Lost in the shadows(Open to all Uprising members!)
Nov 2, 2010 16:02:39 GMT -5
Post by Rosetta on Nov 2, 2010 16:02:39 GMT -5
Charlotte Pravine:
Charlotte rubbed her back, which ached as she leaned over once more to look at what she was working on.
The half-finished clock sat in her hand. She had found it among the rubble of District 13, when she'd gone exploring. She'd found quite a lot actually. Most of the place was charred and dangerous, but the most odd things seemed to surface. Like just the other day when she'd unearthed a pair of gold glasses, with only a few scratches.
She'd managed to find some new materials, and several tools, although some needed repairs. She'd found this clock in a pile of debris that must have been a house. It was a nice clock, coated in tarnished silver, with little black hands and neat numbers around the edges. It had stopped ticking, and Charlotte now went at it with a screwdriver.
Since her arrival at District 13 to join the Uprising, Charlotte had spent her time salvaging materials from the remains of the district, and then carting them back to her tent to work. Her bunk was one among at least 20 in this large tent, so privacy in the girl's sleeping tent meant nothing. Charlotte had managed to string up some curtains that smelled of smoke, but were otherwise undamaged, around her bed. However, that did little to stop other Uprising members from opening them and trying to talk to her.
Most of them soon realized Charlotte would much rather be left alone to work on her creations. She'd given them enough hints, from the impatient sighs, and lack of eye contact. Finally, many had dispersed, leaving her by her lonesome, which was fine by her. She kept her tools in a metal box she'd found under her bed, and the rest she either held on to, or gave away, in return for something else.
She closed the back of the clock, and held it to her ear. She heard a satisfying ticking sound, and grinning, she set the clock down on the small table beside her bed. Charlotte spread out on the sheets, rubbing her blue eyes, tiredly. Her dark hair piled on her pillow, and dripped off, smooth and wavy. Her back ached from being confined to the brace she'd made, but she was grateful for it. Her fingers tapped on the curved wooden structure under her shirt.
She wasn't sure whether she liked this place or not. Seeing as she strayed from contact with people she couldn't really tell, but everyone seemed nice, the food wasn't horrible, and she could invent things. That was pretty okay with her.
Yawning, Charlotte stood. From a hole in the tarp that made up the tent, sunlight filtered through, and beckoned her outside. Grabbing a few tool out of her tool box, just in case, she walked outside into the bright light. She blinked, and yawned again. People hurried around, going about their business, people who wore masks, and hid the pain they had inside.
Charlotte knew about a majority of the people here had a darker reason of being part of the Uprising then her. They all had their own stories, stories of pain and suffering, cold, mirthless times when they had no one to go to. Rape, murder, fires, torture. Anything horrible, anything families pray will not happen to them, has. Standing amongst these shattered people, Charlotte felt out of place. Seriously out of place.
There were times when she felt like she belonged. Times when thunder storms kept all the girls in their tent, and they talked. Times when people approached her about her inventions. Times when she laughed at a joke someone had said during a meal. But, there were also other times. Times when she heard rumors about someone that had happened to someone. Times when she'd seen scars on others. Times when she listened to the girl in the bunk next to hers cry. That's when she didn't belong.
Charlotte didn't have a story. Well, she wasn't sure of the time before she lived with her grandparents. Maybe she had parents, or another sibling, other than Sadie. But, she couldn't remember that far. As a matter of fact, she couldn't remember past her 5th birthday.
She wasn't one to speculate. Wasn't one to sit around and wonder. She didn't try to draw conclusions or question her grandparents, or even reassure her little sister that maybe they did have parents. Quite honestly, she didn't care too much. Her parents just didn't....ring a bell in her mind. She had no memories of anyone leaning over her to kiss her goodnight. She never picked up a tool or made something, thinking, well, my dad or mom taught me that.
There were never the shadows that lingered in the back of her memories, no disembodied faces, nothing of the sort. Charlotte might as well have been born without parents. So, in her mind, it didn't matter at all.
Charlotte stood in the sun, squinting ahead. Everyone here had a job it seemed. They all had something to do. Well, except Charlotte. She hadn't seemed to be able to find her set place here, yet. She was just the one who will build things. Build things and hang around in the tent.
All of a sudden, Charlotte wanted to do something. To show she wasn't just there. To show she was someone.
