Allan Eams | District Nine | Done
Apr 15, 2014 19:53:18 GMT -5
Post by goldskies on Apr 15, 2014 19:53:18 GMT -5
Allan EamsAge:Eighteen
District Nine
Male
Four minutes.
That's how close I was to being the oldest. Sadly my twin brother Edgar beat me out and claims the golden spot in our family. By four minutes as I continually remind him. Look at me, I can't even properly introduce myself without talking about him. We're so different and I'm sick of the constant comparison. Thank God we're not identical.
Edgar's the handsome one. The flirt, the no-good faker. I'm not handsome. The girls don't pay much attention to me. I really couldn't care less anyways. I've got a square, flat face. On the top of my head is mouse-colored hair and on the bottom is a square chin with a freckle on the top, just under the shadow of my too-large bottom lip that makes me seem like I'm constantly pouting. But I never pouted, even as a child. I was quiet mostly.
My eyes are the color of green mold and my skin is rough and bronze. I've got a strong build from working at the factories all day but it doesn't fit me. I look lumpy and worked, like someone who was built skinny and forced to my made bulky my too much work and too little food. Of all my brother I'm the tallest except for Sebastian. He's like a beanpole, that kid. He's only a year younger than me but I treat him like a child. Of all my brothers I'm undoubtedly the least childish.
I have big ears and a quiet voice. Turns out those two things go well together.
Edgar was always the loud one. He got everyone's attention when he was younger by being cute. When he got older and that didn't work anymore he turned to trouble. I, on the other hand, have always hated attention. I'd rather sit by myself undisturbed. I'm kind of awkward, though, it's hard for me to talk to people. I've never really practiced. My ears are always open, though. I listen to things even people don't want me too.
I work in the dirty, crowded factories of District Nine. All day I heave crates of machinery and put things together. Constantly I'm wiping the sweat that beads on my face with my tight forearms. I work in silence. It's deafening in those grungy red-brick factories with the sound of machines and people yelling and whistles blowing. Every moment I want to slam my spade-like hands on the sides of my head and drop to my knees but I can't. I need this job.
I have six brothers and I've been working since I was fourteen to help provide for them. I've been working for four years now and I was the first child in my family to get a job. Sebastian quickly followed and even Edgar had to start making money once he got some girl pregnant. As the little kids get bigger they eat more. My old mother hobbles around all day, her unwashed mousy hair like mine hanging around her face, trying to fix this or that, clean this. I try to help her the best I can. I know one day she is going to collapsed like a rag doll and I will be the new mother. I couldn't handle that.
I am always here, in this tiny shack of the house surrounded by siblings. I don't have many friends except my best friend Ella. She's a spunky one. I like to listen to her talk but I never see her. I'm always helping mother. I'll run hand-me-down clothes over down the washboard over and over again splashing myself with soapy water unintentionally mixed with a bit of soot until my fingers hurt. I wonder when I'm going to get out of here. Never is the answer. I might not even make it to my next birthday if things keep going like they are.
I hear too much. Thugs sell morphling in alleyways and I hear walking home at dusk. My bosses whisper to their mistresses behind closed office doors and my ears perk up. Not that I care. They do what they do and I do what I do. I know how they get rich and it's not by selling junk machinery to the Capitol like they say they do. Let's just say those thugs aren't the ones on the top of the food chain.
The sky was blood-red just last night as I walked home. A homeless man tried to pickpocket me. I grabbed his hand as it reached for my back pocket. I grabbed his filthy wrist. There was a sore on his inner arm and most of his rotten teeth were missing. His mind was obviously not all there. His watery eyes darted and he shook from fatigue and malnutrition. I could not give him the money that was keeping my family alive. I held his wrist and looked down into those half-alive eyes.
"Keep faith," I said. I tried to keep the pity out of my voice. People like that, they don't need pity. He nodded while pulling his wrist away and then sunk into the shadows.
He scared me. Not that he was scary. It was the thought that I was destined to be him, fifty or sixty years from now. There was no if about it. Once you are too old to work if there is no family willing to take care of you then you go to the streets. Most of them have addictions of one kind or another. I couldn't burden my family by sticking around while I'm unable to do any good. I looked back and saw the shadowy building wall where the man just was. In my mind's eyes I could see myself sitting there. Old, wasting away, slowly dying in the smog and poverty of District Nine. Every day people walk by and see the homeless and don't help. You can't help them all and if you feed one they will swarm you like flies you can never be rid of. They hiss in the darkness and melt away to only part human. I wish I could help them. I want to. If I could do anything with my life that's what I would do. I can't.
Plots:
Part of the Eams family plot
Part of the Eams family plot
Codeword: Odair
