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FATE IS SUCH A SILLY THING. You do all you can to tame it, pull it in by the reigns, yet once it gets a bit out of hand–bit unpredictable–you avoid it like the plague.
But who controls fate? What sort of being has the power to dictate who deserves to live, and who deserves to die? The answer is simple–nobody controls it, we only succumb to it.
This is a story about a girl who, try as she might, could not escape her own fate.
My name? Y/n l/n.
People usually call me pitiful. Looking at me with pity-filled eyes, flashing me a pity-filled smile, engaging in a conversation out of the need to satisfy their own self-righteous desires.
They ask me how I'm doing and I answer them, but my replies, although truthful as they may be, are never accepted.
They do this out of necessity, not to see if I'm really okay, but to ease their own guilt.
They do it because I am a charity, a beggar asking for money, and they are the unlucky folks who just so happened to be asked to donate.
Who can blame them, though? I literally found my father's dead body after he placed a single-shot pistol to his head and pulled the trigger. Yeah, that really does something to a kid.
But I was five, and he was depressed.
I have few memories of him, and those that I do have involve him either drowning in booze, or in his own tears.
As for my mother, well, I was told she was a wonderful lady. Someone who brought joy to those she met and melted all hearts, even one as frozen as my father's.
She died from a terminal illness when I was just barely four years old.
I'm told that the reason I cannot remember her is because of the depressive spiral her death sent me through at the time.
She, and all memories regarding her have been repressed deep into the darkness of my past, hidden there forevermore, longing to be forgotten entirely.
Now, of course, I believe wholeheartedly that they were both great people at some point, but I didn't know them back then, and I don't know them now.
Which leads me to ask, how does one mourn a stranger's death?
I now live with my aunt, Maki, the single most important person in my world at the moment.
Maki has taken care of me for as long as I can remember and fills up the majority of my memories.
She's done what she can to repair me, to become a beacon bright enough to outshine the darkness of my past. And for the most part, she has succeeded. But no matter how bright one may shine, shadows always find a way to be formed.
Aside from these small factors, my life is rather average–normal even. I wake up, go to school, come home, and then do it all over again. I, of course, find the time to submit myself to training in order to perfect the use of my quirk, and my own natural abilities.
I, like almost every other child my age, strive to become a hero.
My reason for doing so is simple: I want to play a part in creating a world where peace is first nature, and fighting a mere afterthought.
Of course, there is the seemingly eternal Symbol of Peace who is currently achieving this, and he is doing a hell of a job.
But what happens once he fails? What happens when the man who somehow always wins, loses for the first time?
People will no longer follow him blindly. They will relinquish their undying faith in him, and we will be driven into more hell-infested times.
So that is my goal; to keep the beating heart of tranquility that the Symbol of Peace has created alive.
