DAKURAITA'S PROFILE

When I was only five, I would always go to the forest with my grandparents. Before, I would go with my mamma and papa, but I had lost my mama and papa in a car accident when I was only two. Ever since then, I had my grandpa and my grandma take care of me. We would always have a picnic in this special clearing surrounded by orange trees. The air always smelled sweet and, well, like oranges. I’ve had so many happy memories there playing with my grandparents and listening to my grandfather play the flute as I drifted off to sleep in my grandmother’s lap. I felt so happy and free there since my grandparents let me run around and climb the trees. Just as long as I was careful. One day, when I was ten, we moved away. It saddened me that we had to leave, and even though I begged them millions of times, we didn’t move back.
“The place that we are moving to has a lot of kids your age that you can play with. You’ll like it there. You won’t be as lonely there,” grandmother said.
“But I wasn’t lonely there,” I replied.
“But you’ll know so many more friends when we move there.” They didn’t know how wrong they were. At first, the kids seemed nice, all laughing and playing together, but when I tried to join in, they’d throw rocks and sticks.... anything they could get their hands on. What was wrong with them? What was wrong with ME?
“Grandma, I want to go back home,” I told her one day.
“But we ARE home, sweetie.” She patted my head.
“It’s only a house. This isn’t home,” I said softly. At school, the rule there between all the kids was to beat up or be beaten up. I was a pacifist, so it was hard to not be an easy target. I would get tied up and kicked around. They always made sure to hit where my skin didn’t show. I always cried at night, wishing I could go back to the clearing with the orange trees when I felt truly happy.
You know the saying ‘If you can’t beat them, join them’? Well, that’s what I did. Even though I pretended to enjoy it, I was disgusted inside. I hurt others and laughed at them. I became the most feared and the most respected person at school. I had friends, but I always made sure to keep a wall between us. A large brick wall reinforced with metal supports and spikes to keep others away. I cried inside when I laughed at others. I kept setting up more and more layers onto myself. It was so heavy that it suffocated me, but I kept covering myself, layer after layer. Wall after wall. Mask upon mask. I was killing myself and turning my heart to stone. I kept myself distant from my grandparents and everyone else around me. And as I saw my grandparents look at me sadly every time, it would stab a knife into my heart further and further through.
One night, I snapped. I couldn’t live like this any longer. I quietly got out of bed and left the house as I put my sneakers on. I wanted to go back. I wanted to see the orange trees once more. I ran as fast as I could away from my charade and back to who I really was. Tears stung my eyes and streamed down my face as I ran back home. Even when my legs were on fire and turning into lead, I still kept going. I wanted to be free once more.
The forest was sealed off by a metal gate when I got there. Desperate, I climbed over the fence. I had to get there, I wanted to be home. As I dropped to the ground, an alarm went off nearby and I ran. The clearing was so close, I could smell the scent of oranges drifting through the air. Then, there it was. I was standing in the middle of the ring of trees and I dropped to the ground. Even when security came and pinned me to the ground, I was happy. Happy that I found myself once again. Happy that I was home.
“I’m home,” I said as someone held a gun barrel to my forehead. “Mamma, papa... I’m home...”