Well, I was up late one night and decided I wanted to let out some of my loneliness feeling that I usually get around 2:30AM, so I decided to write something about where Lynn came from. So, though this isn't a violent rant, it is a rant all the same and thus, ends up here.
She sat with her knees curled up under her chin. They left her down here: alone, cold, helpless. Darkness was a blanket about her shoulders. She had only the fish for company and even they were kept protected behind unbreakable glass. They did not trust her, these men. They feared she would obliterate the fish, though why it mattered to them whether such simple creatures lived or died was beyond her. She did not care for the fish; the fish did not care for her. They were as cold as the men's hears--as cold as their scalpels.
A shiver played at her spine and she drew her knees closer to herself. The scars still hurt from their cruel knives and pins and pincers. Her mind still reeled at the thought of the bright lights, the sterile smells of the operating room. But she was better than before: a "live machine" that could think and reason and adapt; a robot that could withstand diseases and drugs and infections. Soon, they would try to force her to do their bidding. She would kill for them, hunt for them, lie for them--eventually--die silent about their deeds and their sins. All because she carried another gene: the tattoo that marked her as a Jew among the Nazis. She had not asked for it. She had read about mutants in magazines and heard of them on the television. Sometimes, she liked to imagine herself as one. And now, she wished she'd never been brought into this world.
A tear slid down her cheek. Her family had ignored her. They'd turned their heads when she had cried out to them for help. Even they were ashamed of her. They would have rathered she came to this prison than to have been associated with her.