HELENA WU, DISTRICT 7

HELENA
WU .

“MOONLIGHT SONATA”
Beethoven.

My parents saw fit to name me Helena Wu, although I don't dare think myself as beautiful as the Myth they named me for. I have just turned seventeena few short weeks ago. In time I shall be married to a man my parents see fit, who lives here, in District Seven. By fit I must curl my lips into a demure grin and call them gallant and daring, but by fit I mean wealthy. I am an object, and I do not choose my life's course. I will try to love who my parents choose for me, even if their teeth are falling out. By day, I dance and practice many arts, and in the evening the house gate opens, I paint my face and become a Geisha.

TALKING . Geisha
DOING . Don’t Tempt It
DEEP THOUGHT . Light Thoughts
HEARING . Groovy Grey
OTHER . Blackberry

BIOGRAPHY .

“O, THOU ART FAIRER THAN THE EVENING AIR”
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.

They tell me that I was formed of stardust and moonshine, that my name translates to beauty, and that my fingertips will graze the sun. They say that I was born when stars were flying across the sky late one night, and so they knew to name me for something just as beautiful. They do not speak of my twin sister, equally as beautiful, but 'ruined' for her temperament. My mother insists that one day I could launch a thousand ships too, just as my namesake. I live in forests and no ships sail here. Besides the fact that Cassandra is more likely to, with her at the front of them, eyes blazing and something sharp on her hip. If I am Helena she is Athena, and we are both doomed for death.

I rise slow in the break of dawn, pulling myself up by my neck, bent like a ragdoll. The servant boy has already been in here, sliding open the wooden and paper door to the garden so I can see the day. No matter how many times I tell him to let himself sleep, he only smiles. I can see the sunrise from here, warm under my quilt. I used to see the Shoji screen, the sliding doors, as prison walls and sometimes I think I still do. With them open when I wake I am instantly calmed. Carefully I pull myself up, dancer's body tackling the movements with more grace than they require. If I am one hundred and seventy centimetres, than it is mostly for my long legs. Adjusting my sleeping robes, I walk across the floor with soft footsteps and try not to wake my sleeping sisters. My mother once threatened to break my toes to make my feet smaller. She said I stomped around like an elephant.

As it is, I really don't think my feet are that big at all. I think mother just likes to find things wrong. Experimentally, I step onto the wooden deck that surrounds the house. It's a bit cold, my carefully manicured toes tell my by curling inwards a bit on the dew-damp wood. Smiling soft, I set out into the garden, passing flowers and streams. District Seven is rather large and probably underpopulated due to a sickness or two spread in our grandparent's generation, we have the space for a large estate and yard. In this morning light I am plain as can be. My lips are not red, my eyes clean, and my pores are empty of paint. In this morning light, I belong to myself. Which is not something I can say for most of the time.

Come evening,I belong to the men of this district. My face is painted white, my lips red, and my hair waxed. I become a china doll, nothing more than an object. Once I checked a mirror just to make sure there were no strings attached. In my dreams, there always are, strings I mean. In most situations, I find myself unable to object. I am what I am, you see. I've listened to what my parents tell me to do for so long it's become a part of me. If they tell me to speak, I speak. If they want me to dance, I ask how long, sing a note, how high? How high can I go, you tell me. I am a windup doll, all my bones are a compilation of gears and clockwork, my skin is made from thin china stretched over a tiny five foot and seven inch frame.

Long black hair falls down to almost my thighs, unoiled and clean in the daylight. My hair has always been fine, and thin, not easily tangled and straight as needles. I've always loved to wear it loose because when I dance it twirls around with each movement and for a small excited moment, I think I might have wings. If I had those, I might fly over the walls that enclose me one day. If anything, Cassandra is the one who is most likely to do so. We may look the same, but she is wild, she is free. I am a prisoner of war. I've been the pillar inbetween my parents and Cassandra for a very long time now, almost since we could talk I suppose. Where she has always been stubborn and loud, I've been gentle and meek.

I take my place in the gazebo beside the freshwater spring. A small bridge runs over it where Cassandra and I used to drop stones, and the place holds fond memories for me. I am not so sure if the same can be said for her, I get the feeling Cassandra does not hold as much love for me as I for her. That is alright though, I believe, as well as justifiable. Where in my parents eyes, Cassandra will never be enough, I am the standard everyone else has to reach. I am a doll on display for their amusement, all their eyes oggle my body, wishing to take my chastity, to conquer me. All my sisters want to be me, to gain my parents love and respect, but I am the sacrificial lamb. I want to be the one they don't notice, to be free to paint, sing, dance, cook, and laugh. I want to put my hair in a messy bun and enjoy the day in full. Instead, I am laced and layered, iced and designed until I feel like a Russian stacking doll. I think I've lost the tiniest doll inside.

