cilla libertine, district four | re-sub.

Sailors will tell you that I am crafted from sand, long limbs tied together by seaweed ever so fragile, ever so frail.

They will watch me as I linger by the pier, doe eyes the shade of misty waters scanning my surroundings as the sailors' boats drift them further and further into the sea's caressing embrace. They'll snicker as they examine my slowly fading figure, body clad in black and strands of faded red falling across my face, almost as if to hide my sins. “Show your face, little thief!” they'll call, waving with their clenched fists after carelessly tossing nets into the water. It's such a fragile game that they play, killing in an attempt to make a living; such a beautiful irony regarding such a foul sin.

And that's coming from the girl who drowns in her own.

“Who are you?” they boom and roar like thunder, voices skipping across the water like the smoothest of rocks, but my ears do not obtain their shouts. My fragile legs only react to their calls by bursting into action, carrying me into their wooden and diminutive little shacks. Eyes stinging from the stench of rotting meat, I dive into crates full of dead fish and cubes of ice. I gather as many that I can carry, and with fickle fingers, I pluck up a few stray coins that scatter across the flooring. Stealing in an attempt to survive is a far different sin; this won't kill them, nor is it beautiful.

They call to me once more, but like the sand we think we know so well, I disappear as fast as the tide rises and falls. Hood over my face and body hunched, passersby whisper about the petty little girl with the stinking fish in her hands and jingling change in her pocket. “What is your name? Show your face, maybe?” they call, but I only walk faster, small feet propelling me away from the voices of  the sirens that I can't bring myself to know. It is not until I make it to my hidden alleyway, dark and damp, that I shake my head and allow my hood to slide off, dried hair the color of the cinnamon I enjoyed as a child framing my gaunt features. Tiny streams of light bring notice to the stains of purple underneath my eyes, chapped and thin lips pulling back into a smile as a total of six dogs scamper out of the darkness. Whining and panting over the fish, they bark. I go down to their level, their trained noses mashing against my face as they greet me in their own little way.

The dogs, once so skinny and so unwanted, have shifted from mere mirrors that showed only my true reflection and into a wholesome family. I've never quite felt love, but when I'm surrounded by the creatures that are just as broken and alone as I, it feels as if I am at peace. As if I am floating across the vast sea, fingers dipping below the surface and halfway touching eternity.

It's not until I hear my only true family member's voice that I realize how far away from eternity I actually am. “Keep those beasts away from our food!” shrieks Karina, my twin sister. “You wanna catch a disease? Kick 'em!” I only bat my eyes, legs straightening out as I stand.

“I'm not gonna kick 'em, they're not hurtin' a-,” but my speech is cut off by a shrill yelp, Karina's boot latching onto the face of one of my children. I gasp, but she only smirks.

“You gonna cry?” she purrs, snatching the fish from my hands with a nonchalant air. “If I had a gun, I'd kill 'em all. Not worth the time, I say.” I bite my lip, glancing down in sadness. I want to mumble an apology of sorts, perhaps maybe even blurt out an insult, but I'm too scared of her heated tongue branding my psyche. I nod, feet kicking at the ground.

“Get any money?” she asks, tilting her head, scraggly and silvery-blonde locks sliding down her shoulders. I reach into my pocket quickly, gathering the change with my fingers and thrusting out my clenched fist. “Cat got your tongue?” she teases harshly, her slender fingers collecting the money.

“No, I've just got nothin' to say,” I speak, kneeling down and stroking my fingertips across the fur of one of my darlings. Karina smiles smugly, hands crossing over her chest.

”You used to have so much to say, my little thief.”

---

“Karina! Karina!” squealed a childlike Cilla, bright eyes full of life and bouncing waves of blonde framing her cherubic face. “Look what I found!” she proclaimed, bursting into Karina's room, hands clasped together in a gentle, motherly manner.

“What's that you've got?” Karina questioned, delicate legs hanging off from her bed as she sat upwards. “Did you steal another animal or something? Cilla, you're going to give us all a dis-,” before Karina could finish her cynical retortion, Cilla chimed in.

“I didn't steal her,” she whined, hands opening up to reveal a tiny bird. One of its wings appeared quite damaged, but it somehow seemed to be at peace inside of the little girl's fingers. “I found her, I think her wing is broken,” she said, using her now free hand to stroke the bird's fragile head. “I'm gonna raise her! I'm gonna make her feel better.”

