Paisley Trenton >D11< DONE

ᴥ Head RP Tutor 4,550 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen May 5, 2024 7:42:10 GMT -5 oof	Paisley Trenton >D11< DONE Jan 9, 2014 14:53:33 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by ᴥ on Jan 9, 2014 14:53:33 GMT -5 17 Female District Eleven
	Last Edit: Jan 11, 2014 20:38:01 GMT -5 by ᴥ the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

ᴥ
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Paisley Trenton >D11< DONE Jan 9, 2014 15:20:39 GMT -5

Post by ᴥ on Jan 9, 2014 15:20:39 GMT -5

Does * "Says" * Thinks

Her feet make their way through a deserted street. The ragged shoes, old and worn, make close to no sound against the hard pavement. A frail body is wrapped in frayed gray cloth, blonde hair covered by a large hood falling just over dull eyes. Restless hands pick at what lint was left in her pockets. Happy Birthday to me. The bitter thought crosses her mind. Shoes scuff the compacted dirt, sending up a cloud of dust in their wake. Pink lips are parted ever so slightly, as though trying to scream every unspoken word swirling in her subconscious, choked down by only the girl's stubborn will.

Seventeen long years greedily drank her youth. Like a tick, stubbornly latched just out of reach. Her skin closely resembled that of a man, laid on his death bed. The same deathly paleness and powdery complexion. Behind green eyes lay... nothing. Not a glimmer or shine, not even the sadness of a broken childhood. They were empty as a window which's glass had been shattered, leaving only a void of what used to be.

Bones line what little muscle the frail youth had. All coming from hours of working in an orchard her foster parents possessed. Calloused hands wrap around pale branches, slender arms pull her skyward. A basket hangs off her wrist like that of an over sized bracelet. Long clumsy legs concur the bending branches. She reaches the rubiest of the shining red fruit, hidden among thick unyielding emerald leaves. Tendons tighten under the thin skin lining her delicate fingers as they wrap around the perfect fruit. Gently now, she pulled, the fruit yields eventually even to someone as weak as she.

As quickly as she had climbed, dusty shoes disturb the reddish dirt lining the orchard. Careful not to drop the precious ruby which lay in the wicker basket, she made her way to another tree, unoccupied by the others slaving away in the same field as she. Hours pass, the repetitious work wears at her weak joints. She must collect at least three baskets full of the perfect fruit, the consequence of failing to do so only pushed the girl to work past the the cold stinging her hand like a whip. Sleeping out in the dirt, prey to whatever monsters stomp through the fields at night, it scared her so deeply. So even now, in the dead of winter, she climbs, searching for the perfect apples to please what little parental figures remained in her life.

The girl keeps to herself in school. Baggy clothes cover the bones protruding from her shoulders and hips. Make-up stolen from the matron's - the girl's foster mother whom she regarded by her strict, peacekeeper-esque nature - overflowing drawers poorly cover the bruises the patron, her foster father likewise, had given her the night prior. She rejects any attempts to reach through the outer shell she surrounds herself in. Only withdrawing deeper and deeper into herself. At night, she sits on a pale blue sleeping bag, knees pulled to her chest. She sings softly to herself as The Patron and Matron's drunken screams echo about the house. Passed around from house to house since birth, as the girl's mother lay dead and her father nowhere in sight, she did not wish to leave them. As cruel as they could be, she shared fond memories with them as well. While their parenting was more than unorthodox, it was the closest thing to family she had ever come. They would have to kill her before she left them.

Her reclusive nature is noticed by few. She is simply that girl who works on the orchard. Indeed, even to herself that is all she is, all her worth summer up in one blunt sentence. No confidence in who she is, or how she looks has ever been held in the girls mind. While self-hate and loneliness torture the little girl, trapped in the dark corners of a numb mind, it never reaches the rough exterior built by years of abuse. She, herself, is nothing but a puppet. Doing what she says without question, as it would take far too much effort to come up with an opinion on her own.

This apathy is one many in her situation develop. This fact is well known to she, the girl posses no pity for herself, or even others who share her misfortune. It has been long since the girl has had any sort of social experience. She used to be able to fake her way through everyday situations. A smile here, a nod there, she could be lost within her own thoughts as they babbled endlessly about pointless things.

Apathetic, not emotionless. She often repeats this in her head. She feels as well as the next person. Anger, Sadness, Despair, aren't foreign to the poor girl. She just cannot seem to express them properly, or at all. So why try? Just bury them deeply within. Building up, and building up loosing themselves within a vortex of dark nothings.

Numbness. Numbness. Numbness. She takes the pills the Matron sets in front of her. They'll help she assured. The white pills give off an eerie glow in her palm. They leave a bitter taste in her throat as they go down. Special from district six she continued. Though the girl doesn't know what significance to the bitter pills they pertained. They are supposed to stabilize her. As when she was a child she was prone to being quite energetic. Manic the man in white called it. It had been so long since she felt that happy. She was stuck in the numbness now. Doubting she would ever escape.

The girl gives a spiteful smile. Tears shine like glass beads at the corner of empty eyes. Luckily the rough gray fabric kept them from searching eyes. She continued along the road, long and dark. Lonely almost.

Like her.

Last Edit: Mar 21, 2014 20:18:42 GMT -5 by ᴥ

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

ᴥ Head RP Tutor 4,550 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen May 5, 2024 7:42:10 GMT -5 oof	Paisley Trenton >D11< DONE Jan 11, 2014 20:38:22 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by ᴥ on Jan 11, 2014 20:38:22 GMT -5 Ew its really short. anyway its done<3
	the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

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last seen May 5, 2024 8:00:15 GMT -5

Paisley Trenton >D11< DONE Jan 12, 2014 1:24:17 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jan 12, 2014 1:24:17 GMT -5

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