alaska, district seven (fin)

l o o k i n g
f o r
A L A S K A
(you)



appearance

You hate how you look. You hate your long brown hair and your big brown eyes and your fish lips and petite nose and round face and skinny arms and skinny legs and small hands and big feet and you hate your fat toes and fat fingers and you hate your elf ears and you hate your breasts and your but and your neck and your shoulders. You hate them not because of how they look, but because of where they came from. When you look at your mom's prom picture (with some guy who isn't your dad) she has the same shade of brown hair, but is curly instead of straight. Her eyebrows were arched more straightly, yours like a rainbow. But it doesn't matter now, she's gone, and you're left.

It's a miracle your skin isn't sensitive, otherwise you'd be red like a lobster. Luckily, you use sunscreen, and you don't spend too much time outside. Your soft skin has found itself a soft peach shade, almost never burning and never breaking out with too much acne. Your hands and face are soft, but the bottom of your feet are dry and peel almost all the time.

Your voice is soft and soothing like a love song but you don't use it to calm someone down, you're usually cracking a joke or reciting poetry to yourself in a mirror. When you cry, it cracks a lot, and is muffled over the sobbing. Your lips are like a fish's, pouting out and you admit it. Not that too many people really criticize you on it, you've been growing up with the same kids for seventeen years and they're all used to the pink lips.

Your hair shines in the light, but doesn't change color. Most of your hair is a dark chestnut brown, Alaska, but there are some darker brown streaks that almost appear black. And it reaches your rib-cage, Alaska, reaches half-way through. Not that you ever wear it back though, always in a braid or bun or in a ponytail. But it doesn't matter, it's soft and thin and easy to style. It's not hard to keep care of it Alaska, just apply shampoo and conditioner and try not to use a straightener or hair-dryer, not that you have one.

And your eyes, Alaska, are just gorgeous. As large as the setting sun and as dark as dirt. You can barely tell there's a pupil there. And when you flutter those long brown eyelashes, I can imagine the boys falling towards you. And the way those equally brown eyelashes curve over your eyes like a rainbow, beautiful, and the way they exaggerate your expressions is even better. But you feel you have large eyes, and they're too beady. Whatever you say, Alaska.

Your nose, Alaska, as small as a mouse's and as pointy as an elf's ear is just adorable. Especially when you sniff, sniff, sniff, a weird smell of you sneeze. Other times, though, like on hot nights, or when the pollen count is high, it gets stuffy, clogging your voice and making it hard to breathe. Damned nose, always ruining the fun.

And then there's your smooth chin that practically blends in with your face. Too bad the world isn't a face and you aren't a chin.

And there's also your long neck and sloping shoulders, like a boy who is yet to grow. Except you're most likely going to stay like that. Your collar-bone sticks out like a sore thumb, and you often feel like one touch to it and it will shatter like glass.

And then there's your medium-sized breasts and flat stomach and good-postured back all stuck together with your ribs barely visible. Your arms and legs sprawl out of you like branches, and are skinny and wobbly. Your hands are big and feet are small, and you have skinny toes but fat fingers. And your hands are soft but your feet are dry and you can't carry anything for your life but at least you have good balance.


personality

You're not a bitch, Alaska. And you're not a slut either. You're not a drunkard or an attention-seeker, you're you. Even if you do say what you feel or you do flirt a lot or drink a lot of break down in school sometimes, you're you. And when you get criticized for being one of those things, your favorite comeback is "Shut up," because it works on all occasions.

And yes, Alaska, some of your opinions can be rude when you're putting your one cent into a conversation, but it doesn't make it a bitch. Or when you give a girl a dirty look for dressing like a stripper, they might think you want to start something. All you're trying to do is protect the girl's reputation, because if they treat themselves like sluts, boys will.

There's nothing, Alaska Summers, you hate more than boys taking advantage of girl's just because of their sex. Like how they're supposed to cook and clean and do all the work (even in bed). And you hate it when boys get a girl drunk just to get the girl or whatever. It sickens you. That's why you're disappointed in your sister, because a boy could snatch her up so easily, right, Alaska?

And just because you smoke and drink with your boyfriend doesn't mean you two get drunk and hook up. It also doesn't make the pair of you two alcoholics. And just because you smoke doesn't mean your lungs are as bad as people would expect. You are still young and alive and youthful and healthy - as healthy as a smoker can be.

And then there are those days where you're just a total bitch because you're sad or it's your time of the month and you're even more sarcastic than before. And all you want to do is curse and cry and write poetry and blame your dad for everything and drink and smoke all day. And sometimes you do. And you're lucky your boyfriend is just like you, smoking and drinking and breaking down sometimes. Because no one has a perfect life, and you too don't hide it from each other.

Yes, you like to write poetry, Alaska, but no one really knows you write it. Because a lot of it is about your mom or your life or the labyrinth.

