Francis Dormitor, District 9 [Finished]
Sept 8, 2013 14:01:46 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 8, 2013 14:01:46 GMT -5
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{Name} Francis Dormitor
{Age} 18
{Gender} Male
{District} 9Dream a little dream for me.
World is a cold place if you don’t surround yourself with warm things. That’s why I like to collect fuzzy furry things that make me happy. Oh yes, I have many furry fuzzy things that love me. You want to see them? I have four dogs, three cats, a bunny, and mouse friends. They are my life and I am their life, too. They look up to me because I’m the biggest but that’s because I’ve also got the biggest heart. I keep them all fed and groomed and happy. Very happy. I say good night to each and every single one of them before I go to sleep. If I don’t I can’t even shut my eyes. It’s a ritual that started when I finally got on my own, away from my family. I’m so much better now that I don’t have to be with my brothers and sisters or my mother or father. They never cared for the way that I looked or what I did.
They called me crazy face. They said I was screwed up since I was nine, when I got a bad fever and everything was blurry. You know, when you walk in a rainstorm and the water splashes in your face, and you can’t see what’s in front of you? That’s what it looked like. It was like that for four days. They said I was going to die. Even my mother and father, on the last day, they didn’t stay with me. They said I was infectious and too sick. All my brothers and sisters hid because they didn’t want to die. The only one that was brave enough to see me? Old Red, our little red dog. She stayed by my side while I shiver-shaked in my big heavy blanket the whole night through. She licked my little tears and she rubbed her nose around my face. Never left my side, not for one whole moment.
I like to wear things that don’t go together. It’s the way my mind works, all fizzing together like while big swirl. I like to think that my head is full of lines that never touch, swirling this way and that way to avoid one another. It’s a wonder anything gets done, from me walking to breathing and talking to all the things going through my brain. I shuffle it all together and have it come out my mouth for words because words are how we humans communicate. It’s so difficult and deceiving. Animals are so much better at talking to one another, they don’t need words. They sniff and nip and bark or meow to get their point across. So we see each other for what we really are because we don’t have to use all those words. It’s like rounding edges on a piece of paper so you never have to get plucked by the pointy edges.
When I woke up from my dream I got a thought in my head that I never wanted to be without my dog again. And it made me think that if my whole family could leave me like that, to die—well, what good was it? Sure they were happy I was alive, but the happiness faded the better that I got. You see, there were six of us in all, and my mother and father didn’t want a silly middle child like me. Even though I gave and gave—a steady work horse to tend to every last whip they needed—they didn’t treat me like I should have been treated. They didn’t see me as a master and commander, they didn’t love me with all their hearts. They weren’t warm and fuzzy, they were cold and distant. They called me strange and said I had strange ideas about everything. Every. Last. Thing. I got into fights and shouting matches. I would wail at the top of my lungs about them not understanding and thrash at my own head with my two hands. They didn’t understand, couldn’t understand why things needed to be simpler. Never would, never could.
When I was sixteen my father struck me across the face. He was a right big wolf ready to rip my throat out. Said that I’d done something terrible, in the heat of the summer, to my sister that simply wasn’t true. Blamed me for a whole heap of lies, barked about them to everyone. My mother was shy as a fox, and said nothing. The rest of my siblings were like little hens following the leader. Not even a word when I packed my things and went. I slept on the streets for some time, looking for work and finding none. Could’ve died from another fever if I didn’t keep my hope alive. I heard the owls at night, and the rats that skittered across the pavement. I heard the sounds that let me sleep and know that I wasn’t surrounded by terrible, lying creatures that will sell you for food rather than keep you alive. Won’t ever go back to them, never, no. I have my new family now. They are the ones that keep me strong and brave.
Like little Noreen, she’s a shy cat that purrs up against my leg. She’s pregnant and ready to burst with kittens. Julian is a saucy cat that likes to lick and preen himself in the mirror. Kiera barks at everything all the damn time. Mace is a pudgy little pug that likes to sneeze in my face. Oh—oh their names? Oh you see, you see? I love to watch the games. Yes. The fact that we get rid of each and every single one of the unclean humans that walk this earth is just—well, I think it’s justice. We don’t own this earth. We’ll be gone long before it is. Worse still we treat it so badly, and each other so badly, that I don’t think we deserve it. Animals don’t fight with each other the way we do. It’s a testament to what’s true, that we’re nothing but abominations walking this earth, when really we should all just disappear into nothing. So the animals—my animals—they are all named after boys and girls from the games.
