secrets & lies [chloe and violet]
Feb 4, 2012 20:13:08 GMT -5
Post by clover ❁ on Feb 4, 2012 20:13:08 GMT -5
[/center]Violet Sage Etherage | District Eight | Seventeen
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The window is cold and hard against my pale cheek, and outside it's still a'rainin' like it's never rained before. For your information, it has rained before. It's always rainin' here, and I'm always sittin' by the window and watchin' the sky empty itself on the street, wishin' I could go out and be free to dance in the rain. People use the term 'to wash away ones sorrows' and I'm sittin' here and wonderin' if I could go out in this hammerin' rain my sorrows would all end up in the puddles on the streets, not clingin' to me like they can't let go. I doubt it, though. They all seem pretty stuck to me. While I'm watchin' the rain, I'm rememberin' a happier time, a time when I thought I was sad but in reality I was a lot more free than I am now, because for now I'm all trapped in this prison and then I was slightly less trapped. That's the thing with Panem. You're born trapped and you grow up trapped, and then your sister goes and gets herself killed and you end up even more trapped, trapped in your head as well as your bedroom and District. I guess I'm kind of ramblin' here, but these are the kinds of things I think of when I stare at the rain. Rememberin'. Wonderin'. Not dreamin'. Gave up dreamin' when she died, because that was when I was a murder and murderers don't deserve to have dreams or a future.
And then I'm seeing myself playin' in the rain with perfect Elsie, feeling the droplets thunderin' down on my cheeks as though I'm maybe crying, but I'm not, I'm laughin' and dancin' and shiverin' and enjoyin' myself, only a wee one at the time. It's not just a picture in my head, it's a memory, something I really did when I was about nine years old, playin' on the street with my sister. It's no innocent, so happy a scene, just us dancin' in the rain, our hair hangin' and straggly all around our faces. No raincoat, barefoot. If you where to capture that moment, it you'd never notice the distance between the two sisters, the looks they where givin' one another. You wouldn't see the shadowy shape of the father watchin' from the window, waitin' to catch them and tell them off when they finally came inside for tea. You could never know that the mama was quietly cookin' away, hopin' that what she was makin' would be to her husbands taste, because if it wern't she wouldn't be so happy later on. She's worryin', to, for her innocent children, because she sees the difference between perfect, pretty Elsie and ugly, useless little Violet. Maybe she's wishin' Violet was never born. The girls are still happily playin', but the smallest is beginnin' to worry. She's thinkin' that maybe if Elsie is reaped when she turns twelve then she will never be able to play in the rain again, because she's only allowed to do things when Elsie is doing them to. Sometimes not even then. So she plays, trying to capture the moment because she's not often this happy. And then the hands come out to push her down and she tumbles into the mud, scrapin' her knee and beginnin' to cry. She pouts up from the ground at her sister, who saunters away from her, still dancin' happily.
Papa is watchin' his daughters from the window, but when they come inside he doesn't tell of Elsie for pushin' her little sister down. He hits little Violet for gettin' her dress muddy, and then hits her harder when she tries to say it was her big sister who sent her tumblin' down. The happy image is shattered, and the little one is sent to bed without dinner. Dinner itself isn't pleasin' Papa, and Mama gets in trouble too and only Elsie goes to bed happy.
Now I'm sittin' here and it feels like the same rain, and it feels like I'm all muddy and cryin' still, and Elsie is still alive smilin' at me gleefully. I miss those days, because although I didn't think I was happy, I was happier than I am now. Then I was innocent, not a murderer. Then I was free enough and not trapped in my own room. I never dare to go out, never dare to undo the latch and let the cold air come inside because I know that if Papa found out he would hit me again, and it would hurt so and I would have to do all I could not to cry and cry and cry. So I'll just sit here, blinkin' out at the rain with my cheek pressed up against the cold, cold glass not dreamin', because murderers don't deserve to dream.
tagging danny, violet sage. counted at 849 words. muse rain.wearing clothes. lots of clothes.lyrics from secret by maroon five! credit r a w r it's e m m a ! of caution. notes notes![/font][/color][/blockquote]
