Zariah Coraline Lytle -- District Ten

And if minds were visible
Mine would be blank
And sterile, like a hospital
While hers would be made
Of pure gold

“ w e w i l l d r i n k o u r f i l l o f g o l d e n s u n s h i n e , t i l l o u r b r a i n s i n t e r t w i n e ”

w i t h t h e g l o r y a n d g r a c e o f a p o l l o ! | zariah coraline lytle
g o d o f t h e m e r i d i a n | little miss dreamer tbh
a n d o f t h e e a s t a n d w e s t | seventeen
t o t h e e m y s o u l i s f l o w n | female
a n d m y b o d y i s e a r t h w a r d p r e s s ' d | district ten

“ a f f r i g h t e d d o w e g a z e a f t e r i t s a i r y m a z e ”

To my daughter,

Do you remember the story we used to tell you of how you came to be? That you were a bunting and the birds carried you all the way to us and the stars made a slide so you wouldn’t hurt yourself? You would laugh, delighted that even at birth, you already flew.

Seventeen years is a long time, I know, but I remember when you were still a baby. We wrapped you in the softest blanket we had and although your eyes were closed I just knew then that it would be the brightest of them all, even brighter than your mother’s blue sheen. Your tiny fingers would wrap around mine, but you had a strong grip and you grew to be just like it: determined and more than willing to chase your dreams across the sky.

You grew up to be the most cheerful child I’ve ever seen. The business was growing and there were more horses than my aching back could take and I’d have sore limbs and creaking bones but I’d drop rest like a hot plate whenever you’d pull on my hand for a walk outside. Afternoons were the perfect time to stroll around, when the sun wasn’t so harsh and the wind chose to blow. You’d be frolicking in the grass, the sunlight making your hair seem more like golden clouds during sunset and your eyes like the clear blue sky. Your pink lips would curl into a smile, like it always seems to be in, because there was so much in the world to rejoice over and I just feel that with your light bones you’d be flying to where you really belong, to where you came from.

You were a child of the sun.

“ a s d o t h a m o t h e r w i l d ”

Remember that time when we went to the merchants’ square? I know we go there a coupl’a times and it’s the same ol’ thing we do but this one stuck to my mind. You were eight and we passed by that store that had the finest yet strangest things – well I know your mother and I passed right by it but you stayed. You peered on their glass window so close that your nose pressed against it, and you were starin’ at this thing of some sort with a gaping mouth on top with strings for teeth and with ivory and black keys. It was a piano, the sign said, and it supposedly played music and though you’ve never heard of one or what it sounds like, you beamed at us and said, “I’m gonna learn how to play that.”

You didn’t see it coming – and believe me, I didn’t either – but I laughed because that thing cost two horses and by that time we only had three. Your mother smiled sympathetically but you frowned, dear. You frowned and I guess that’s when you thought Papa was a mean ol’ mister.

I’m not, child. I try not to be. I try to be the best that I can, to be a good husband and a father and to give you and your mother a good life.

I just never understood you.

I remember that time when people from the Capitol came over. They went at all of Ten’s schools and you came back that day sayin’ there was this singing contest and boy, you just wanted to join. I didn’t blame you, not at all. How could I when your voice was like a fleet of birds singing on a summer’s day? I remember how happy you looked, when you came over to me right after dinner and I was seated by the fireplace, already with a pipe in my mouth and I can just see how your cheeks glowed and the flames danced in your eyes.

“Papa, there’s this thing at school. You know those people who wear the craziest things, those Capitolites? They came over at my school. They’re gonna hear us sing and those people with the voices they like will be coming with them to the Capitol! That place with the towering buildings, taller than our trees! Can you just see it, and maybe I-”

“No.”

“But Papa, I haven’t even finished yet-”

“I said no. Now go to sleep.”

The flames in your eyes disappeared, and I put them out. But I had to – I felt that I just had to. The world is a dangerous place and I thought you’d know that by now, from the scraped knees you’d get from falling from trees or running too fast, from the bruise that you got when one of our horses accidentally kicked you but you never stopped learning and now you’re riding her as much as you’re walking while I shout after you, “Sit like a lady!” and your mother would touch my arm and say, “Oh, let her be.”

I heard your sobs down the hall and I knew it was time to tell you what I had in mind. I didn’t want you to be hurt, darling. I’d much rather you hate me than I’d see you cryin’ back in your mother’s arms, and that’s what I saw. Your mother was always quick to kiss your forehead and just ease your pain in ways I could never do. We’re lucky to have her, you know.

“Shh, it’s alright, love.”

“I don’t understand why he would do that. You would never do that to me, Mommy; you told me you once had dreams. But Papa, doesn’t he have dreams, too?”

