♨ hestia ambrosia -- d4 -- fin ♨

hestia ambrosia              i'm the colorless sunrise that's never good enough There is always a shadow cast over her small shoulders, casted by a black hat that fans out like rays of darkness. It protects pale skin that refuses to tan and stays a pasty pale. But, once in a while, it's removed by knobby knuckled hands, letting light pour onto her pristine skin. Exposed, a crown of deep brown twists lays loose at her shoulders, textured by braids and beads of her choosing. Strands brush across her long lashes, forming thick bangs over her forehead. Her face seems nothing but a ghost of a memory, a face where if you turned around for a simple second, you would forget she even existed. Bright blue eyes the color of vibrantly hued stained glass, a long, tapering nose, full lips that seem to match the rosy color of her low set cheekbones. She reaches up and places the black disk upon its thrown once more. Her steps are out of time, wobbly and unsure. Grace isn't carried with her, you can see it in the way she stumbles down the beach, leaving messy imprints in the fine sand. She is short in stature, but at sunset, the shadow she cats is long and thin. Gentle waves lap at her small feet, curling around her ankles as if she were an old friend. And, perhaps, she was. Her skinny legs move in awkward strides. Everything about her seemed so small, as if she tried hard enough, she could fold into herself and simply disappear. So pale and translucent, like a ghost shimmering across the beach. She stopped, facing the ocean. There was such a calm manner to her, something so mild about her no one can really place. She pulls something small out of her satchel, which rests neatly on her hip in a worn, leather heap. A lantern, papery and thin, a small kindling in her clumsy fingers. A lighter flicks on in her other hand, and soon the lantern is illuminated, shadows dancing as the flame burns down the candle inside. Then it floats away, joining the oncoming midnight stars. "Come back, Daddy," And she walks off, the words hanging in the still, salty air. i'm the wind that's in your hair that ruffles you up

hestia ambrosia              if you can find a reason you can  let me know Dear Father, It's my birthday today. I miss you, and I wish you were here. If you ever want to come back, please do. I don't have anyone to talk to other than Mother and Posie. The rest of the kids at school ignore me. I don't know why. It gets a little lonely sometimes, because it's worse than what it was like when I was teased. ( You know about that, I've written it several times before). I told them to leave me alone. Everyone has outdone themselves. All my peers, everyone acts so contemptful around me. They treat me like nothing, just dust to be swept under the rug. I think even the teachers are starting to give the least amount of attention to me. When I talk, no one listens. When I fall, no one moves to help me get up. I swear, if I screamed, everyone would ignore me. If I died, no one would notice. It's kind of saddening. But Mother says I'm painfully optimistic about it. I'm not exactly sure what she sees, though. No one seems to care anymore, as if I'm simply invisible. And I try and try, everyday, for maybe the chance someone might see me. And I am forced to put a smile on my face because if I give up hope, what do I have left? Though after many years of being ignored, it gets kind of lonely. But you wouldn't ignore me, right? Though, sometimes people do pay attention to me. Sometimes. But it's only to trip me or to steal my hat. I suppose it's attention, though. One time, someone asked me to help with their homework. I should have known it was too good to be true. While I was gone, they graffitied my locker, scribbled all over my papers, and positioned a bucket of water of the door that led out of the room. It was humiliating, with everyone in the hall watching. I told myself I wasn't going to cry, but I did anyway. Everyone laughed at me when there were tears running down my face. I thought I was being nice. I thought that, if someone I helped noticed, maybe people would see me. Maybe I'm too nice for my own good. It hurts, Father. It really hurts. I know it's sort of an overreaction. Posie says I overreact a lot. Do you think I do? Maybe I do. I'm never really sure of myself. Oh, what a miracle it would be if I were noticed. Popular, even? Posie is now. You would be proud of her. I guess I know it will never happen, but a girl can dream, right? That's how you raised me. I know it's far out of reach, but maybe, just maybe. one day I'll wake up and realize everyone ignoring me was just a bad dream, It's really too desperate for me to tell anyone but you; they'll think I'm selfish. But honestly, what if I could be like Posie. It's not just her winning smile, but it's that energetic aura she carries around that draws everyone to her. Maybe, one day I could be like that. I'm not jealous of her, I just admire her. Of course, if I was jealous of her, me saying I love her would be a lie. But I do love her. And I don't lie that much, do I? The games still rage on. I don't like them, as I've said many times before in these letters. They would take me away from Mother and Posie. Don't worry, I heeded your advice. I'm not a career, and I think that's possibly the reason why everyone hates me. I'll never be sadistic, or feel eager to slit someone's throat at a moment's notice. I'll never be like that, I promise. Besides, we're too poor for any of us to be enrolled in an academy, so what's the point? I don't like killing or death and especially the games. You know that. If I had the power, I would stop the Capitol's reign. Don't tell anyone I said that, or I might get in trouble. But it's true, and, I feel like I can be honest with you. I love you, and I miss you. Come back soon,   i won't blame you i'll just turn and go

hestia ambrosia              searching to find myself but all i find is you "When will you be back, Daddy?" Her tiny voice was carried off by the wind, but he could still hear. He knelt down next to his daughter, a strained smile playing across his face. But, being of age four, she really couldn't tell the difference. "I'll be back, Hestia." I'll be back I'll be back I'll be back. She looked at him, and nodded. "Promise?" She held up her pinky finger, her wide eyes looking at him expectantly. "Promise." He said, a little hesitantly. No, he didn't like breaking promises. Hestia didn't notice. He pressed his lips to her forehead and stood up. Hestia would've followed him, but her mother was holding her hand, with baby Posie in her arms. And he sailed away. Gone.  "Mama, please don't make me go back!" Tears streamed down her round, eight year old face. Hestia knew from the first day she hated career training ( the sight of blood made her puke ), and at the beginning of the year her mother said if she didn't like it by the end, she wouldn't enroll her again. Secretly, she was hoping she wouldn't, since her husband was gone, the flow of money was not as steady as before. Hopefully Posie wouldn't be fond of it either. Of course, if Hestia's father was there, he would've advised against it anyway. But her mother had given up hope. He was scheduled to be back two years ago, if not earlier. To Posie and her, he was nothing but a man of broken promises. But Hestia kept hoping. "We're gonna play a game," There was a huddle of kids in the corner, while Hestia was simply minding her own business at the other end of the sixth grade classroom. "We're gonna pretend Hestia's invisible." That was a start of chaos -- for Hestia, at least. She thought that maybe after a day went by, it would wear off. No. One month, she tried getting their attention, but they pretended she was air. Two, three months, and other kids started to do it too. Four, five months, and teachers got in on it too. One, two, three, four years, and Hestia still vies for maybe a little eye contact, or an exchange of small talk. Hoping. "Dear Father," She whispered what she was writing out aloud. With no one to talk to at school, she was beginning to be a little lonely. High school was always the worst. Posie we beginning to be a popular kid who everyone liked, while her older sister was getting nowhere in life. She would tell everyone how insane she was, still desperately hoping their father would return. Saying that she let out lanterns at night, just wishing for him to come back. Of course, if she had known him, maybe she would be a bit more respectful. Hestia loved him. In fact, Hestia loved all of her family to pieces, because Posie wasn't the snobbish girl at home. She was adorable, sweet, kind. But she got sucked into the peer acceptance tornado, and she wears a mask to school everyday, somewhat like Hestia did. Except she didn't let off little lights of hope, and didn't start her night with "Dear Father" and end it with "Come back soon, Hestia", nor did she leave a box of hopeful conversations under her bed, because she knew, deep down, she would never see her father again. i can hardly stand myself so what am i to you?