{ miracle tress } { d 3 } { f i n }

Dreams
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{ miracle tress } { d 3 } { f i n } Jan 7, 2014 22:50:43 GMT -5

Post by Dreams on Jan 7, 2014 22:50:43 GMT -5

Name: Miracle ^mira Katerina Tress
Age: 18
Gender: Female
District/Area: District Three
Appearance:

Light brown, wavy hair. Green eyes. Small.

Personality:

Quiet. Sweet. Delicate. Guilty. Intelligent. Selfless.

History:

Mother died at birth. Raised with father until he died. Now lives with abusive step family.

Codeword: odair
Other:

Last Edit: Feb 5, 2014 22:13:55 GMT -5 by Dreams

she lived with nightmares

Dreams
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{ miracle tress } { d 3 } { f i n } Jan 7, 2014 23:13:36 GMT -5

Post by Dreams on Jan 7, 2014 23:13:36 GMT -5

miracle katerina tress

female † eighteen † district three

"You sure you're eighteen, Miracle? It doesn't look like you're more than twelve." Russell sneers, his ugly face in mine, forcing me to breath the air he made rancid. He is right, of course. I do not look my age. My facial features are soft and small, like those of a child. My green eyes seem too big for the rest of my face, alert and wide. Father used to say how the color belonged to my mother. My cheeks used to be full when my dad was still living, when I was fed right. But now hunger carves my skin to the bone, showing off my ribs and collar bones and shoulder blades at an unusual measure. I'm not skinny, that as an understatement. I am thin and malnourished and bony. Perhaps, if the Dupriors would feed me better, I would be taller than 5'3", my fingers wouldn't taper, and my slim legs and arms would be filled out and healthy. My small neck wouldn't seem so out of proportion, like it could only barely balance and support my head. I look up at Russell, who was at least a foot taller than me, and my full, cracked lips tug at a frown.

"I'm pretty sure I would know how old I am." I say back softly. My voice his never been very loud. It suits me, though. I tuck a strand of hair that was blocking my face behind my ear. I like my hair. It is light brown and wavy, casting small shadows as it frames my face. It makes my narrow face even softer and rounded. They're cut unevenly at my chest with a rusty pair of scissors I found. Everything is layered due to it. Frizz and static pop out no matter how much I brush it. All good things must have their flaws, after all. He stares back at me and I raise my thin eyebrows up, creasing the skin on my forehead. He slams my delicate shoulders into the wall, his lip curled into a snarl. I notice how his bronze skin is in deep contrast to my pale tone, I notice how his robust body is so different from my delicate and slight frame.

"Listen here, girly girl. Just because Mom let you stay, doesn't mean you're welcome." He growls and throws his arm back. I duck my head, my long neck contracting just before he hit me. I hear his fist contact the wall and a slight groan of pain. My small nose would've been broken had his hand found its true destination. But I am faster and more nimble then him, and soon enough I find myself running away, carried by my short legs. He is slow and powerful; I am quick and weak. I'm not sure which one of us has the advantage, or if either of us have the advantage at all. But I'm sure my loathing step brother really, really hates me.

"You don't look very intimidating, Mira." Richard spits my nickname off his tongue like it was acid. And it was meant to be like that, too. Mira was reserved for my father. I am Miracle to everyone else. And no one, especially none of the Dupriors, get to see Mira. But Richard does have a point. I am not intimidating, assertive, or rough. No, I am far from it. I am quiet and gentle and definitely not intimidating, to say the least. Everyone can see it. My innocence, my vulnerability. I cannot defend myself. I am to scared of hurting others, and even worse, making enemies. I am not one for grudges or loathing or plotting revenge. Being a small girl, allies make things easier. Though, sometimes, they pity me. They look at me like I'm a kicked puppy. And I would like to say I am not. That I am strong. But I overestimate myself a lot. There are things I want to be, I can't be, that I think I might be able to achieve. But I can't. I am not good enough, even for my own standards. And it is a miserable thing to be. It just reminds me how weak I am. And then I forget it all over again. It's a cycle that should be conscious by now, but I don't let it be. I am not one who wants to break myself down even more.

I don't respond, and I don't see why that surprises him. I never retaliate. "So, what's it like, having both of your parents dead?" He sneers at me. "I'm pretty sure it was a relief, leaving you." I don't get angry, I just get hurt. I don't explode, I just contract. It's horrible, to have my parents gone. It leaves me in shame and agony and guilt, it leaves me drowning whenever things are silent, whenever I have a clear mind. I usually think about my father in bed, when things are quiet. I pretend that he is wrapped around me, not my blankets. It is useless. It makes me cry. But who can blame me for wanting them back. Especially after having guilt start to add up on my shoulders for years and years and years. I feel like everything is my fault. That maybe, if I was never born, both of them would still be alive. I know they wouldn't want me stuck in the past, but I am. I know they want me to move on. I know they do. It seems like it has been forever since the tragedy, but it feels like it was only yesterday when my hands were enclosed around my father's dying ones. When the pain started and never ebbed away.

