just sat there. We worked so hard. I worked so hard; they did nothing. I can feel them standing there, looking down at me in judgement, seeing how they can run me dry in every way possible. They are my owners; I am simply their pet. Yet this trail of thought didn't save me, my breathing becoming
suppressed and losing all feeling in my body. This was my time to go dark, to black out, to never face my problems and end it off at a cliffhanger.
Today was the day I wish I'd died.
God does not favor the unfortunate in any situation, in spirit, or in health. We are not for his praise; I live to give nothing. Is this why I lay in the faux snow, back pressed against it as those who have helped me stare down, surrounding my body. Where have I entered? Is this what my grievances get me? I open my eyes, and I see white. At least, for the first few moments ever since my hellish nightmare, everything else began to fade in. The next sight was those artificial clouds against the pastel sky, decorated by blurry specks of gray and green. There were also hints of orange and blue, but that didn't matter to my brain, simply wanting to restart and identify more around me. The first face I saw was that of the Captain, staring down at me from their one knee position at my side. It felt odd, not as odd as everything else going on with me now, but it arose a mixed feeling. One of strife, yet of fear, I have no way of knowing exactly which was which, I was preoccupied with awakening. The sky became bluer, yet more unnatural as my senses returned. Now to realize where I lay. This was Alterna, but where? My body contracts, arms moving to support my hands on their palms and push myself up, causing the Captain to back up, face blank with neither concern or joy.
I rise from the ground, slowly but surely making my way to those who command me, their sweet voices of music and order. There I am, the one to end mammals once and for all, the one who saved the earth and now has to reap what she sowed. How foolish I was, to help him in that grate, How utterly stupid I am for lettig this happen. This was my fault, all of it, every second to every hour. I caused this mess, rather, they caused it with me. Wahat am I to believe in this lone stance, deep in my mind and never put into words? I made choices, have I not? I followed that man down the sewer, I did what he asked, I fought who he asked, and now I am the family pet. I repeat these questiond over and over, through mind and body, the fleeting snow my canvas in the prison of my new duties. I have no sould, no identity, nowhere to belong outside of a few people, and I rock myself to sleep with my words unheard of to anyone. My friends call me "Veronika", that name Iwas born with. In there, I am simply Agent 3, my name unknown to any of them. Here I am, split between two of myself, personalities I consider different people other than myself. They are apart of me, yet we are barely friends, for I am forced to shed their tanned skin to wear as my mask; my persona for each of these groups. Docile, I trudge through humanities fossils, feet struggling to move against the hard ground. It felt to me that the snow had gotten thickknees touch the ground, facing up towards the dome roof once more. Apart of me wants to rip my eyes out, the other half wishes to yell at whoever is keeping me glued to the ground, but I sit there. I, Veronika Ichi, savior of our planet and Agent 3 of the New Squidbeak Splatoon
am truly alone.
My.
.
What have I done.
