Gypsy Athena Mercury -- District Three

Gypsy Athena Mercury -- District Three Jan 3, 2013 11:49:31 GMT -5

Post by Tattletale on Jan 3, 2013 11:49:31 GMT -5

And I've seen it in the flights of birds
I've seen it in you
The entrails of the animals, the blood running through
But in order to get to the heart
I think sometimes you have to cut through, but you can

“ a n d t h e r e ' s t h e w o r d o f t h e m o u t h t h a t g o e s : ”

t o h i d e y o u r s e l f i n w o r d s | ~~minerva covella~~ gypsy athena mercury
a n d t o w a n d e r f r o m t h e t r u t h | ~~min; minnie~~ it's nothing else but gypsy
a m o u n t a i n t o b e a r f o r a y o u n g g i r l | fifteen
w i l l y o u s t i l l s t a y t r u e ? | female
w i l l y o u r e m a i n o r f l y a w a y ? | ~~wanderer~~ district three

“ n o m a t t e r h o w f a s t y o u r u n ”

I wonder what Carolina looks like now.

It had been easy at first, when we were close to identical where we'd meet the eye. We had the same tiny limbs Mama had, her fine features - a nose with a tip that looked up to the sky, a high forehead, chapped lips that stuck out, and a sharp cupid's bow - that were all fine in our eyes, but I could tell they weren't used to her kind of beauty. Her blue eyes demanded attention (while mine demanded nothin'. I don't know where I got my grey ones and I'm thinkin' it was Papa's but Carolina always gives me that glare so I'll shut up) when they weren't supposed to be - our work was heavenly, Mama said, and the heavens didn't want mortal eyes peepin' at their sacred work.

Carolina had the same eyes as Mama, blue like the sky that was our roof at the same time, too. We were wanderers, people said, but we both knew Mama never wanted to be tied down to one place. There were too many plants scattered all over Panem to just stay in one piece of land - "Panem is our land, Min," she would say, "and no one can take that away from us." I never really knew what she meant by that, as I thought land was yours if your feet trod upon it, and until now I still don't. But I do know how much it had hurt to hear her screams go down in flames and Panem can rot if that meant bringing back my mama.

We three had hair like the color of the night sky - and the Keepers said our souls were as dark as that. Mama told us to pay them no heed, that they were as dumb as could be and wouldn't know something good even if it slaps them in the face.

[/color] I believed her, and I still do. I believed all the things that she said while she brushed our hairs soft and plucked the leaves out of my unruly waves (the maids that we have now do no better, and they tug at the ends and scratch at the scalp)[/color], while she made a brew that smelled so disgusting at first but when you've spent most of your mornings waking up to that, you were close to immune. She taught us spells and potions of the best kind, the one made with leaves that grew from your backyard to chips of gold and emerald. It all looked so easy, the way she did it, and I bet Carolina's getting better and better - if she's not dead.[/color]

I know I'm not dead, no matter how they look at me like I should be. ("Them Mercurys, they've got a murderer in their house and they don't even know it.")[/color] Mama says with the name Covella, nothing is ever normal. I wish I could tell her that it's the same with Mercury: they all say that we're the kookiest bunch of all and I don't blame them at all. If it's not enough that I'm here, we're all trapped in worlds of our own. In dream worlds, in safety bubbles, but just because we have our own doesn't mean we don't see the same thing - that outside of these walls, all they ever want to do is bring us down. I do my best to fit in, burying myself in my own four walls like we all do, and even ~~changing~~ bleaching my hair that Delilah's eyes dug on to my head, silently wondering how the heck I did it while Lestia shrugged. It was all a dream after all.

I wish I could say the same thing.[/color][/justify]

“ o r h o w m a n y t e a r s y o u s h e d ”

We were always told that we were queer. Or deluded. Or crazy. Or- I hope Carolina livin' fine. I know I am - at least from afar. Living in a big house with porcelain vases and carved doors was as fancy as I thought it would be, but as much as I'm glad to be having an actual roof on top of my head during storms I miss the wind against my face and the soil in between my bare feet and the warmth as Mama, Carolina and I would huddle with a lone blanket to stop ourselves from freezin' to death. I miss the feeling of freedom, where in open land the trees and green went on for miles and miles while in here you were constricted with walls.

[/color] You didn't have to worry about smoke building up that it might kill you nor to have snooping noses sticking in your room.

I've known all about them, and I know I've been warned about them mortals but I had no choice other than die in the cold. It's been easy so far, with a simple lock on the door and a chair under the knob to keep them out, but I don't want them knowing. I don't and I can't and I won't.[/color] I won't be burnt to death by wandering eyes and I've learned enough from Mama to know that trusting anyone will bring you trouble.

I didn't want trouble. When I stepped inside this house, I didn't know I was bringing myself to it.[/color][/justify]

“ i f t h e w o r l d i s r o t t e n ”

I never knew my father. Mama refuses to talk (and I refuse to press on further. I didn't want to be turned into tonight's dinner) and Carolina silences me with her cold, cold eyes that I'm forced to be contented that maybe once he cradled me and I may have no memory of him, at least I grabbed his eyes and made them mine. Mama flinches whenever she looks at me, and sometimes I'm scared that means she doesn't love me but Carolina has this uncanny way of reading me and whispers to me later that it's the past talking. Mama said the past was past for a reason, and to never look back.

It's not my fault I can't help looking back at the stake.

Maybe God was with me, or He was playing with me - and I know you might say that witches are going straight to hell for consorting with spirits and maybe the devil, but in dire times like this it was hopeless to hold to yourself when it's pouring hard and no one's there - but I needed the rain and welcomed it, running and walking through empty streets and not even stopping for shelter. I didn't know whether I was going the right way but my feet refused to stop and I did too, hoping that I'd see Carolina on the way and I wouldn't feel so alone and terrible anymore. Instead, a door opened and a head stuck out and after hours of walking barefoot and hungry, I stopped in front of it and peered at it like I was the one with the house. We stood like that for maybe a full minute, until the corner of his lips pulled upwards and the wrinkles near his mouth deepened.

"Where ya from, child?"

One: a witch never tells her past. "Dunno."

"Where ya heading?"

Two: a witch never reveals her mind. "Dunno."

"You got a name?"

Three: a witch or not, young girls don't reveal their name. "Dunno. Maybe."

"Well, well. 'Til then we'll just call you Gypsy, now won't we? Hop in, child, we'll give you a place to stay."

I never saw Carolina again.

[/color][/justify]

“ t h e n t h e w o r l d i s r o t t e n ”

c o d e w o r d | Odair
a n d w h i l e h e r f a c e | Sara Blomqvist
r e m a i n s t r u e , l i k e s t a t u e | gypsy in the mercury plot
i t b r e a k s | heartlines by florence + the machine

i f w e l i s t e n | narration; 7A828C
w o u l d w e h e a r | speaking; BEC4A3
h e r c r i e s | others; 8D9E93
t h a t b u r y t h e m s e l v e s | emphasis; 754B58
i n h e r m i n d ? | thoughts; 786877

a n a u t h o r ' s n o t e | YAY GYPSY[/blockquote][/size][/blockquote]