Naif Malloc [Wanderer]; [finished]
Jul 11, 2012 0:25:58 GMT -5
Post by cyrus on Jul 11, 2012 0:25:58 GMT -5
[ooc note: So, I wrote this ‘bio’ as Naif writing to his dead brother, Cyrus, who died in the games… hope it works and isn’t too confusing! He describes himself pretty thoroughly…]::::
I ran away
I could not take the burden of both me and you
It was too fast
Casting love on me as if it were a spell I could not break
When it was a promise I could not make
:::::
Name: Naif Malloc
District: Initially 6; Becoming a Wanderer
Age: 14
Dear Cyrus,
How do you find me now? All this time I thought that I was the grown up one.
I hope that I get to be as tall as you. You never knew it, but all the girls thought you were handsome. I want to be just as handsome—granted, I’ve always had an easier time talking to people—but right now I’m still four or five inches shorter than you were. I guess that would put me three or four inches past five feet, give or take a hair. When people saw you
I put on your corduroys the other day. Dad was going to throw them away, on account of him saying there was no use in keeping them anymore. But I grabbed the box from him and I yelled—so loud that my voice hurt, and it crackled when the tears ran down my cheeks—until he finally gave me your things. You would be mad if you had seen me putting on your stuff. I know you never liked me going through your things, but it’s helped me. I just… I tried on the curduroys, and I remembered the time that we were walking to school in the rain, and I forgot my jacket. And you had told me a thousand and one times that it was going to rain that morning, but I called you stupid because I didn’t see a single cloud in the sky. But then the downpour came and we were still ten blocks from school and I tried to duck under an awning, but the wind was blowing and I was going to be drenched. And you took off your jacket and gave me your jacket because you didn’t want the kids to laugh at me for being wet. And I said, what about you? Won’t they laugh at you? And you just smiled and said that you were used to it, that they laughed at you all the time, and that you had on your lucky corduroys so they wouldn’t laugh at you so much that day.
I never thought that anyone would compare me to you. I get it every day now—people saying how warm you are, how wonderful you are, how much they wish they had known it. How much they wish that they could’ve known that the Mallocs were so alike—that there is a goodness in you that they have never seen. And that when they look at me, they see the strength and the courage, that if they had just known that it was in you… if they had just known that even in your fear and in your bumbling that you were a hero. They say that I’m you—that I’m a little you now. Remember… remember when people would ask if you would ever grow up? About how I was always protecting you from the worst of them from school, telling them to leave you alone? That you stuttered and moped around because you just had been born different.
I can’t explain how it hurts now. I tried talking to my friends at school, but none of them have ever had reaped siblings. I wake up at night thinking that I wish I had volunteered, that I wish that you never had to go through what you did. Why did you choose it? Why did you give up all of us and everything you had—you had such an easy life here. Everything was so simple. We had a house, and we had both our parents. Lots of kids would have given up their left arms to just have what you had. And we loved you. Did you forget that? Did you forget that when you stepped forward, when you said, "I volunteer”[/b]like you were going to get a free ice cream from the shop on Tillman street?
You probably think that I’m trying to accuse you of something—you always would tell me to shut up when I would yell at you too much, because you didn’t understand. You would say that I was too mean, that I got too angry all the time. But just because I felt things—something that you never seemed to do—doesn’t mean that I don’t care. It doesn’t mean that I hate people or don’t trust—it just… it’s harder now. It used to be easier before all of this. I used to be the guy that people would tell—they would say things to me that they didn’t let other people know. Because I liked to look out for them, just like I looked out for you. But you never let me know—you never really explained what you felt. Otherwise you’d still be here and we would be playing army men with your little action figures and talking about what we were going to be when we finished school.
They gave me your ring and bracelet. I’m wearing both of them now. I wish… I wish you told me where they were from. I wish you had told me about the girl you’d been with. I wish you told me… I wish. I just feel like there are so many secrets now. So much that I could only learn when I saw you on screen, like how much you really cared about everyone. About how you really seemed to believe that everyone is good—they’re not—and were willing to give up yourself rather than hurt someone else. And that you believed in mom’s stupid superstitions about life after you died. If they were true,
But you always liked kid stuff. You never wanted to grow up, ever. Do you remember when we would play imaginary games, and you’d dream about being a peacekeeper or a scientist? And you’d make a big deal about how you would have your own little office away from everyone, locked up in a little room for the rest of your life? Where did that Cyrus go? Where did that boy—yes, I’m calling you a boy, because you didn’t f—king earn anything from me yet. You didn’t earn anything because you never explained any of this to me. And I’m mad. I’m mad at you for leaving me. I’m mad at you for making me have to deal with mom and dad the way they are. I’m furious that you said that you would come back, and that everything would be okay.
Mom barely gets out of bed anymore. She’s been taking morphling every night since you left, saying that her pains are acting up again. Says that the side effects from working as a chemist just got worse around the time that you left, but I don’t believe it. I know she’s hurting—we all are. Even Dad. He just doesn’t say a word now, and only comes home to sleep. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, and he just looks at me when he comes in, eyes red like he’s been crying. And he’ll come over to me, and he’ll look at my face, and then he’ll start saying your name. And I’ll have to say Dad, daddy it’s not him, it’s me, it’s Naif, you’re drunk. And he’ll get angry and he hits me. He hits me and calls out your name, and tells you that this is to fix you, to fix you and that way you won’t ever go away—because your condition was what drove you away. That he was sorry, but it’s what he wanted to do to you since you left.
I wish I was as strong as you were. I wish I wanted to be here anymore. I know it’ll kill mom. I know it will, if I just leave her here with him. But you left me. You left me with all of this, like it was so easy when you just went away. Like you thought that you were going to come back, and that everything would end like a fairytale. That we would live happily ever after and life would go back to normal, even if you won. But then you were ripped from us and they fell apart. And I’m not strong enough for this—I’ll be the first to admit it. So I’m going away. I’m going away and I’m never coming back because that’s what I want. And I’m going to see the districts and the wilds and beyond.
You’d ask if I had a plan, and if I’d checked it twice. But I have all your old things, and I’ve packed it all up in a sack for me to get out of here. And I know the hole in the fence, and I’ll be out of the district before the games are over. Before they sweep into town with whomever the asshole is that will have won. You won’t see me next to your coffin, kissing the feet of that bastard. It just makes me… it makes me so mad. It makes me want to scream, Cyrus. Because you left me here, and you left us all thinking that you could do it. That you were strong enough—and now you…
I loved you. I really did. I can’t say it any other way. And it hurts, and I don’t know how to make it not. I just wanted to let you know—because you never did. I wanted to say it, because you never gave me that chance. And maybe things will work out differently for me—maybe I’ll be deader than you—but I’m not going to die here. I guess us Mallocs just like to choose our own fates.[/color]
Your Adoring Brother,
Naif Malloc
::::
And now this land means less and less to me
without you breathing through its trees
At every turn the water runs away from me
and the halo disappears
and the hole when you're not near
:::::
And now this land means less and less to me
without you breathing through its trees
At every turn the water runs away from me
and the halo disappears
and the hole when you're not near
:::::
codeword: odair
[/justify][/blockquote][/size]
![d10f ekta ram // [earthling] Avatar](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/81/Simone_Ashley_en_2022.jpg)
