Avita Gage {D3}

There will always be something the human race doesn't understand. The concept of a "know-it-all" is falsehood. We don't hold the capacity for infinite knowledge, and that is also something many people don't understand. I'm an inventor, not an encyclopedia, yet my peers and supervisors all expect me to know the facts. In the eyes of the educational world I've always been considered somewhat of a prodigy, but I have limits. Everybody does. Studying pays off, and so does owning the unfortunate advantage of pity - or should I say, disability. That's what people call it, at least. Just another label, like "genius" or "pretty" but with more dire consequences. I'm always treated differently because I have to be. There is no conformity of the masses to incorporate me into their world. I will always be an outcast, even if it doesn't look like I am.

I was born with it, the defect. That's what the doctors said it was. From infancy to now it has been my entire life, so I don't quite see it as an affliction. But it is true that I'm different. Fortunately, this meant that I had an entire lifetime to master a different method of communication, and so did my parents. I can't speak the language of the masses. I can't speak at all - well, I could, but I'll never know what I'm saying. My language is a language of the hands and fingers, of gestures and expressions. If there was any hope for easy communication with me, my parents would have to learn. I'm grateful that they did.

It was a special tutor from the Capitol that educated all of us. Dad was able to hire him through his connections in the workplace designing air crafts, and also because he was a family friend. Such a career is prestigious and well-appreciated by everyone. It also pays well - enough to afford lessons everyday except weekends. I grew up with the language he (his name is Quincy) taught me, but it was more difficult for my parents. They like to remind me how much of a struggle it was. I wonder if they think it makes me feel special, like I was worth the extra effort. Sometimes I do feel that way. Other times it makes me feel burdensome.

It wasn't until I was twelve that I discovered I was speaking the language of slaves.

Avoxes; they sound like a legend more than anything. Tongueless criminals arrested and shipped to the Capitol to work in their homes as slaves. The idea was ludicrous, but my twelfth year was a wake-up call. It's like a coming of age ceremony, attending one's first Reaping, watching one's first Games. Quincy only visited twice a week that year, but he brought one of them with him. An Avox.

She didn't speak with her lips, and neither did I.

There wasn't much of a conversation. She was polite, proper, and professional, and I was a curious little bug burrowing for answers. I received little information, only that the legends were true. Avoxes were real, and I had learned their language for survival.

I'm not angry. I'm not even disappointed. This world is all I've ever known; a world without comprehending what music is, what voices are, what a "sound" is. I can write, by definition, what all of these concepts are. Music is vocal or instrumental sounds combined to produce beauty of form, harmony, and expression of emotion. But what is vocal? Using our voice boxes. What is a sound? I don't know, I can't participate in the process of hearing. Instrumental? The use of instruments, but I never see what those silly contraptions accomplish. I live in a world of what people call silence, the complete absence of sound. I am what people call deaf. I rely on sights, smells, and touches.

My peers slip me pieces of paper asking what it's like to live without sound. They don't seem to comprehend that this is all I've ever known. It's easy to live without something I've never encountered. I didn't lose anything, I was always this way. The real problem is communication. As I mentioned, my peers pass me notes. I use the language of slaves, therefore nobody in the District knows it. It's an unpopular, strange method of communication. I have to pass notes to talk to classmates, and it's a nuisance, especially to them. That's why I'm the outcast. Sure, everyone is kind to me. They find me intriguing and sad like a laboratory subject, but I wouldn't say I have many friends. It's difficult to maintain a friendship when you don't use their language.

That leaves plenty of time to spend by myself, which I utilize by reading and studying. This is how I became the "prodigy" I am today. High marks are well and good, but it was my invention that brought about my opportunities. It's no secret that our District's clouds are black instead of white on its worst days. Our air is heavily polluted, and in the more concentrated areas it can burn the nostrils, sting the eyes, and reek of filth. Nobody is in denial of it. We just accept the conditions like we accept the Reaping, even though it's something we dislike. For a school project, I decided to design and create the prototype of a special filter. The requirements didn't ask for the device to actually work, we simply needed to display our creativity and demonstrate a product's possible practicality. My prototype attracted a lot of attention.

I received several offers to mass produce my filter in a factory. Of course they offered payment for it, and as a petty girl not wanting to rely on my father's money, I agreed. I have these filters installed in my home now. It essentially limits the amount of pollution that reaches the inside of houses. Infants are especially susceptible to illnesses and defects contracted from exposure, so if they can be raised in a clean, indoor environment, then a lot of problems and costs can be avoided. Also, it's pleasant to walk into a house of fresh air. Who doesn't want that?

This is how I gained attention. My teachers and peers praised me for a job well done. Some think I'm a tech-savvy genius who is going to impress the District - and maybe the Capitol - with future inventions. Some realize that I had a stroke of luck with a simple idea. All it took was a bit of creativity, really. I'm no genius. I can't say I'm not pleased with my progress, though. I've been promised a job as soon as I'm out of the Reaping. Several places have made offers, actually. I'm set for life no matter which I choose. I've already chosen of course, and now work there part-time as an apprentice. It's only temporary. As soon as I turn nineteen, my future begins.

I don't know how I'll communicate with my coworkers, but I'll take it one step at a time.