emma partridge ♥ district seven

Ever since I gave my first breath, I was made of silver. I was the second child that my mother and father brought into existence, and though my delicate strands of hair were the color of thick and earthy soil, and though my pale skin  was always caked in dark, clinging dirt, a silvery liquid flowed through my veins that made me nothing more than an outcasted little girl who could never obtain the gold.

I had always wanted to be more than just  sweet little Emma, the second-best child who was always outshined by even the tiniest and most diminutive stars in the sky. I was a desperately emotional girl who wanted love and acceptance and passion, but I never received what I gave. My elder sister, Lenora, was to one who won all of the love and praise. Her skin was like porcelain, and her hair was a waterfall of liquid night, whilst my skin was like paper, and my hair was like decayed leaves.

Every little thing I did ("Mama, look at the drawing I made for you in class today!" "That's lovely, Emma! Let's hang it right next to Lenora's.") was always overshadowed and never appreciated, and I was always and forever seen as sweet little Emma, the girl who never, ever, won the gold.

So, on the day I turned thirteen, I told myself that I would do whatever it took to be noticed. I found my father's silver lighter laying on his end-table and snatched it with slender fingers. The cool and metallic substance radiated through my hands, as if trying to mask the fire that could course from its chamber with a single click. Wrapping a scarf around my neck, I headed out into the air of autumn and to the outskirts of Seven.

All I had wanted to do was just make a dazzling flame that would awe everyone, but as usual, it didn't turn out as I had planned. My brown hair waved around my face as thick smoke flooded into my lungs and wild flames licked across the ground and engulfed the straggly trees and wildflowers. Some say the smoke suffocated and smothered my sanity, but did I ever truly have it?

For the first few months, after I was carried home and healed, my parents kept me locked away in my room. They would carry a meal into my chamber every few hours, and they'd always bring a companion with them for when I tried to fight my way out. They called me a mentally-disturbed pyromaniac, but I was no such thing. Perhaps, in all sick truth, my disorder was the syndrome of silver, which is, if you didn't know,  the disorder that causes you to always be unloved.

When I had just turned fourteen, I begged my mother into purchasing me a hand-knitted scarf, in return for me visiting a local doctor with her. The people noticed me and the lovely garment as I walked past them and farther away to the District's edge, where the fire occurred. Perhaps they were admiring my new and exquisitely crafted accessory that made me feel so warm and loved, or maybe they were just gawking at the stupid little girl who burned half of the district.

My mother had stopped before a shabby and old manor, before knocking on the door. A brittle old lady answered, only to nod and shake my mother's hand with a warty and wrinkly hand of her own.

"Ah, so this is the little lass no one can deal with, eh?" the old lady questioned, as my already narrow eyes pierced at my mother. "I can assure you that she will be safe here, as I had already promised."

I can be dealt with. I can, I can, I can! It's just, in all Ripred-damned truth, no one wants to care or deal with me.

"Emma, love," started my mother as she ushered me through the door, "this place is what's best for you. You'll be able to heal in this place, child." Heal from what? How do you heal from being a fucking loser?

Before I could even return a few words, my mother kissed my cheek and fled, shutting the door behind her as the brittle (yet surprisingly strong for her appearance) and old woman restrained me from following.

"You'll be safe here, Emma. We will love you, and we will care for you. I, and all of the other children, are your new family now. Welcome, child."

- - -

Dear Abe- Fucked up world- Diary,

As of the current date, the 64th Annual Hunger Games, I am seventeen and currently the oldest and longest-submitted resident here at Miss Partridge's Home for Peculiar Orphaned Children. I am no longer  sweet little Emma, for I ditched that title the day my family ditched me. I am now Emma Partridge, and I am still desperate to feel love.

I am wild and brave and reckless, topped with a straggly mess of chocolatey hair, and all I crave is the chance to be held and wanted. Abe (Why am I mentioning his name? Ripred, damn it! I need to forget him.) still crosses my mind every now and again. But, fortunately, one of the newer and teenage patients, Jacob, has been helping me get over the sense of rejection and pain that Abe casted upon me when he ran away from the orphanage all those years ago without me.

I think he truly likes me, and though I can't deny the madness and passion I still feel towards Abe, I'm truly starting to like Jacob back. Who knows? Maybe he will be the guy who loves me for forever, right?

Forever and ever and ever, a typical girl's dream.

Still, though I'm starting to obtain the emotion I've always longed to hoard away in my soul, they'll never let me leave here, dearest diary. They want to treat me like a pyromaniac, so I'm letting them do just that. Besides, I'm finding it oddly relaxing to burn the things that remind me of Abe.

However, as odd as it sounds, Jacob has been reminding me of Abe more and more as of late. But, that's just a coincidence, right? Yes, of course. He loves me and he wants me, just like how all of these damn children love me.

Yes, I'm far from normal, dear diary. But, who needs normality when you're loved?

With love,

Emma Partridge

---

-template:
chelsey
-face claim:
adelaide kane
-name:
emma partridge
-age:
17
-plot:
those curious children // d7 orphange
-oDair