"The worst thing about solving a puzzle...
is finding out there are missing pieces"
u s e r n a m e; ƒαℓℓєиƒιѕну is my actual username, but you can call me Fallen.
n a m e; My name is Faux, or at least that's what I've been calling myself now. I can't remember of I've had any other name, and that's my problem. Memory is a strange thing that creates who you are, but mine is in pieces, so I no longer know who I am or who I was. My life's a game in which I search for the missing pieces and try to find their place, but it's hard to do that when I keep losing the pieces I have. Faux... It's a strange word as it's pronounced entirely different from how it looks, but it fits me perfectly. Meaning fake, it's exactly how I feel. I no longer know if what little memories I have are real or a figment of my twisted imagination.
j o u r n a l; Despite if they are real or fake, my memories won't be a problem for long as they are disappearing faster than I can find them. Soon I will be nothing but an empty shell trapped here with no sense of myself. So, I'm writing down all that I remember now so I can look back on it later. I don't want to forget myself completely. I've written them all down here and done my best to put them in the correct order.
The sounds of laughter rang out in the open ocean, but I was not a part of it. The shadows were my home, and the darkness my playtime. I was not allowed to go and play with the other children, they didn't even know I existed. The truth was obvious: I was different. Someone approached me from behind, but I acted as if they weren't there. They rested their bony tail on my shoulder and their voice swirled into my ear. "Someday.."
~ ~ ~ ~
"No! You can't take her away!" A familiar voice shouted, jostling me from my sleep. "She didn't do anything wrong.." The voice continued, much softer now, and dissolved into sobbing. A man's voice murmured something that sounded like it was meant to be comforting, but it did nothing to mitigate the loud sobbing. Another man's voice, deeper, broke through the crying, but I could only hear pieces of it. "...third...doesn't belong...comes with us..." Something compelled me to stand up and walk towards the room door and travel down towards the origin of the voices. When I arrived, things got quiet and faces turned towards me. The faces were strange. It was like they weren't faces at all, just grey, unrecognizable blobs from which sound emitted. A woman ran up to me and wrapped her spindly paws around me, but I didn't react to it. It was like I was watching myself for outside my body as I spoke. "I'll go." The woman's crying started up again as she gripped me tighter and the comforting man came up and enveloped me in his arms as well. All the while, I remained stoic. I had known this day was coming.
~ ~ ~ ~
Training is a monstrous beast with large fangs and a thirst for blood. They're forcing us, or more accurately them and me, to learn hand-to-hand combat, and there is no mercy. I take a second to glance at the other children practicing with partners their age on the other side of them room nowhere near me. In my temporary laspe of focus, my opponent, who is also the teacher of the class, slams their leg into the back of me knee, sending me sprawling to the ground, gripped with agony. Though, they don't let up. I am ripped up off the ground again and put face-to-face with my opponent before a wicked fast punch crashed into my cheek and sent me to the ground writhing with pain. I know I have to get stronger.
~ ~ ~ ~
I'm on my first mission: reconnaissance, but it's still frightening because I'm going it alone. The only thing I have go protect myself are my fists, and that won't do much good when I'm up against a gun. It's nighttime, but I still must be quieter than even the breeze in order to not be noticed by the sentries. My orders were to get in, grab the necessary information, then get out. As I turn my head around a corner to find the next spot I need to advance to, I'm met face-to-face with a tall and scarred man. He instinctively whips out a switchblade and comes at my with it. With my feet rooted to the ground, I grab the wrist of his hand holding the knife, but in the process it cuts open the top of my hand. As I try to hold back the knife away from my neck, I realize that he is stronger than me, and I won't be able to keep this up if I want to survive. I let go of his hand, quickly slide out of the path of his knife, and kick his feet out from under him. He hits the ground with a sickening crack, and the blade slides out of his hand. Acting on impulse, I snatch it up off the ground and pounce on the man before he can get up. Where earlier there were sounds of the man's ragged breathing, there is nothing but silence as the blade slides like a knife through butter into his chest. Remorse is the only thing I feel as I run away.
e x t r a 2;
a r t;
Very possible reservation here.
Hopefully I'll have time.