D6 // Clara Hartmyre - FIN | Hunger Games: The RPG

willow .
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D6 // Clara Hartmyre - FIN Dec 18, 2012 16:07:34 GMT -5

Post by willow . on Dec 18, 2012 16:07:34 GMT -5

Name: Clara Luce Hartmyre
Age: 13
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 6
Appearance:

Personality:

Let me keep your heart in my pocket, little creature; I promise i'll keep it safe. Maybe i'll cut out your eyes and slowly tear you apart. Can't you see me running on top of all the dead people. Its so glorious, the power of standing on their lifeless faces. I run through the maze of tombstones with bare feet and a knife in my hand. It's beautiful really.

History:

I watch them pass me, my brothers and sisters. They look so strained by work, others of them seem to be in a blissful happiness. It's odd.

Codeword: Odair
Comments/Other:

Clara Hartmyre is for Clover's Hartmyre plot <33

Last Edit: Jan 1, 2013 8:47:53 GMT -5 by willow .

willow .
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D6 // Clara Hartmyre - FIN Dec 19, 2012 17:26:25 GMT -5

Post by willow . on Dec 19, 2012 17:26:25 GMT -5

I think my friend said
"I hear footsteps"
I wore my black and white dress
to the birthday massacre

You look at me and all you can see is my eyes, they blaze like the sun. Never has anyone passed and ignored the orbs directly inserted into my pale facade.
Florence describes my face like ice, the kind of that piles on the graves in the winter. I love the feel of the hardened liquid sliding under my fingers as I go outside when the snow is falling, (Florence always has the most perfect ways to describe anything.) Even when I see her compiling the dead, her eyes glimmer with perfection, every movement of her hand over the corpse is purposeful and un-flawed. It's stunning actually, to see my sister in such glory, I admire her so. Everyone looks up to Florence; I do at least, the little girl that watches with glistening eyes as her older sister tucks a piece of raven-black hair behind a porcelain cheek, a little girl that listens and holds onto every compliment as though it is the way through life itself. I absolutely adore her. No one will ever know that though, I'm good at keeping secrets.

I kept one secret for the longest time, the game that I always play when I'm alone. It used to control me, the need to rush outside and tear corpses apart; now they say that it just runs in the family. My blood lust was uncontrollable for a while and every time I tore open flesh I would feel a dizziness in my head, a good feeling that seemed to bounce off of my skull and go right to the deepest pits of my heart.

[/i]I remember Teddy telling me how my face curls up into the most surreal way, how my stringy hair falls around my chapped lips, how I'm grinning wider than the most evil demon. I don't appreciate such ridicule, my thoughts have changed. [/color]In the beginning, it was purely for the reason of clearing the small bodies off of the lawn. [/i][/color]It has turned into much more now, almost some sort of a ceremony of hearts being sewn together to create a ragged doll of some sorts. Everything has a place, the mutilated beings belong in my bedroom; they're like younger siblings to me. It sometimes helps me think I'm not the youngest after all, that I have power over something.

I know that I won't ever control the rest of my family, the hard-working people that they are. None of them ever have any time to sit down and talk to me. No one hardly even notices I'm there half of the time, I don't care though. Friends ain't always needed in a relationship; I learn to get by with delicate feet running across the grass. I can trust my dolls more than I will ever be able to confide in any of my siblings, even Florence. She tells people your secrets, I learned that a long time ago. I used to be an ignorant little girl with a turned up nose and thin mouth that hardly ever opened. I told Florence about something I saw, something bad. I told her never to tell anyone, I said that it was a secret. At least I learned my lesson.

And so it was that day that I learned to confide only in my dolls, they are the only ones who are allowed to hear my thoughts, every desire that I wish upon day and night. Sometimes I sit in bed, a dead raccoon perched on my lap in an attempt to make a friend. Dead things ain't the same though, they don't talk back, they sit there and look at you with eyes dug out and small crystallized smiles, lost in time forever by whatever decided to kill them in the first place. They're still better company than my siblings though, them and their jobs that they rely on; the jobs that my father used to complete with calloused hands and light glittering eyes that seemed to almost glow. He lost it though, sat down one day and never stood up again. To this day he's is perched at the edge of the garden, his hands balled up into fists, gently resting on the ground in a way of peace. His bones are visible through his peeling off skin and his eyes are dull with old age, battered by the wind that flows through the entire district. It has all worn him down massively.

The fire was quite the event though, it changed him and us, all of us. To tell the truth though, I only remember the orange flames and the feeling of being carried out of the heat by strong arms that embraced me as my tears blinded me from anything at all, they dripped down and dampened my nightgown. I don't remember anything else though, not a single thing. Bea says there was screaming and sirens everywhere, I can't recall any of this, it was a sad night though, to lose my mum. Especially being the youngest in the house, I was literally left to care for myself. I was supposed to entertain myself and dance all by myself. No longer did I have a partner to assist me in the waltz or the tango, side-stepping across the floor.

I learned to dance by myself, over the graves of old and the dead faces disintegrated into the dirt below. It was all joyous to me, the cartwheels and singing as I pranced across the slightly upturned grass, my hands over my head as I leapt forward into some contortion, my feet spreading out and my arms going to the beat of the music in my head. No one would understand this, they all thought I was strange first. "Dancing on the graves, what does she think she's doing?", that was always Teddy, he always saw me, he always disgraced it. Eventually they all accepted it, the strangeness of me leaping across the grass with my bare feet hardly hitting the ground, each name flashing in front of my face as my eyes were allowed a swift glance at the gravestones before me. Even now, I believe I know everyone there. Kathryn Lee Davison[/i][/color], she died only a couple of years ago. He husband died before her though, many years earlier.

At least their happy together now. That's a good thing, right?

True love, is something no one in the Hartmyre house ever has believed in. When you dress up dead bodies and are forced to watch children kill each other, it's no longer a state of living.[/i][/color] Everything becomes a job that must be completed in some sort of record time, it is the first priority, nothing else. Dad always told us that if we love someone, only then are we human. I've never wanted to be a real human though, I used to wish that I could go with Esther, fall into a fantasy where I could know I'm a beast and nothing else. I don't love, I never will.

I never want to turn into such a thing, the same kind of thing that has caused so much pain in the past. A human. Hurtful, spiteful, oblivious to pain of others. All they care about is themselves, how are they doing today? And, Should I help this person out? All of it has a consequence; and after they die, we get their bodies to package up nicely and to throw in the ground with one last goodbye. To me, there is no such thing as love, there never will be.[/i][/color]

It's all a lie, that's all its ever been truly, after all.
[/justify][/color][/blockquote][/blockquote]

I think my friend said
"stick it in the back of her head"
I think my friend said
"two of them are sisters"

[/size]

---

OTHER :: 3F3F56
ALL SPEAKING :: 508070
TEXT :: 9EB58A
THINKING :: E2DC96

[/center]

Last Edit: Jan 1, 2013 8:47:11 GMT -5 by willow .

willow . Tribute [M:1300] 436 POSTS last seen Nov 28, 2013 13:16:53 GMT -5 off in the meadow	D6 // Clara Hartmyre - FIN Jan 1, 2013 8:47:41 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by willow . on Jan 1, 2013 8:47:41 GMT -5 She's done <333

Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] Retired Staff 6,346 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him last seen Nov 17, 2023 15:15:56 GMT -5 cozy, queer af	D6 // Clara Hartmyre - FIN Jan 1, 2013 12:34:09 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Jan 1, 2013 12:34:09 GMT -5 Accepted! [/size][/center]
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