And sometimes you are a sarcastic bitch.


history

Just because something bad happened, it doesn't mean you don't want to remember it. Because sometimes, when you forget a memory, you forget who was involved in it. And how can you forget someone who is already gone? How can you forget such a fragile memory that ruined your whole life when someone you miss would be gone with it?

Because when you're seven and your mom has no hair and is hooked up to a bunch of tubes, you can't do anything but be scared to see her. The mom that three years ago would push you on the swings or spin you around is now replaced with a women as sick as a dog. And then you just don't go to the hospital anymore, and you have to get dressed up to see a wooden box with an engraved flower in it get buried in some cemetery. And when you're seven you have no clue what's going on, but you do know that you should be said, because other people are crying, but you don't know how to cry, so you just frown and hug your dad and your little sister who was born just before your mom was sick.

But you can't forget your mom, Alaska. She was dating your father for four years, and then he "got down on his knees, and there was a sparkle in his eyes from the moon," as your mom liked to described it to you. And your dad would always tell your mom how lucky he is to have her. You would giggle, because you were around five and all the boys in school say you "got cooties!" So you didn't know what was wrong with your dad, because he might get cooties from your mom. But not anymore, because she's gone. Even three months later in August, when you had a big cake in front of you with nine candles (one of them for good luck), your mom is not there. Her sister is there and your cousins are there and your grandma is there but no mom.

And then it hit you: you will never see your mom again.

Not that she's at the hospital getting tubes hooked into her and she'll be there for a long time, but she's gone. She's six feet under in that dirt in the cemetery and she'll stay there. But it seems everyone else already knew that, because your dad was very teary all last month and a lot of people have been visiting. It seems their life went on. So then you thought, So could mine. And so you did, you let your life go on and nothing was different even though it should be.

But there were a lot of problems. Like no one would help you with your spelling or help you pick out good clothes. And you never cried because your dad couldn't do anything, it wasn't his fault, it wasn't anyone's fault. Cancer is insidious, it sneaks up on you, and you can't stop it. So you would be there for your dad, because he probably needed you more than you needed him (for the emotional part).

And then there was Cygnus. She would have to grow up not knowing what it's like to have a mom and it would suck, but again, you can't help it. You will be there for her like gravity, and you will help her and do your best to guide her. In some aspects, you'll be her mom. You'll feed her and pick out her clothes and paint her nails, and it will be like your mom was never even here. Well, to her that is. To you, she was a grenade that was a few months off, blowing up, but leaving an impact a while later. Hopefully, you won't do that to Cygnus, and neither will your dad. And then when you get old enough, you'll had to leave Cygnus every day to learn about what order the alphabet goes in and how to count from one to one-hundred. But every day when you get home, you can see Cygnus until you have to sleep. So you'll teach her how b-goes-after-a and c-comes-before-d and how eighty-eight is a lot more than twenty-three.

And you are smart, Alaska, but not as smart as Cygnus will turn out. Because you teach her the stuff you learn, and she already knows what an acute triangle is opposed to an obtuse triangle when she's in third grade and you're in sixth. And she knows how to find x when 2x=8 and how to find if the inequality 3x = 2(6+x) is true when x=12. And it's not like you are struggling, but Cygnus is learning faster and she's smarter, and it's only human instinct to be jealous. But what can you do when you have no mom and your dad is working double and you are the only person your sister has? Nothing, just keep helping your sister.

And then it's five years after she died and it seems like seven because your life sucks without her here. And you're twelve and lost inside a labyrinth and you don't know how to get out of it. The labyrinth of life and suffering. You've been stuck inside there ever since you were born, but after your mom passed, you've gone even deeper in the maze. All you want to do is get out of the labyrinth, but you can't.

You were fourteen when you first drank. And you had excuses: peer pressure, truth or dare, it seemed fun; but you didn't need any of them. Your dad leaves at seven in the morning and gets back at seven at night and Cygnus is popular and doing homework, so she's taken care of. But when you put the lip of the bottle up to your mouth with your friend's eye on you, and the cold liquid gave you a warm feeling, it felt good. So you kept doing it. But you never got drunk, or ever drank at night; just after school with that same friend. And it was easy to get the beer, one of you would steal one from your parents - as easy as taking candy from a baby - and you'd share it. You usually drank more than him.

You guys ended up dating. And Cygnus ended up being a slut. And you ended up smoking cigarettes. And your dad ended up getting an apartment closer to work. And you ended up even deeper in the labyrinth with no way out.

Now every morning you have to make breakfast instead of your dad for your inappropriate-dressed sister. And you have to watch her be thirteen and be foolish, because even you wouldn't do so much so early. Even if you do flirt and do laugh and joke, she is too different. Her grades are dropping, her attitude is changing, and you can't help it. Cygnus is also trapped in the labyrinth, and you have to get her out, too.

Because the only way out of a labyrinth of suffering is straight and fast.

sevteen
female
district seven
odair

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