Stepping along carefully, I come to a wooden floorboard that creaks under my foot. Carefully, I kneel down and lift away the wood, a satin bag stares up at me. Almost hungrily, I pull the drawstrings to open the small silk bag, and my hands come away with leather jazz shoes, worn by hours of dance. I only have a short hour before my parents arise, and my mother sends the servant boy to take me to my first lesson of the day. The first and last time I was late, he was punished. I've been careful since then to never do that again. Thick brows furrow in concentration over wide brown eyes as I slip the shoes on. I'll need a new pair soon, these ones are getting small. Experimentally, I wiggle my toes, a smile of joy lighting up my features.

Soft smiles are a woman's easiest disguise, and those are what I give, but when I am dancing I am at my happiest. Dance is not an equation, nor does it have rules. To dance, you don't need to be incredible, one just has to have the want to move. My mother can't force my movements, and my father cannot choose where I shall place my foot next. When I dance, it is because I want to, it is my choice. When I dance, I am liberated. Of course there is no music, I've had to use my imagination. It's alright, I don't mind, I just want to dance, and not the formal dance of a Geisha, any type I want. My flexibility has been tested by dance, and I've carefully spent hours stretching every day just to touch my toes. One day I'll get there though, to the point where I can dance, and I live in a little house in the woods with a husband that loves me.

The idea of a husband curdles my stomach and I stumble, legs weakening at the thought. My hands hit wood flooring with a slap, and I grimace, nerves making me sick. I'm meant to be married soon, to the highest bidder. That's how it works when you're a Geisha. Whoever can pay the most wins the girl, and I am afraid because men are terrifying things. They're all so refined in their suits as they come to be entertained each night. I am only seventeen, my life has not even begun yet, and they want me to be married. I've always dreamed of love, and cherished the idea of a man who might want to tickle me and plant a garden with. I know that I will get a man who will use me as decoration until I age and become old. I will be useless then. I wil be thrown out like yesterday's trash.

I am afraid because my sisters have been trained in things other than being a Geisha, but I only know how to perform a tea ceremony, or write poetry. My fingers are uncalloused because they have not seen work, I am a weakling, I am useless. It is my worst feature. I cannot speak up, I am too afraid, I am not Cassandra. I should, I know. When my mother berates my sisters for not being me, I should tell her to stop. She is too frightening, too powerful, and I've never been able to crawl out from under her claws. I will be stuck there forever. If I am the puppet, she controls the strings. I am nothing but a package, a play thing for her to show off to her friends. One day, she will press a stamp to my forehead, and I shall be shipped off to man twice my age, just because he had the money to pay for me. Then, I will belong to him. I will never belong to myself.

I wish I was Cassandra, instead of just afraid little Helena. I've lost all hope before we've even begun. If I was Cassandra, my nails would be painted as red as my lips, and my grin would shatter the earth with it's ferocity. She won't allow herself to be sold, I know. Where I am powerless, frozen in fear, she is action and strength. I want to be her,as strong as her. I am all gentleness, quiet, a mouse. I speak when spoken too, and my long fingers stay clasped in my lap instead of banging on the walls. If my mother told me to die, I would. Cassandra, would make sure to live, and have a rather good go of it. I can't help but do as I'm told, I never learned to rebel. I wish I had. If I knew how, I'd climb over the tall walls that surround this prison of a house and find the ocean. I want to see all that sea. I want to know that it is real.

I won't though, it's all dreams, and half wishes that cannot come true. I shouldn't bother dreaming for things I cannot have. Carefully, I take the much loved dancing shoes off my feet early today, clean and manicured nails gentle pulling off the elastic strap. I need to put away these silly, childhood dreams. They will never come true, and I am an awful girl for complaining when I live in the lap of luxury. I am horrible for not appreciating all my mother and father have done for me. I am their dress-up doll, their plaything. They are the adults, I am the child. Naturally, they are in charge, and I will do as I'm told. I will always do as I'm told. I do not know hot not to.

Yet, when the servant boy comes to find me, I am practicing my soft smile, serene and lovely on the bridge. The dancing shoes are safely tucked away under the floorboards, when I should have put rocks in the toes and dropped them in the creek.

“WAS THIS THE FACED THAT LAUNCH'D A THOUSAND SHIPS,”
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?

“LOOK TO YOUR KINGDOMS,”
I am coming for them all.

ANYTHING ELSE ?



OUT OF CHARACTER .

FACE CLAIM .

ZHANG XINYUAN • HELENA WU

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I, ELEGANT .
Yeah idek.

CODEWORD . odair