ariana lacarte {d11} fin

She remembers the moment you were born so clearly. Dazed by the beaming summer blaze, shining down on you, she felt the pains instantaneously as soon as she beant to pick up the crop. Her facial expression suddenly changed, she winced with pain, rubbing her swollen stomach vigorously, raising her other hand high into the warm air, waving for help. Eventually a lady would come, but by the time she did, you were lying sleepily in her arms. Your eyes would flicker every now and again, but you were so peaceful.

It was like the silence could never be broken.

As you sit in your red and brown pinstripe chair, the world opens up to you like you'd grown a new set of eyes. The breeze wafts in through your open window. The blanket gets pulled up and you snuggle yourself beneath it, struggling to find warmth. You know you should probably close the window, but the feeling of being so comfortable and cosy in front of the tiny television draws you away from the thought. The sound of distant voices calling for help in the nearby fields and the general hustle and bustle from the town centre pleasures you, it surrounds you and relaxes you like it always has. It would be something you'd enjoy forever.

They call you a masterpiece, a wonder. You see yourself as 'another one'. 'Another one' of the people in your class, 'another one' of your parents children, and 'another one' of the Capitols entertainment sources. You wouldn't care though, you'd always cared less about what you thought of yourself compared to the ocean of opinions that others lay on your front door step. The blonde haired boy at school who constantly walks around with his trousers halfway down his legs compliments you on a daily basis, so does your brother, your sister and your mother. Your family are proud of you, but the boy often brings up how beautiful your face is shaped. Carved so carefully and delicately with precision to create the 'masterpiece' which he refers to you as. When you look at yourself, you just see another face, another skull, another set of worthless organs and features in the eyes of the Capitol officials.

You're not a puppet, don't let them play you.

You're the tallest in your family, at only fifteen. Taller than mother, only just taller than father and taller than every single one of your younger siblings. Life to you isn't a competition, but you can't help taking a slice of pride and accomplishment in knowing that they rely on you to reach into the cupboard and grab the tin can of beans at the very back. Standing at 5ft 10 and a half (exactly), you know you'd grown up so quickly. You are conflicted on your height. You like the fact your whole family looks up to you, (literally), but if you were to fall, you'd fall further than them. The distance from your head to the ground is far greater. What if you were to slip, your reactions too slow to put your hands down? You'd be a goner. These were the thoughts that made your mother know that you weren't the same girl she treasured in her arms all those years ago.

But the things that really sets you apart is your unique ability to eat as much as you want and not get fat. Your brother clearly doesn't have this problem, your parents often lie awake at night worrying about his weight, but with you, it's the complete opposite. Everything you eat just goes. It doesn't cling on and attach itself to your frame. You'd be envious of the girls with nice, athletic bodies which curves in all the right places. They'd see you as the stick, the lollipop, the crispy french fry which you can snap using very little effort at all. That mind of yours tries to let it not reach your soul, but it automatically sucks it in and files it away into the "thoughts about me" metaphorical folder.

As the night slaughters the day, you awaken and become your true self. Sleep is irrelevant to you, and always has been. You remember the days of trying to get to sleep so desperately when your twin brothers were babies, how you longed for the silence you have now. But now you have it, you ignore it. You lie awake at night and think about the world and all of its flaws. Perhaps it makes you feel better about yourself, perhaps it's a way for you to remove feelings from your mind. Only I know why you really do it. And you do it because you know its the truth. You're a perfectionist, and in your eyes, if it's not perfect, it's not good. Panem, to you, has numerous, countless flaws which can be exploited in a hundred and one different ways. It can't be good, and it never will be. Especially whilst those games are still going.

Your brothers and sisters are your friends, they have a sense of reliance on you. The big sister is a title which never fails to haunt you. You feel an immense amount of pressure piling up on your shoulders to be a good example to them, show them how to live successfully and happily. You struggle at times, you can feel the weight getting heavier and heavier, your knees beginning to give way - but you don't give up. And that's what you'll always teach them.

The thing that fascinates you the most is your friendship with your sister. Erin. She's so precious to you. Even when she isn't with you, you feel her and you know her. You'll never forget the day that you were both picking apples, you with your feet firmly on the floor and Erin standing on a creaking step ladder. The vibrant crimson color of the apples floods back into your head, and your head plays the memory so vividly, you think you're there. The rotting, creaky, wooden step ladder beneath your sisters tiptoeing feet, was shifting. The basket you were holding was wrapped in between your porcelain fingers, but then the ladder gave way. The wicker basket flung itself out of your hand, the once perfect apples rolled aimlessly around on the ground, bruised and scarred. Without thinking, you swooped in like a saviour from the heavens above and saved her from falling onto the cold and bland ground. The tears were already rolling down her pale cheeks, but you knew you might've just saved her life. But you'd always question yourself on whether you actually did.

She's probably stronger than you'll ever be.

You hope that one day you will flourish into the most perfect of perfect, the most caring and kind of them all. Your mother has her doubts, she always has about you, but you are determined to prove her wrong. One day, you'll have the chance to show her and prove you are more than just a girl who spends hours each day filling the same basket with apples from the same orchard every day. You want to show you're worthy, and you want to make a change, regardless of what others think.