Archive of Our Own ^beta

I clear my throat, hating the way my voice echoes across the campus. Just give this speech Foster. Tell the kids what they want to hear.

I open my eyes, and gaze upon the hopeful faces of Foxfire students. The crowd watches me carefully as I grip the podium, knuckles turning white.

There are so many things I want to say to them, that threaten to spill from my mouth and let my grief flood out of me.

I want to say that when I was five I was tormented by others' thoughts of me and others, the burdens of a secret I never even wanted. That a constant headache was the first price I paid for a war I never started.

I want to say when my friend was six, he was sent to the forbidden cities alone trying to find me. That he skipped school for years and was constantly at risk for me. That he was alone in cities, surrounded by people that weren’t his.

I want to say that when my two friends were ten they were sent away, one forced and the other followed because of arbitrary laws that should never be enforced on a ten year old. That they lived in the woods for years, shunned with no one but each other.

I want to tell them that when I was 12 I thought I found my home. Only to have it ripped away and to be kidnapped for information I didn’t know I had. To flex my hands and know that they were so burned that the scars still cover my skin, still waking up hot after a nightmare.

I want to tell them that my friend was left to rot, with a single physical scar, and forced to listen to my screams. Because xe was of no use to them but they couldn’t let xem go.

I want to tell them that my friend was told fir very existence was illegal, that a fundamental part of who fi was was wrong and scary. That fir only source of seeing firself was in a condemned murderer.

I want to tell them my partner was scarred and told to hide them by the world. That ae was led to believe that being aerself was something to be ashamed of because how dare ae show off aer imperfections and that loving aerself was too radical.

I want to tell them that my friends lost their father because I lost him in a mission I never should have gone on, and a small part of myself can never forget or forgive as I imagine they cannot.

I want to say that my friends all saw my grave, and mourned for me, and thought I had been lost too soon and I was because there will always be that fear that I could die and this time it would be for good.

I want to tell them of my friend who grew up never knowing love and left before he could ever feel it truly, and that I blame myself for his leaving and knowing I could never fix it.

I could tell them of my dead sister who got involved in a war while she was barely an adult, and paid the price. I could say her demise was at the hands of the one she held near and dear, the ultimate betrayal never paid back.

I want to tell them that their childhood innocence is a luxury we never had, and a thing that we would fight tooth and nail for them to have.

I could tell them all that and more, but my throat goes dry, and I start reading from the script.