With that in mind, Charlotte strode forward, unsure of where she was going, but hoping that someone, anyone would come up to her, and help her get where she needs to be.
[/center][/color]Charlotte rubbed her back, which ached as she leaned over once more to look at what she was working on.
The half-finished clock sat in her hand. She had found it among the rubble of District 13, when she'd gone exploring. She'd found quite a lot actually. Most of the place was charred and dangerous, but the most odd things seemed to surface. Like just the other day when she'd unearthed a pair of gold glasses, with only a few scratches.
She'd managed to find some new materials, and several tools, although some needed repairs. She'd found this clock in a pile of debris that must have been a house. It was a nice clock, coated in tarnished silver, with little black hands and neat numbers around the edges. It had stopped ticking, and Charlotte now went at it with a screwdriver.
Since her arrival at District 13 to join the Uprising, Charlotte had spent her time salvaging materials from the remains of the district, and then carting them back to her tent to work. Her bunk was one among at least 20 in this large tent, so privacy in the girl's sleeping tent meant nothing. Charlotte had managed to string up some curtains that smelled of smoke, but were otherwise undamaged, around her bed. However, that did little to stop other Uprising members from opening them and trying to talk to her.
Most of them soon realized Charlotte would much rather be left alone to work on her creations. She'd given them enough hints, from the impatient sighs, and lack of eye contact. Finally, many had dispersed, leaving her by her lonesome, which was fine by her. She kept her tools in a metal box she'd found under her bed, and the rest she either held on to, or gave away, in return for something else.
She closed the back of the clock, and held it to her ear. She heard a satisfying ticking sound, and grinning, she set the clock down on the small table beside her bed. Charlotte spread out on the sheets, rubbing her blue eyes, tiredly. Her dark hair piled on her pillow, and dripped off, smooth and wavy. Her back ached from being confined to the brace she'd made, but she was grateful for it. Her fingers tapped on the curved wooden structure under her shirt.
She wasn't sure whether she liked this place or not. Seeing as she strayed from contact with people she couldn't really tell, but everyone seemed nice, the food wasn't horrible, and she could invent things. That was pretty okay with her.
Yawning, Charlotte stood. From a hole in the tarp that made up the tent, sunlight filtered through, and beckoned her outside. Grabbing a few tool out of her tool box, just in case, she walked outside into the bright light. She blinked, and yawned again. People hurried around, going about their business, people who wore masks, and hid the pain they had inside.
Charlotte knew about a majority of the people here had a darker reason of being part of the Uprising then her. They all had their own stories, stories of pain and suffering, cold, mirthless times when they had no one to go to. Rape, murder, fires, torture. Anything horrible, anything families pray will not happen to them, has. Standing amongst these shattered people, Charlotte felt out of place. Seriously out of place.
There were times when she felt like she belonged. Times when thunder storms kept all the girls in their tent, and they talked. Times when people approached her about her inventions. Times when she laughed at a joke someone had said during a meal. But, there were also other times. Times when she heard rumors about someone that had happened to someone. Times when she'd seen scars on others. Times when she listened to the girl in the bunk next to hers cry. That's when she didn't belong.
Charlotte didn't have a story. Well, she wasn't sure of the time before she lived with her grandparents. Maybe she had parents, or another sibling, other than Sadie. But, she couldn't remember that far. As a matter of fact, she couldn't remember past her 5th birthday.
She wasn't one to speculate. Wasn't one to sit around and wonder. She didn't try to draw conclusions or question her grandparents, or even reassure her little sister that maybe they did have parents. Quite honestly, she didn't care too much. Her parents just didn't....ring a bell in her mind. She had no memories of anyone leaning over her to kiss her goodnight. She never picked up a tool or made something, thinking, well, my dad or mom taught me that.
There were never the shadows that lingered in the back of her memories, no disembodied faces, nothing of the sort. Charlotte might as well have been born without parents. So, in her mind, it didn't matter at all.
Charlotte stood in the sun, squinting ahead. Everyone here had a job it seemed. They all had something to do. Well, except Charlotte. She hadn't seemed to be able to find her set place here, yet. She was just the one who will build things. Build things and hang around in the tent.
All of a sudden, Charlotte wanted to do something. To show she wasn't just there. To show she was someone.
With that in mind, Charlotte strode forward, unsure of where she was going, but hoping that someone, anyone would come up to her, and help her get where she needs to be.
