Natasha doesn't know what a childhood is supposed to be.
Because isn't it just that prime of her life, the time when little girls are molded into weapons? Aren't children the perfect blank slate? That must be what childhood is.
Because isn't it doing horrible things, feeling sick in the back of her mind, but telling herself this is what they want? Telling herself this is good, she's making them proud, she's making the world a better place? Isn't it about feeling like she's suffocating underneath all the blood? Isn't it about feeling sick with herself for not being good enough? For feeling too much? That must be what childhood is.
Isn't it about danger? About pain? About torture? All the things that make her stronger, all the things that maker her a good weapon. That must be what childhood is.
Isn't it choking back tears at night, praying that no one hears her? Isn't it putting herself to sleep each night by imagining a stray gunshot straight to her heart, finally ending her misery once and for all? Isn't it about daydreaming about the glorious day she finally dies? That must be it. That must be what childhood is.
What else would it be?
What is childhood?
