Destroy Me (Shatter Me, #1.5)

by Tahereh Mafi

Only an idiot would rely on the energy of a bean or a leaf to stay awake throughout the day.”

“My opinions,” I say to him, quietly this time, “should not so easily break your own. Stand by your convictions. Form clear and logical arguments. Even if I disagree.”

She is a soft, deadly creature. Kind and timid and terrifying. She’s completely out of control and has no idea what she’s capable of. And even though she hates me, I can’t help but be fascinated by her. I’m enchanted by her pretend-innocence; jealous, even, of the power she wields so unwittingly. I want so much to be a part of her world. I want to know what it’s like to be in her mind, to feel what she feels. It seems a tremendous weight to carry.

I started screaming today.

It’s a strange thing, to never know peace. To know that no matter where you go, there is no sanctuary. That the threat of pain is always a whisper away.

She put my hand in the fire once. Just to see if it would burn, she said. Just to check if it was a regular hand, she said. I was 6 years old then. I remember because it was my birthday.

Am I insane yet? Has it happened yet? How will I ever know?

My thoughts, I think, will soon be sound. My mind, I hope, will soon be found.

Soon the skies were gray with chemical pollution, and the plants and animals were sick from genetic modification, and diseases rooted themselves in our air, our meals, our blood and bones. The food disappeared. The people were dying. Our empire fell to pieces. The Reestablishment said they would help us. Save us. Rebuild our society. Instead they tore us all apart.

The life I know now is the only one that matters. The suffocation, the luxury, the sleepless nights, and the dead bodies. I’ve always been taught to focus on power and pain, gaining and inflicting. I grieve nothing. I take everything.

Civilians are caged on these regulated grounds; these containers have become their prisons. Everything has been numbered. The people, their homes, their level of importance to The Reestablishment.

Here, they’ve become a part of a huge experiment. A world wherein they work to support the needs of a regime that makes them promises it will never fulfill. This is my life. This sorry world.

I’ve come to believe that the most dangerous man in the world is the one who feels no remorse. The one who never apologizes and therefore seeks no forgiveness. Because in the end it is our emotions that make us weak, not our actions.

People seldom realize that they tell lies with their lips and truths with their eyes all the time.

I could live here, I think. Live where gravity does not know my name. Here I am unbound, untethered by the chains of this life. I am a different body, a different shell, and my weight is carried by the hands of friends. So many nights I’ve wished I could fall asleep under this sheet.

Swallow the tears back often enough and they’ll start feeling like acid dripping down your throat.

Love is a heartless bastard. I’m driving myself insane. I fall backward onto my bed, fully dressed. Coat, boots, gloves. I’m too tired to take them off. These late-night shifts have left me very little time to sleep. I feel as though I’ve been existing in a constant state of exhaustion.

And I can’t help but be amazed at the power such small, unassuming animals wield over us; they so easily break down our defenses.