G.G KWAN | AVOX (fin)
Jan 16, 2015 2:20:57 GMT -5
Post by shrimp on Jan 16, 2015 2:20:57 GMT -5
"SUNDRA WIE"
GINA "G.G" KWAN
CAPITOL [AVOX]
NINETEEN
FEMALE
ODAIR
In Eight she was a fire that fed on anything it touched. Angry and outspoken, brash and stubborn. Gina was always a danger to her family, and her mother knew it. The question had eventually turned from "How can we stop her?" to "When will she be caught?"
Of course they loved her - GG was a smart girl, and far too caring for her own good. She'd take shift after shift in the factory, sewing and lifting and running this way and that. But GG was always the social butterfly, making friends here and there, muttering about the unfairness of their lives, how they all deserved better. "Someone's gotta say it," she'd spit back at them when confronted.
Deep down, Gina must have known the threat she was to her family's survival. But headstrong and too caught up in her teenage years and rebellious logic and sometimes she'd forget that what fell upon her could fall upon her mother, her father, her younger siblings, her sister who had grown up and gotten married and had kids of her own. She was just sixteen when she first found out about the Uprising. She was just eighteen when she and her friends first talked about starting a protest, starting a change.
"Enough was enough", they would say, whispered in back-alleys and in speakeasies where the lights were dim and it was far too easy to slip into a group unnoticed. They would celebrate their future successes with cheers and alcohol, spend nights staring up at the sky and thinking of the day when their families wouldn't fear of starving to death, wouldn't have to send their children to death each year. A life free of perpetual mourning.
Of course, the Peacekeepers heard about it sooner or later, bursting into the factory and rounding up members here and there, some shot in the district square and others sent off to who knows where. GG had been running late to work that day, had barely stepped foot into the factory when someone crashed into her and told her to run. So run she did, panic in her heart and instinct sparking throughout her nerves. But one wrong move cost her everything.
The train had made sense at the time; hide in the train, jump off at another district. She hadn't known it was a direct line straight to the heart of the entire operation. When they found her, GG knew that it was game over.
They tortured her first, burning her face and hitting her with iron and anything else they could scrounge up in a hurry. When she was dragged out of the center barely anyone would be able to recognize her, with all of the bruises and gashes and the split lip, the knocked out teeth, the broken nose, the tongue that was ripped away with a scream and a snarl.
It could have been worse, GG would think to herself when holed up in a cramped cell with countless others, treason having been whispered from their lips. At least I'm alive. She'd try not to think about her family, who would undoubtedly be questioned. Her sisters, her brothers, her parents - the terror in her chest never went away. But she'd flip the long, brown hair out of her face and try to curl up to get some sleep, her 5'9" frame squished against the corner of the cell.
It only got worse from there. Her bruises had faded, her cuts had healed. A man picked her up a month later with ambition in his eyes.
The Society welcomed her in with scalpels and collagen, concealer and dyes and pain beyond what she had thought to be possible. Molding her. GG was left without a mirror for months, and when they finally forced her in front of one she screamed.
That wasn't her. The girl standing in the mirror wasn't the girl from Eight who worked 3 part-time jobs and fought against the Capitol until they crushed her with an iron fist. Where were Gina's moles that she had grown to love? Where was the button nose and the thin lips and the ashen tint to her skin? Where was the bitten fingernails and eye-bags that wouldn't go away unless attacked by caffeine?
No, the girl standing in front of the mirror was a copy of a girl who had died years ago. A girl with dark brown hair and brown eyes, kind and caring and elegant. A girl who met her match in an arena filled with ice and snow, who fell in love and fought for survival. A girl who was raised to say please and thank you, to keep her head down and her voice soft. A girl who GG would never, could never, be.
She's fought them ever since, trying to find a way out, trying to find a way to be herself again. Sundra Wie was dead long ago - that's not her problem, and GG wants nothing to do with her resurrection. The Capitol's taken away her home, her freedom, her voice, her looks. They won't take away anything else while her heart still beats and her lungs still move.
Of course they loved her - GG was a smart girl, and far too caring for her own good. She'd take shift after shift in the factory, sewing and lifting and running this way and that. But GG was always the social butterfly, making friends here and there, muttering about the unfairness of their lives, how they all deserved better. "Someone's gotta say it," she'd spit back at them when confronted.
Deep down, Gina must have known the threat she was to her family's survival. But headstrong and too caught up in her teenage years and rebellious logic and sometimes she'd forget that what fell upon her could fall upon her mother, her father, her younger siblings, her sister who had grown up and gotten married and had kids of her own. She was just sixteen when she first found out about the Uprising. She was just eighteen when she and her friends first talked about starting a protest, starting a change.
"Enough was enough", they would say, whispered in back-alleys and in speakeasies where the lights were dim and it was far too easy to slip into a group unnoticed. They would celebrate their future successes with cheers and alcohol, spend nights staring up at the sky and thinking of the day when their families wouldn't fear of starving to death, wouldn't have to send their children to death each year. A life free of perpetual mourning.
Of course, the Peacekeepers heard about it sooner or later, bursting into the factory and rounding up members here and there, some shot in the district square and others sent off to who knows where. GG had been running late to work that day, had barely stepped foot into the factory when someone crashed into her and told her to run. So run she did, panic in her heart and instinct sparking throughout her nerves. But one wrong move cost her everything.
The train had made sense at the time; hide in the train, jump off at another district. She hadn't known it was a direct line straight to the heart of the entire operation. When they found her, GG knew that it was game over.
They tortured her first, burning her face and hitting her with iron and anything else they could scrounge up in a hurry. When she was dragged out of the center barely anyone would be able to recognize her, with all of the bruises and gashes and the split lip, the knocked out teeth, the broken nose, the tongue that was ripped away with a scream and a snarl.
It could have been worse, GG would think to herself when holed up in a cramped cell with countless others, treason having been whispered from their lips. At least I'm alive. She'd try not to think about her family, who would undoubtedly be questioned. Her sisters, her brothers, her parents - the terror in her chest never went away. But she'd flip the long, brown hair out of her face and try to curl up to get some sleep, her 5'9" frame squished against the corner of the cell.
It only got worse from there. Her bruises had faded, her cuts had healed. A man picked her up a month later with ambition in his eyes.
The Society welcomed her in with scalpels and collagen, concealer and dyes and pain beyond what she had thought to be possible. Molding her. GG was left without a mirror for months, and when they finally forced her in front of one she screamed.
That wasn't her. The girl standing in the mirror wasn't the girl from Eight who worked 3 part-time jobs and fought against the Capitol until they crushed her with an iron fist. Where were Gina's moles that she had grown to love? Where was the button nose and the thin lips and the ashen tint to her skin? Where was the bitten fingernails and eye-bags that wouldn't go away unless attacked by caffeine?
No, the girl standing in front of the mirror was a copy of a girl who had died years ago. A girl with dark brown hair and brown eyes, kind and caring and elegant. A girl who met her match in an arena filled with ice and snow, who fell in love and fought for survival. A girl who was raised to say please and thank you, to keep her head down and her voice soft. A girl who GG would never, could never, be.
She's fought them ever since, trying to find a way out, trying to find a way to be herself again. Sundra Wie was dead long ago - that's not her problem, and GG wants nothing to do with her resurrection. The Capitol's taken away her home, her freedom, her voice, her looks. They won't take away anything else while her heart still beats and her lungs still move.
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