"Probably because of how stupid you are." He is wrong there. I am not stupid. Or dumb. Or an idiot. I am smart, or at least smarter than him and Russell, anyway. I look school, and books, and writing, and learning. I have always had this strange curiosity. A thirst for knowledge, I suppose. My father enforced this. Education, he used to say, was a rare jewel. It was important to him. Therefore, it is now important to me. Besides, there ins't much else I can distract myself with other than school. And I want to make him proud. I want to make him happy that I am still living. As if impressing him this one time makes up for all of the times I let him down. Mother used to be smart, too. Or, that's what he said, anyway. Sometimes too smart for him, even. Using large words and complicated phrases. I want to be like her. I want to be smart and selfless. She valued those two, my father told me, like treasure. Therefore, I shall value it too. I will make them proud. I will. Richard is getting annoyed by me not responding, and leaves me in my bedroom alone, with my book. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to have a friend.

"Miracle, that's her name." My father's words sounded proud, happy, light. His hand used to clasp my shoulder, presenting my to the newcomer. And, of course, I would shy away. "Because she's a miracle, being here, and it's a miracle for me just to have her." He would smile down at me, and I would smile back up. It was one of those times when he was cheerful, or at least didn't give any hints that he was depressed, anyway. "Her mother died birthing her." He whispered to the stranger, and every time he did, I would feel a weight drop in my stomach. It was like he was trying not to tell me. And perhaps it would be better had I not known at such a small age. But he used to go on and on and on about her. And mostly, he saw her in me. My appearance, the skip in my step, how I was so much like her. I want to be like her. I have never met her, but she is my biggest role model. She is the one I want to take after. I want to be her, with every beat of my heart. For my father, who missed her. I want to be everything he loved so much.

Soon enough, my father found another love interest. But I don't think he actually loved Rita Duprior. I think it was out of a broken heart, wanting to be mended again. She was rich, and when they married, we moved into their unusually large house. It made mine look pale in comparison. I was amazed, because it is extremely hard to find rich people in District Three. But the Dupriors were. And it seemed very pointless to have so many rooms dedicated to three people, Rita, Russell, and Richard. Russell and Richard are twins, or two people who hate me together. That is really the only time they cooperate with each other, to sabotage me. Rita hated me the least, because the malice in her eyes was more mild, but she certainly wasn't found of me. I turned out to be more of a servant than a daughter. I did the laundry, cleaned the rooms, fetched the water. While my father and the Dupriors were relaxing inside. At least I got a large room. Father seemed blind to their cruelty. How I was set to work all day and my meals became smaller an smaller. I tried to show him, I even gave him proof. But he didn't see. He said he would love me forever. I began to doubt him. For some time, I lost my father.

He came back when a severe illness hit him.

"Mira, Mira, star of my heart. Come close." His croaky voice rasped, reaching out for me feebly. I move from the chair I was sitting in and kneel next to his bed, my eyes rounded with alarm. I was eleven, I didn't recognize the seriousness in his voice. He managed to give me a small smile, but every move he made seemed to be painful. The doctor said his sickness was contagious, but my small hands grasped his thick, meaty one. "Yes, Father?" I said quietly, and our eyes met. He moved his hand and I let my fingers fall away. He brushed my cheek. "Beautiful, just like your mother." A tear rolled down his cheek. He beckoned my closer, and I put my face closer, breathing the same air as him. "I love you, Mira." He whispered, his lips tickling the hair by my ear. My throat had started to close when I looked up at him again. His eyes were dull and blank, and I tried to shake him awake. "No, Father, don't leave me!" I cried, burying my face into his chest. A few minutes, I just sat there, sobbing until his shirt was wet. "Say something..." I could barely manage. "Please." My shaky fingers closed his eyelids. I should not have pretended death was sleep, because it wasn't. It is real, it is cold, it is true. It has the power to change is into was. And I simply ignored it. Because I didn't want to accept it, I didn't want to think that now, both of my parents were gone. "I wanted forever to last."

My father's death had little affect on Rita, it was sickening. She just brushed him under the rug like he was never there. It was one of the few times my temper burned low. But there wasn't much I could do. I was staying with her, after all. One false move, and I might be living on the streets.

Life, as a whole, can be horrible.

But it's the moments that make it worth living.

So I will always remember them. And the moments.

Last Edit: Jan 9, 2014 1:19:17 GMT -5 by Dreams

she lived with nightmares

Dreams Tribute [M:-425] 452 POSTS last seen Nov 21, 2023 20:23:00 GMT -5	{ miracle tress } { d 3 } { f i n } Jan 9, 2014 0:54:10 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Dreams on Jan 9, 2014 0:54:10 GMT -5 Finished!
	she lived with nightmares

rook Veteran Member 2,361 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5 who needs another thing to be sad about?	{ miracle tress } { d 3 } { f i n } Jan 10, 2014 13:16:26 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by rook on Jan 10, 2014 13:16:26 GMT -5 accepted
	an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside