helen carey {district e i g h t} fin~

ᴥ Head RP Tutor 4,548 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen Apr 24, 2024 20:15:33 GMT -5 oof	helen carey {district e i g h t} fin~ Apr 6, 2014 18:55:23 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by ᴥ on Apr 6, 2014 18:55:23 GMT -5 name: helen carey age: twelve district: eight gender: female o d a i r
	Last Edit: Apr 11, 2014 20:16:06 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

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helen carey {district e i g h t} fin~ Apr 8, 2014 17:42:38 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ᴥ on Apr 8, 2014 17:42:38 GMT -5

and why do we like to hurt so much?

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H E L E N C A R E Y
DISTRICT8 | TWELVE | FEMALE

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I used to think she was invincible. My eyes always found the deep blacks and blues blossoming upon her skin, with almost sick fascination. Father's hands were so large, marred by callouses and scars. The occasional times my skin touched his, it was like knives. Dry as the glass which sat forgotten next to him. Savannah Carey protected me... she protected all of us. She went through hell for us, and she survived.

So, why is she gone?

I've always been fascinated by pain. A morbid curiosity pushed to the deepest, darkest corners of my mind. To be ignored, to be forgotten. I did well most times, becoming a sweet, frail child. Easily startled and shy. Eyes dancing across the floor as she spoke, as not to meet those fixated upon the top of her brown mop. I'd like to say that is all I am. An innocent girl. But... what is innocence really? Ignorance of pain and suffering, things so fundamental to life. For, without the bad how would we know what is truly good. I don't want to be weak, they all think I am. I can see it when they look at me, eyes various shades of green, so much mine own, shining with pity for a small, little girl. To prove them wrong, I watched. The sweet and sour emotions begging me to recoil, yet I was unable to look away. Savannah's pain became my own, although father has yet to lay a finger on me.

It made me strong. Seeing the suffering they tried to hide from me. And they were wrong, thinking I couldn't handle it. They still don't know what I did, for long hours as father hurt her. She was strong. The opposite of what they expected of me. While the guilt of my silence threatens to overwhelm me, it's all lost now. None of it mattered, in the end. As I am still weak. I'll never, ever be as strong as Savannah Carey.

My hair has grown half a centimeter in the past eight days. It was always exactly two shades lighter than most of my siblings. Almost blonde, yet still managing to match their brunette hue. It falls to my waist, the tips curled into tight ringlets. When I cry, my eyes brew with oncoming storms. Usually the color of a mint leaf, thunder and lightning corrupt them. They turn a shade emerald, red veins staining the alabaster white. Tears burn fair skin, red streaks making their way to a soft chin. I'm too young to be beautiful, but I'm truly ugly when I cry. I rarely cried, before the reaping. Now, only a pin need drop to coax the warm rain from me.

Is nothing scared?

Every tear shed has fallen into the palms of the capitolites. They fed on my dismay, shoving wire spheres on long shafts under my nose. Their questions far too personal, and fired far to rapidly for a grieving child to understand. "How do you feel now that Savannah has entered the games?" "What is your opinion on her training score?" "Do you think your sister will make it out of the games?"

"I don't know." It was safe, an answer which required little emotional attachment, and was definite. One which got them away from me. It allowed me the freedom which we had never possessed. To bury my head under the covers, to not look for once. The responsibility I felt to share my sister's pain overshadowed by my need to escape. To hide under my covers and sleep. I didn't want to watch her die. It was different, when she was indestructible. When the only thing that hurt her were a father's fists. The crimson only leaking from her mouth or nose after a particularly bad beating. Now, it falls in waves, from the wounds I can't seem to tear my eyes away.

Pain has always fascinated me.

It's only a matter of time now. Father has become worse. Poison sliding down his throat by the bottle. If I didn't know better, I'd say he misses her. He's worse than he ever was. Louder. scarier. more eager to wrap his hands around our throats. I've never, truly been this scared of my father. It's our turn, now. We can't hide behind a sister who's long dead.

I've seen too much for a girl my age. Ironic, that the year before my first reaping was laced with such tragedy.The moment her name was called, I couldn't help but realize that it was over. My eyes fixed upon her as she was hurt many years before it was broadcasted to all of panem. Too willing to take the pain of others.

I cried, you know. When she died. I didn't want to see it. I tried to close my eyes and cover my ears, to think of anything but the horrible scene playing out in front of me. Had it been any other, I would have curled into her chest, let her arms hold me close until the gruesome death way over.

I'm a hypocrite, really. I never shed a year for her pain until it really mattered. Only now, did I realize that father could have easily ended her life, just as the blonde boy had. He wouldn't have needed the knives. I'm sure he's capable of it, I've seen it in his eyes, now that his drinking has increased. The gleam, like a dying star in green eyes sickeningly like my own. I'd seen it in the eyes of the tributes, an array of madness slowly squeezing the humanity out of them. Whoever won that games would be just like my father. They'd never stop hurting others, not after what they'd gone through.

I never truly realized what hate was until this games. Maybe I hated father, for what he did. But, he's my father, the only father I have. As much as he disgusts me, there will always be that... sickening love. One that makes me hate myself for it. How could I love a man, who was as heartless as the child who had killed her. That stupid blonde... he's sickening. He watched her as she bled, spewed words of hatred as he threw small knives into her flesh. They attacked the weak because they could, and fled when they killed their boy.

Cowards... cowards... cowards. That's what they were. Afraid of the pain which was inflicted upon them. Not like Sav, who took pain so often without so much of a cry. She wasn't afraid of dying...

I won't be either. I'll be strong like her, and take whatever life gives me. I won't just watch the pain he inflicts anymore, I won't be a coward. It's my turn to take on this burden. Even as the youngest, I'm stronger. I have to be. For them. For Savannah. To get rid of the guilt which churns my stomach and burns my throat.

Pain has always fascinated me.

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Last Edit: Apr 11, 2014 20:15:26 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 4,548 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen Apr 24, 2024 20:15:33 GMT -5 oof	helen carey {district e i g h t} fin~ Apr 11, 2014 20:16:40 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by ᴥ on Apr 11, 2014 20:16:40 GMT -5 done~
	the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

cass Retired Staff 4,822 POSTS last seen Oct 24, 2021 18:11:43 GMT -5	helen carey {district e i g h t} fin~ Apr 11, 2014 20:43:29 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by cass on Apr 11, 2014 20:43:29 GMT -5