c. scheherazade {d7} fin

I love being surrounded by flowers. Having the swinging in the wind beside me, or braided within my fair blonde hair. It makes me feel like a part of nature, a tiny piece that makes a whole. It does change colour a lot, my hair. Normally in the summer, when I'm out for every second possible, it becomes the colour of the snow of the winter in the sun, the yellow just sneaking in. The winter however, is where I got my namesake from; it's the colour of the flower that gave me my name, or one of them at least. There must be dozens of different colours of them, each unique in some way. It's almost golden when the light catches each strand. It makes me feel like a queen, surrounded by locks of pure gold, hanging down around my shoulders. Like a veil. It makes me feel special.

Even in those summer days, when my hair is just like the snow of winter sun, I still have colour on my face. My eyes are dark like the night sky, although dark brown, not the dark, black-blue of the sky at night. It's still dark, and in the summer, I used to  feel like my eyes are sucking colour from my hair, leaving them bleached, but I know that isn't true now; Momma never looked at me so funny before, when I asked that question a couple of years ago now. And her reply was "No, dear, that isn't the reason why your hair goes light in the summer. It's just the sun that does it, as you're outside for so long." I felt so stupid for days afterwards, unsurprisingly.

I'm fairly average for my age in height and weight, around 5'11" and 108 pound, which isn't bad considering that we aren't that rich compared with some other people. I'm quite pale in the winter, but in the spring through winter, the colour of the sun engraves itself into my skin, like I'm glowing permanently. I'm not, but you know what I mean. If I was glowing, I'd be surprised, to say the least. Lets be honest, if anyone starts glowing, I'd take them to the doctor's very quickly. I have a really big nose and mouth. It seems really out of proportions to the rest of my face, almost like someone decided to swell those two bigger than everything else for a joke. It wasn't my parents, I don't think. 

My life is books, and flowers and everything else, like family and stuff. But books are the things that keep me going in a day, in my life. Where each page turn could throw me to a place I always wanted to be in, and always end up making me want to leave my home, and live in the new world that I just discovered, just conquered. All for those decisions to be blown straight out of the waters, as yet another is discovered, more magical that the last. And, as the last page turns, everything becomes real again, and every single plan is destroyed in that single instant. All gone, as soon as a single breath leaves my lips in the real world. And I hate the feeling of my dreams breaking at once. But I'll tell you something, if a knight in shining armour comes to take me away, I will not complain an ounce, trust me.

I'm a quiet person really. Perfect for a library, but rubbish for life in a world where no one is ever silent, and needs to be heard above the crowd. It's my parents fault that I'm like this, always having to be quiet when they are working, as so I don't put them off repairing one of the massive printing presses behind the house. They own a printing press, almost in the centre of District 7, to print all types of books  for the Capitol. All of the books that aren't well printed, or aren't accepted for some reason, I'm there sooner that anyone can say my name.

Again, that isn't hard, lets be honest. My full name, surname and all, has 9 syllables. It takes ages for anyone to say,  so people do normally call me what ever the hell they want, but Momma and Papa both call me Sandy, or San, being easy to say. Although Chrysanthemum is a lovely name, it's a pain to tell people it as well, so  from now on, I introduce myself as Sandy now, it does save a lot of time when spelling it out for someone. Sometimes, because both my first and my second are so, so long, I say my name is C. S., again for a time reason. Papa did tell me that another reason they chose that name, that, godforbid, I got reaped, it would be funny to see how the escort said my name. I laughed so much at the thought of Capitolites unable to say my name, and I still do, although them even suggesting that is scary. Why would they even think that?

I would say that nature is but one of my only friends. Nothing there ever mocks me for wanting to be the princess in a story, or the hero of a story where the female lead character will rule the world. Nothing. Not even the little squirrels that frolic  around in the trees above me, looking down upon the page my eyes are running over, over where all my dreams occur. The only thing that's actually worth anything on me are my dreams. Each and every second of my life I wait for an event that happens, and is anything but a dream. Like going fishing with Papa, and Momma. Which is impossible because of these blasted fences between districts. It's a shame, because I'd always want to visit the sea, to find the pirate that live there. That isn't a dream, is it?

My parents met when they were both young, and both being in love with books, they decided to make a printing press, making what they were in love with. That went well, and soon, well, they started to ship large quantities to other Districts and the Capitol, to help with their lessons, and, for the upper districts and the Capitol anyway, books for people to read for fun. Something that few are able to do due to time constraints of work. And a year or so after the press started to expand at a fast rate of knots, along came I, a little bundle of a screaming skin. And I was named after a flower, in the district of nature. It was the longest flower name that they could find, also. That one day, hopefully, they would see that name gracing the covers of some of the books they print. Big hopes for a week year old kid, no?

As soon as I was old enough to walk, I became obsessed with the sun upon my face, and the wind ruffling my hair around upon my head, the whispers of air always in my ear. And I loved every second. And not many months after that, when words first escaped my lips, the first word I said was, 'Outside, Momma.' And that was where I was most inclined at that age, always under the watchful eyes of one or both of my parents. They never left me alone, as I was always their little princess, one that they knew would become famous one day for something. I was as happy as can be. And I always was and will be.

Years after that, when the first understood words passed my eyes, and again, I was hooked over reading, an amazing feeling of each and every word meaning something to my mind, and the transporting power of it came to shove. It was amazing. And so, my parents love was now my own, and I could combine my two favourite things into one thing; reading in the sunshine outside. I whittled away hours of my life doing just that. And finally,  my parents could focus again on the printing press, getting more and more books printed for either shipping to other Districts, or for me to keep quiet and read something whenever I want it. Either one, they were succeeding in both.

The second I was old enough to be my own girl, I had a favourite room inside the house, not just the outside. The library, where Momma and Papa kept every single book they bought, and read. And the smell of printed paper was almost like a drug for me, and it was something that I could not let go of, an addictive thing that I couldn't just leave alone. And I had a careful leash inside there, to not ruin any of the books, but I could read anything there if Momma or Papa says yes. And each book was slowly devoured by my eyes, and to me anyway, I left the books with not a word left unread.

As soon as I was able to go into the print without being a danger to anyone was only last year, where I saw the masterfulness of the machine and my parents working in tandem with them. And I wanted to help, to learn how and when they made such beautiful products as books, and for the first time, I had found my profession that I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Book printing, to continue the family tradition.

wc: 1593