sinopa pierre |. district ten

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sinopa pierre |. district ten Apr 27, 2014 17:56:02 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Apr 27, 2014 17:56:02 GMT -5

♛ SINOPA PIERRE ♛

name; sinopa regina pierre. age; seventeen. gender; female. location; district ten. face claim; coming soon. codeword; odair. sisters; zera [12] & ursabelle "ursa" [13]. brothers; leo [14]. father; avery pierre. mother; cora pierre. appearance; red hair, blue eyes, freckled skin. personality; clever, quiet, motherly, compassionate, kind, strategic, intelligent, socially awkward, enjoys solitude, and holds a lot of grudges. history; grew up on a dairy farm, mother left for another man, reads her little sister to bed every night, takes care of her siblings like they're her children.

Last Edit: May 18, 2014 22:50:25 GMT -5 by Deleted

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sinopa pierre |. district ten Apr 27, 2014 19:41:20 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Apr 27, 2014 19:41:20 GMT -5

♛ SINOPA PIERRE ♛

She lied to me. She told me that she would be there for me, that she would never leave me alone. But here I am . . . alone. You're a liar, Momma, you're a liar, but you won't admit it. My mother said that when she left she would take me and my siblings with her, but she didn't.

Instead, she left us all alone, wondering if she ever loved us.

To comfort my little sister, Zera, I read Dear Melissa by Eva Angelo to her every night before bed and she cries as I read the last paragraph of the book. "My heart was empty of the warmth that my mother brought. My arms were empty of her embrace. My life was empty without her, and it would be forever empty, because she never came back. Unlike everything else, my eyes were not empty. They were full of tears." I would read, and then glance to the side to see the glisten of tears on Zera's cheek.

And then I would tuck her and kiss her goodnight before I turned out the lights. I would be able to hear Leo's snores from the room next to the room that I share with Zera as I lie in bed, gazing blankly into the darkness. I never hear Ursa at night: she is out like a light by the time I go to bed.

She's always quiet, even when she's not sleeping. She always has been, I think. Like me . . . like Mom.

I quickly discard the thought and toss a picture of my mother into the fire blazing before me.

It is half past midnight, but I am as awake as I would be during daylight. Tonight will be a sleepless night, I know. Everyone else is wrapped in their warm sheets, but instead I am wrapped in a quilt my mother made as I sit in front of the fireplace with pictures scattered around me.

In my hand I hold a picture of my mother and I. Judging by my round face and my short body, I must have been ten when this picture was taken. In the photo, my mother's arms are wrapped around me as we stand in the fields. A smile is spread across her freckled face and her red hair is tied up in a messy bun. She wears a tank top, jean shorts, and a pair of boots. (The boots are most likely to protect her ankles from snakes.) I too am wearing boots in the picture, but they are brown with pink polka dots and are far too big on my thin child legs. The dark orange-red sundress that I wear does not match my boots at all, but the color is very similar to my straight locks of hair.

One does not need to examine the photo closely to see the striking resemblance between my mother and I. It is a resemblance that did not fade over the years.

Her fair skin is speckled with a deep brown color. These freckles on her skin are the result of spending an enormous amount of time in the sun. I do not spend very long in the sun, so my skin is like porcelain and has only a few freckles. I spend my time in the animal houses on my farm rather than tending to the crops, like my mother would. A straight blanket of red hair sprouts from our scalps, but my mother's is slightly wavy and it frizzier than mine. My hair is sleek and straight, which I must have gotten from my father.

The resemblance between the faces of mother and I is almost creepy. We have similar, almost the same thin nose and almost identical lips, which are thin and wide. I even have her straight eyebrows that are a few shades darker than my hair. We share the same body structure: willowy, with a flat chest and tiny curves. My mother's body may be unfeminine and would be deemed unattractive by some people, her facial beauty cannot be matched. Unfortunately, I did not inherit her beauty. I am considered average, nothing that would catch the eye, by my peers, but I am alright with that. (I don't need to please anyone but myself and my siblings.)

