Monavaark; the Life Story

Monavaark; the Life Story
A sufferer of Schizophrenia, Monavaark or Matrix, took on the identity of a super criminal…

         As a child I was shunned and hated because I was wrongly diagnosed as a Schizophrenic, I felt inclined to believe them though, as if I needed to take the blame. Another thing they hated was my knives; I loved them so much more than anything. The doctors wanted to put me away in the bin they keep all of the crazies in. I didn’t so much as falsely hope they wouldn’t as I could see what was coming; I could see the people that were insane, and I knew I was one of them.

        Before all of the Schizophrenia things, when I was about eight, my house caught on fire and my dad wasn’t there to save me. He was an alcoholic and a addicted gambler. I sat upon my bed, my window opened and blowing the cold fall winds onto my back, the flames approached me. Slowly they slunk towards my dark wooden door, consuming everything in their path. There were only more of them and I became more fearful than ever as I heard the horrible crackling as they ate up the walls close to my room. The fire kept coming closer and closer to me as it quickly consumed my room in fiery orange flames. I moved away from it as far as I could, awaiting a swift rescue by a fireman; but they never got to me. When the flames reached me I couldn’t do anything as the house was already falling apart so I simply sat there; I felt some fleeting pain but it didn’t hurt as bad as it did when my dad abused me.

        I lived through that fire. Sitting through a fire and feeling the distant pain as it burned my skin for hours didn’t hurt me. After that night I became property of the government. They conducted experiments on an eight year old kid! The first thing they did was shot me in the arm, nothing fatal just in case. After doing so a tall man with gray hair and a long white jacket asked me if I felt anything. I answered only by shaking my head. When I was twelve they started to do more and more life threatening experiments. And even once they strapped explosives to my chest and blew me up, it took a few days but my body parts reformed themselves and I had all of my everything. Finally at age fourteen they released me into school, there I met a girl about three years younger than me who was called Mhaire.

        It was the sad, sad age of fifteen when I was diagnosed as Schizophrenic. Over the years Mhaire has stayed my friend, through thick and thin, doubt and certain, she was always there. When I was seventeen someone decided they need to steal my favorite knife. This was no ordinary knife; it had the word 'matrix' engraved on the blade that was what everyone called me. I liked the name that was the reason for engraving. Disorder everywhere I went was what caused me to go on a rage streak when I finally found where my knife was. When I saw my knife in a pawn shop a year after it was stolen from me I went absolutely nuts on the people who had it, commanding it be given back to me. When the shop owner wouldn't allow me it back I took another knife out of my boot and slashed the glass of the cabinet. In all of the shards of broken glass was my knife, Matrix carved on it and everything. I picked it up and walked out; leaving the owner to call the police. I was afraid of nothing but the voices and robots that haunted me. To this day I still hear the lingering voices and the clanking metal of the robots with scarlet red eyes and am also still owned by the government and the mental facility. In and out of that place every day, every week and month, sometimes I think I'm insane.

as a fellow writer i will say that you have alot of potential, keep at it.

Thank you. Really, I only write that good when I'm not trying. And actually have ideas.