Karina rolled her eyes, body tumbling backwards with a groan and falling onto her bed. “You're such an idiot, Cilla. How are we identical?” she questioned, eyes scampering over to her twin sister's form. Cilla certainly had a much more angelic look, fair face and delicate lips, eyes never ceasing to sparkle. Karina, though similar, was quite a bit more angular. Sharper eyes and pursed lips, hair a far more silvery shade of blonde. It would take a fool to not notice that the girls were somewhat identical, but it would take a very wise man to notice how different they truly were. “If you want to waste your time taking care of petty animals, be my guest. But, if you'd excuse me, I'm going to take care of our dying mother.” Karina flung herself out of bed, her longer legs carrying her straight by Cilla.

Cilla pouted, face slapped by the words of her mother. “Mama's not dying, Karina! Take that back!” she yelled, lips trembling. Karina turned, a quirk of her eyebrow igniting some emotion onto her blank face. “Why are you so mean, Kari?”

“Don't call me Kari, first off,” Karina said, slender arms crossing over her chest. “I'm Karina, you got that? Don't start switching to stupid pet-names. Secondly, you'd have to be blind not to see that Mama's dying. She can hardly walk, we have to fix her food, and you can just smell the death around her.” Karina unfolded her arms, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. She reached out a hand, a slender finger poking into Cilla's cheek. “It's not that I'm mean; I'm just not stuck in a fantasy.”

---

Eyes blurring, I force myself to escape from my childhood memory. Once upon a time, I had been so kind and so gentle; now I am nothing but a thief, fickle fingers and greedy hands gathering all that I can. It had been my love, so warm and so bright, that ended the life of my mother. And now I scream every night because of it. It was Karina's turn to feed mother, but due to my swelled heart and fear of her passing, I had deemed it safe to fix her a midnight stew. I had poured my heart and soul into that soup of meat and broth and vegetables that I innocently snatched from one of the small markets that lined the district; they wouldn't mind, I had assured myself.

I sang and twirled about with my little bird, Karina screeching at me from upstairs to “Shut up!” and mother's weak voice calling out for us to calm down and play nicely. I had noticed my friend's song growing weak, her head lowering down to one side, and with a determined smile, I scooped her up and ran to my room. “I'll feed you,” I had said, unaware of the stove that still burned so warmly downstairs. I had given the bird mushed worms and droplets of water until it chirped with a blink of its beady eyes, my nose oblivious to the smoke that slid through my threshold.

“Cilla! Cilla! Cilla! What did you do?!” Karina's voice had been what broke me out of my trance, her tiny form rushing into my room, strong hand clutching onto one of my arms and dragging me out of the area, my fingers letting my friend fall from my hand and onto the bed. “You've set the p-,” a quick burst of smoke had caused Karina to cough, the bend of my free arm's elbow quickly coming up to greet my mouth. “You've set the place on fire! What did you do?!”

“I-I fixed some s-ste-...,” I had stuttered, and with a shake, Karina screamed at me, but my heart had lingered on the thought of my mother and my friend, still trapped in their rooms and unsafe.

“I told you to never fix food so late at night, Cilla! You-,” the smoke had gotten thicker, and the sound of my mother's hacking and my friend's frantic chirping entered my eardrums.

“We've got to help them!” I had screeched, but that's when the fire started to blaze, heat causing our small home to creak.

“No, we can't carry Mama on our o-own, Cilla,” Karina had sputtered out, a sick form of bravery plastering itself onto her features. “If you go back into your room to get your stupid bird you'll c-choke to death, and you know we c-can't save Mama, Cilla. We have to get out!”

Karina had dragged me out of the house, our bodies burned, and hers more so than my own. We were safe, alive, but the only thing I could focus on was the frantic chirping of my little friend and the pained calls of my mother. “Karina! Karina! Karina!”

“Cilla! Cilla! Cilla!”

---

Once again, I force myself out of a memory that threatens to ensnare me in fear, hand sliding through my hair as I rise to my feet.

“Cilla! Cilla! Cilla!” seeps into my eardrums, Karina snapping her fingers at me. “What the hell is the matter with you? Are you off in your little fantasy world dancing with bony strays and burnt birds?” Karina had once been so brave, so fierce, and now she's a churning whirlpool of liquid fire.

“I-,” I begin, but I'm quick to find myself trailing off. I am a fragile girl, a girl who kills with the love in her heart, and I'm all alone in this world.

I had once been so gentle, so pure; now, I am a girl made of sand, corrupted heart held together by quickly breaking seaweed.

“Sometimes it's easier to live in a dream, Karina.”