I do. I may be a small town farmer’s son but I had ‘em, too. I had dreams that I’d marry your mother (she was as beautiful as the moon as you were as radiant as the sun. The other boys went off to chase after girls who wanted the whole world to see how pretty they were, but your mother – oh, she waited ‘till no one was looking and then she’d smile and I was a field mouse and was glad to see her so) and we’d have a beautiful daughter. They were small as can be, but you, child... your head was filled with so much dreams that they overflowed and permanently stuck on your skin.

You were a dreamer, and you still are.

You saw things for more than what they really are, and you carved doors in dead-end walls. You hatched possibilities in your head and you never run out, never that you feel you just had to do them or else you’d forget them. And you’d take notice of everything and try to do what fascinates you because you said that was the only way to live. I think you thought too much, actually. You thought that you could do this or that and you actually could and those were dreams slowly getting fulfilled, if only I hadn’t stopped you. I know my faults, too, darling. I was only too late.

“ w h e n h e r y o u n g i n f a n t c h i l d i s i n a n e a g l e ' s c l a w s - ”

I couldn’t the times you’d say, “when I grow up, I’ll do this...” (but there was this one thing that remained constant and it was your need to hear the music, the piano’s voice, and I could tell by the way that you absentmindedly tapped your fingers on the window ledge that you’ll find a way) and I would smile but in the end it disappeared because I knew that you meant that you’d be flying away.

Until came the day you did.

I don’t believe in omens, and I don’t believe in God either. But when I found your suitcases and two horses all saddled up and ready, the day turned grayer than it had been that morning, when the sun hid itself behind clouds and drizzle went down now and then. Your mother was crying in your shoulder and you were fighting back tears. I hope you were, because I was, too. Finally you saw me in the doorway and you kissed your mother one last time and faced me.

“I’ve found a place. It’s beautiful.”

“I thought you said our home was beautiful.”

“It is. I meant a place for my own. I can’t live here forever.”

“I love you, honey, but –”

“But what? What, Papa? You say ‘I love you’ but there’s something else. It shouldn’t be like that. You love me but you keep me in a cage!”

I didn’t bother to say anything else because you were right. You had wings, love, but I kept them to your sides instead of unfolding it and now they were stiff and misshapen. I wanted to wrap in my arms because I know it’ll be the last, but I was so scared I’d never let you go again. “The world is a dangerous place,” I told you and I hoped it would stop you from going but we both knew you were made of something tougher.

It’s been a year now. Your mother misses you, but you know that. I miss you, too.

A friend of yours told us that you were with Julia and I think everyone knows who she is, or at least the place she’s left behind. I haven’t seen it, but that day we were about to and even in words it sounded just like the place where I would see you again. Would it hurt to think that if maybe I’d built an orchard, you’d stay?

We saw you right away. It was harvest time and the trees bore fruits and you were carrying a basket and picking apples. God, you looked so happy, even happier than I’ve ever remembered you to be. Your hair has grown and your eyes were just like the sky, just like those afternoons when we’d take walks. And your smile–

I miss your smile, love.

I miss seeing it every single day, when the rooster would crow and the early morning light seeped in our curtains and we’d open our eyes but your smile would always be the one to wake us up, better than the coffee we’d brew. I miss how you’d hum whenever rainy days would come and how it’s become your habit to tap your fingers whenever you’re in deep thought and I miss how your voice would fill our hallways –

Soon, light faded from his bones and their rooms, and darkness landed on their backs, on their beds, and on the crumpled paper on his desk.

“ a n d i s n o t t h i s t h e c a u s e o f m a d n e s s ?¹ ”

c o d e w o r d | odair
a n d i s a w y o u r f a c e | mia wasikowska
i n a c r o w d e d p l a c e | zariah lytle in julia orchards plot;
a n d i d o n ' t k n o w w h a t t o d o | ¹ - a draught of sushine by john keats; ² - beautiful by james blunt

' c a u s e i ' l l n e v e r b e w i t h y o u | narration; 7F425F
y o u ' r e b e a u t i f u l , i t ' s t r u e | speaking; 989AA6
t h e r e m u s t b e a n a n g e l w i t h a s m i l e o n h e r f a c e | others; 825D77
w h e n s h e t h o u g h t u p t h a t i s h o u l d b e w i t h y o u | emphasis; AABCBD
b u t i t ' s t i m e t o f a c e t h e t r u t h , i w i l l n e v e r b e w i t h y o u² | thoughts; 85778E

a n a u t h o r ' s n o t e | so um the letter got ripped off so that's why the last part isn't there c: This bio was greatly inspired by Chelsey's Elijah Harper so please please please read him he's perfect