LEONIDAS HALE | DISTRICT ONE | FIN

l e o n i d a s hale

i'm friends with the monster that's under my bed
get's along with the voices inside of my head
you're trying to save me, stop holding your breath
and you think i'm crazy

My name is Leonidas Meradone Hale, or, Leo, since I know it's a mouthful. I am currently eighteen years old, and I miss smiling. I miss feeling all together, in fact. You can't tell anyone though, okay?

I think I was eleven when I finally stopped feeling.

Nothing happened, really. Nothing traumatic or heart breaking that shattered me beyond repair, but that is precisely the point. Nothing happened. Nothing ever did. I lived the same routine day after day, and rarely was there any sort of a curve ball thrown into the mix. I think that, eventually, I just stopped feeling. Now, I didn't stop caring- the two emotions are completely different. I was always aware that there was something more than titles of "Mom" and "Dad" that kept me tied to the people that raised me. I still care about them, and I always will, I just don't really see the point of it all if there is no surprise or excitement.

You wouldn't really guess it, but I am actually a pretty smart person. I put myself in situations that most people would consider stupid of reckless, but I guess I am desperate. All I want is to feel something. There are times when I am doing the most wild things that I think maybe I can again. Maybe I actually feel excited, or regretful for putting myself in such easily avoided danger, or maybe I am just remembering what it's like. Or what I remember it being like. The point is that I know what the smart choice is, but that doesn't mean I'll choose it. Would you? That's what I did, and now I think maybe I've been hollowed out like a tree exposed to the elements, my core, everything that makes me tick is gone. And I am just the sarcastic remains.

Not everything I do is stupid. Sometimes I try to find emotions through another person- sadly, it has never worked. I have what I consider friends, which is a few people that allow me to sit next to them at lunch, but other than that, I can't really get attached to anyone outside my parents and my sister. Both of us are adopted, and I sort of guessed it when I was thirteen- why in the hell did it take me so long? We look nothing alike. I have unruly brown curls that I'll admit get a bit out of hand at times, and she has blonde hair that is straight like a board. I have eyes like emeralds, and her's are like oceans. My face is rounded at the edges like a teddy bear, and her's are sharp, which makes her look wise beyond her years. Really, I am surprised it took me so long to decipher it, but Callie is still my sister, and she always will be.

I am really good with tools. Really, I could fix anything with a hammer, a screwdriver, a saw, and some screws and nails. If that doesn't work, there is always super glue. My parents save money by using me for handy work around the house. A pipe bursts in the basement? Leo gets to fix it. The water pressure in the sink is too weak? Leo gets to fix that, too. I don't mind, I guess. I like fixing things. Maybe it's because I think I can fix everything else so that the only thing left eventually will be myself.

A little boy with curls sat next to a girl with a confused expression and tears running down his face. "But, Mommy, I don't wanna play in the sand box again!" He pleaded, and the woman spoke in a clear voice. "Don't be silly, Leo. Play with your sister, now." The boy's heart sank. She didn't get it. She never did. All he wanted was something different. It was always his reward for being good- a trip to the park with his younger sister who was now trying to stuff a handful of sand into her mouth, even as her mother pulled her hand away.

I try to keep my family in good spirits, and the one thing my parents have always wanted is for Callie and I to be decent careers, so I keep myself looking presentable, but I see absolutely no point in it. Looking handsome won't save my ass if I am ever reaped, now will it? No. My sister likes looking pretty for everyone more than me, and that is fine, because I don't really like anything. I have wanted a tattoo since I was about ten, but I know my parents would kill me, so I have avoided it. I have avoided a lot for my parents. A lot of things I want- things that might just help me feel again- are things that would upset my parents too much, so I just look for other things.

I'm also pretty good at talking, but what career isn't? I have a sort of allure, a false type of charm that strangely keeps people interested enough to deal with me, even when I sit there with that distant expression on my face.

"No!" He said, taking a stand and running off of the playground. He liked running, he decided- something about the wind running through his hair, and between his fingers- he felt like maybe he was a bird. Birds couldn't be trapped. They would never trap him. Never. He would fly away and they would all watch him soar with impressed expressions some day, just wait and see. He wouldn't let them break him.

codeword: odair
face claim: harry styles
lyrics: "the monster" by eminem ft. rihanna