This was it. This was the day Nemo was going to show them all how wrong they were.

Ever since he was a child, Nemo had always dreamed of being powerful. The historical figures in the legends he had read - mighty kings, queens and warriors of old, who paved the very world they lived in with remnants of what their amazing power had done. Entire cities fell under the chaos of war, only to be built back from the ground up, even greater than they were before. Armies rallied in their thousands; knelt and proclaimed their allegiance to the one whose might was enough for them to risk their lives in battle.

The power to forge the world to his liking, with just a word and a wave of his paw; Nemo couldn't find much more to think about since the day he found himself truly alone.

The answer came to me on a rainy night. I realised that I couldn't force people to own up to their mistakes. The temptation to use the way earlier mentioned was humongous. But then I thought, "If my existence ceases,how will the next kid benefit? How will the people responsible for breaking me be reminded of what they did,so that they hopefully don't repeat the same words and actions? I had to stick around for that. I had to live. I had to continue voicing my opinion for the next kid to decide to not give up. It wasn't easy, let me tell you.

I saw her for what she was before she died: a raging rebellion of social standards. She knew it, too. The way she spoke, walked, ate, and existed were all in direct opposite of what others would call "common courtesy", but what my gullible and innocent mind saw as aristocracy barriers. From her first word, which was "why", to her last breath, she was a notabilia of defiance.
The last time we spoke was on a Wednesday evening in an old, abandoned garage that belonged to a milling company in the early 40's. One would think that someone would have upheaved the dusty, desert-like landscape that surrounded the worn place, but things that appear dead are often left alone.

“I wonder where she is right now. Is she still alive? I can’t believe I almost forgot her! The old age, kid, it plays weird tricks on you. Anyway, let’s get on with our story, shall we? Since I’d known her, she’d always worn these ear plugs. Everybody made fun of her, I did too at the beginning. It was just bizarre. Why would you go around with ear plugs all day? I don’t think she ever took them out. I know for a fact she never did actually, because Christy once told me that the nuns used to beat her because she wouldn’t take her weekly bath without those bloody ear plugs! Christie never told a lie: she believed she would go to hell if she did. She was just as lame as all the other orphan girls. Ah, don’t look at me like that, kid. It’s the truth. Those nuns scared the living daylight out of them. But Charlie was different. She didn’t care for them, she had her music and that was enough for her. To be honest, I don’t think she heard the nuns half of the time, with those ear plugs. I remember, they were brown.”
“But, sir, Rich, if she couldn’t hear the nuns, she must have not heard her music properly.”
“You’re not one of the bright ones, are you, kid?

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