Beauty and freckles is not the only thing that I do not share with my mother. Our eyes are completely different colors. Hers are dark copper with splotches of brighter copper around the pupil of her eye. My eyes are bright sapphire blue, a brilliant color that cannot be matched by the sea or the sky. The beautiful color can only be compared to a sapphire. (I have only seen one of these in a book about gems that I own. I am not rich enough to have seen a sapphire. I am middle class.)

I cut off my thoughts about how much I look like my mother and toss the photo into the hungry flames. "I don't want to look like you," I say, as if she were present to hear my cruel words. "You're nothing to me. You left us to be with some stupid guy." The words sound strange coming out of my mouth. They are sharper than usual and angrier than ever. My voice is as soft as a feather-stuffed pillow and I don't say mean things like that. You're better than that, Sinopa, I scold myself. But I know that I won't stop saying bad things about my mother, because they're true, because they need to be said, because I'm angry with her.

I am lying about my mother not meaning anything to me and I know it. My mother still means something to me. If she didn't, there wouldn't be a gaping hole in my heart. If I didn't care about her, I wouldn't constantly wish that she would come back. I wouldn't wish that we could raise the animals on the family dairy farm together. I wouldn't wish that she would remarry my father. I do care about you, Mom, I think. But you should be sorry for what you did. And you're not. I hate what you did, but I don't hate you as a person. You're not a good mother. If you were you would have stayed.

"You're a horrible mother," I say, tossing more pictures into the fire. "Why do I even consider you a mother? I'm more of a mother than you were, than you'll ever be. I take care of Zera and Leo and Ursa, not you!" I toss a wad of photos into the flames, but it doesn't satisfy me.

"I might look like you, Mom, but I'm not like you. I am a better person than you," I growl as I burn pictures of her.

It's true. I am practically the opposite of my mother. She is careless and loud and a socialite, while I am antisocial and quiet and can't seem to talk to new people. It's awkward trying to make conversation, so I just don't. I would rather be alone, like I am now, than be with people. (People other than Zera and Leo and Ursa.) I don't like people in general. They are cruel, some more than others. Most of them lack compassion. They do not feel deeply for others, not in the way that I do. My mother is no exception.

My mother is absent-minded and never thinks before she acts. I, on the other hand, always have a plan. Whether it is elaborate or simple, I never fail to create one. I never do anything before listing out all of the possible outcomes in my head. I never act without strategy, without thought. I am as clever as a fox, so I suppose I am named correctly. My name, Sinopa, means fox. (I'm sure I was named for my red hair, but thinking that I am named for my intelligent and cleverness makes me feel better.)

I am so different from her, but I do share one thing with my mother. I share the tendency to hold a grudge with my mother, but I refuse to act on my feelings like she does. I lack the urge for revenge, the need to settle the score. Getting even is pointless. I do not see how it satisfies people, how it keeps them sane.

I have thought about revenge before, but I failed to imagine revenge building me back up. It would bring me down even lower than I was before. I would be flooded with guilt and sorrow and regret.

I hope my mother is flooded with guilt and sorrow and regret. I don't enjoy wishing cruel things upon people, but I can't resist. She deserves to feel that way, and if she doesn't, she couldn't possibly be human.

"Fuck you, Cora," I say. My mother's real name is alien on my lips. "I hope your new marriage ends in divorce just like your marriage with Dad."

And I throw the last picture of my mother into the fire.

Last Edit: May 19, 2014 20:15:24 GMT -5 by Deleted

Deleted 0 POSTS last seen Apr 24, 2024 23:15:50 GMT -5	sinopa pierre \|. district ten May 18, 2014 22:28:03 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Deleted on May 18, 2014 22:28:03 GMT -5

Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] Retired Staff 6,346 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him last seen Nov 17, 2023 15:15:56 GMT -5 cozy, queer af	sinopa pierre \|. district ten May 18, 2014 22:40:55 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on May 18, 2014 22:40:55 GMT -5 Accepted!
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