I like to pick them based on their attributes. I take good care of all of them, the best I can, what with having to work at the factory all day. It can be cramped living in my little shack on the edge of town with all these animals. I spend half my time feeding them and the other half trying to keep this place clean. I swear I must wash my hands ten times a day, and it still isn’t enough. There’s always one of them that seems to be shedding, or sneezing, or just running around getting themselves into some kind of trouble. I don’t mind any though. As long as they’re good to one another they can do however they please. I don’t keep them if they’re too mean. I had one dog named Ethan that just liked to bite every living thing and I had to let him go. I hope he found a nice home but I heard that he bit someone so they shot him. Seems a shame since he probably just didn’t understand what he was doing wrong.
I can empathize with that. The world is a confusing place, and if no one tells you the rules, how are you supposed to know what to do? I feel like I’m being swept down a stream sometimes the way everyone knows everything. They don’t see things the way that I do, they just keep going, keep going, marching toward some distant goal that doesn’t even make sense. I’d rather just sit back and take care of my animals all the live long day but instead I have to go make soaps and nasty smelling things. I work in a big factory with giant metallic machines. They spit out steam and sometimes they even crush people—though we’re not supposed to talk about that. I was lucky to get a job after my parents kicked me out. But the factory men were nice to me since I was so young. They thought it wasn’t right that I was all on my own with nowhere to stay.
One of them gave me this shack which I rent out for half of whatever I get paid at the factory. It’s a good enough deal but it doesn’t leave me very much for me and my animals. I suppose I’ll have to stop adding them soon—or maybe just get more cats. They eat more of what they can catch so I don’t have to worry about them so much. It makes life easier, as independent that they are. Though I don’t like them so much because I feel like they act like they don’t need me. Dogs are better. They’re loyal and kind. They’ll come over and curl up next to you when you cry, or when you’re sick. Makes me feel better to know how sweet they are. If people were that loyal to one another… well I don’t think we would be the same. We got so much to learn from animals, I wish people would stop and take the time to see it.
I saw my oldest brother the other day. He stopped in the street when he saw me. Said that I looked good. Couldn’t remember the last time that I looked happy living with our mom and dad. Said I had a grin as big as my ears. Asked me how I was doing, and getting on without all of them. I told him I didn’t want nothing to do with all of them—I don’t need any favors from a bunch of disloyal, self-centered, egoistic people. That they’ve let me go this long without doing anything to help me—that just shows how awful they are. They wouldn’t understand life now, either. They would tell me I need to get away from all these animals and that I need to settle down and find a girl that will treat me right. That I need to start a family and think about helping them, and paying it forward. Whatever that means. He said that I was rude, that I didn’t give them a choice and that there was nothing they could do to help me.
Well what was I supposed to do? Who was supposed to love me? Who was supposed to—to treat me like I’m their son and not some embarrassment or shame? They were my family, they were my mother and father. And all my brothers and sisters stole their love from me, and turned their backs. Who was supposed to love me, when I was sick and dying? They won’t ever be forgiven for that. They won’t get anything from me, like they think it’s so easy for me to just come crawling back, tail between my legs, as though their blood can force me to do that. It’s a world away from that happening. He left when I told him I was never coming back. He said that I was more than an embarrassment. He said that I was abandoning them, and that they needed me. It cut to the core. How could he say that I was the one that abandoned them? They never treated me like the son they were supposed to. They never gave me the time of day, they never cuddled up with me, and nuzzled me. They never wrapped me in their warmth.
I have my family now. They may not be what other people would consider a family but they are—we’re together. They’re what I’ve got, on four legs, tails wagging, best friends I could ever have. So don’t tell me that it’s not real love. Don’t tell me that this isn’t what I need. I’ve got everything I could ever ask for, and I’m not going back.
odair
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