Stella Summit | District 7 {FIN} | Hunger Games: The RPG

Avalon Retired Staff 1,291 POSTS Pronouns: They/Them last seen Oct 24, 2016 10:04:26 GMT -5 when i plant a fat ass cracker bitch i expect her to stay planted	Stella Summit \| District 7 {FIN} May 19, 2015 12:18:27 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Avalon on May 19, 2015 12:18:27 GMT -5 Stella Summit District 7 Seventeen Odair { touch my fc and we'll 1v1. you'll get rekt up. }
	Last Edit: May 21, 2015 3:42:57 GMT -5 by Avalon *"solitaire something you consider rare"* credit to zoë

Avalon
Retired Staff

1,291 POSTS
Pronouns: They/Them
last seen Oct 24, 2016 10:04:26 GMT -5

when i plant a fat ass cracker bitch i expect her to stay planted

Stella Summit | District 7 {FIN} May 19, 2015 12:20:18 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Avalon on May 19, 2015 12:20:18 GMT -5

Stella Summit | District 7 | Seventeen | Odair

"Yet, I was the one who had to learn how to build a heart of armor."

The blood that courses through every fiber of my being is tainted by the harsh words that spilled from my fathers drunken lips. Spitting, sputtering and spewing in the state in which one was held prisoner, captivated by the bitter taste of alcohol that surpassed thin, cracked lips. One drank not for the simple reason of being an alcoholic, but to smog the dark memories that shattered me like a broken mirror when staring too far back into their existence.

I like to think of myself as nothing of how my father was, setting terror in the eyes of innocents with the swift swipe, motion of an extended palm. However, I am always told, reminded of my appearance and how it resembled him, which just irritated me til no end. From the tip of my long, dark brown hair, to the point of my subtle, gentle chin. From my thick eyebrows, that followed the curve of my eyes, to my petite nose, and small, cracked lips. From my hazel eyes that hold a empty gaze, and sit below the trim of my eyebrows, all the way to my prosthetic arm, and down to the heels of my feet, to the tip of my toes. I resemble my father in a feminine way, with the exception of being more slim and slender than his muscular physique.

Guarded. Heart of Armor.
It was true. All of it was true, and it wasn't something I'd deny, but then again it wasn't something I'd admit. I was always one to guard my very being, refusing to become open with anyone, especially if they showed any ounce of concern. I wasn't very trusting of others, simply because people are controlled by their curiosity, nothing else. In my eyes, no one really cared, only pretending to if it earned them the upper hand and a pretty penny in their process. I was never necessarily the one to be open with people, even since a tender, gentle age, because I easily saw the truth in the lies others would tell. No one was fully deserving of the truth, any truth.

Princess. Tower. Hopes & Dreams.
The early years of life are supposed to be the best. Carefree. Being the daughter of an abusive father was certainly not a walk in the park. My early years were beginning of the result of creating who I am up until this very day. While all the other rambunctious District kids ran amuck, causing sweet chaos and havoc throughout, I was locked away in my tower. As the decaying princess of a rotting kingdom that I ruled over, I long awaited my young prince to rescue me from this Hell. It was in those very years that a child's creative imagination twisted and turned violently into a harsh, cruel reality. Everything that an innocent child could ever wish and care for was stolen from, and replaced with stone walls that held only one window and a lone locked, wooden door with a missing knob.

Broken Bones. Bruised Flesh. Severed Limbs.
Throughout my entire childhood I was always prone to injuries. It wasn't like how children would normally get injured, like simply by falling onto the concrete ground. These marks upon my body, some being permanent, showcased my struggling to everybody. However, all of these came with simple lies, one's to protect my father's abusive state from being known to the world. People are so blind, it truly perplexed me how one could see injuries and marks making recurring appearances upon the same locations as before. I suppose people were forced to have the tendency to believe all a child told them, holding no proof to argue against it. I can recall faintly to the time where I lost something precious to me, my left arm. I was around the age of seven, while my father was in his foggy state of mind, I had the idea to leave outside the house for once. It was something I dreamed of, being locked away left holes of wonders burned in my mind that I finally found the chance to fill. I could admit, this wasn't the result of my father's abuse, but my curiosity got the best of me. Whenever thinking back to this, my vision blurs in and out, but once one thing led to another, I can recall me laying, screaming on the ground and the wild beast that had managed to bit layers and layers through soft, tender flesh that had received a brutal beating not long before.

Death of a King. Freedom. Escape. Rise of a Queen.
Ten years. 3652 days. It took ten years to finally rid of the tyrant that controlled my life, who set fear in me that would last long after even his death. I watched him. I watched as he fell to the floor, seizing up in his own vomit, before he eventually fell limp on the cold, hard ground. I felt nothing. I felt no sympathy for the monster, I didn't even feel hatred towards him. Nothing. However, the pressure of the world pressing down on my shoulders had finally lifted and passed, just like my father had. It was about time, and I couldn't feel more relief in my life than I have when the one who inflicted the most pain one could ever experience onto me. As for the time after that, up until now, I was forced to either move into a community home, or live with a relative. It wasn't a hard choice, mainly because I wasn't given one, my great aunt took me under her wing immediately. She was my mother's aunt, but ever since my mother had run away from home, to who knows where, leaving me behind, I always seeked to her for guidance. My great aunt is a more simple living woman, one who lives a "lavish" life here in the District, owning a popular floral shop that drags in dozens of customers everyday. The amount of wealth saved up was used not for selfish purposes, she simply didn't need anything more in life, but instead she put use to some of the money into buying my prosthetic arm. It was a blessing to finally live under the rule of a Queen while I sat besides her throne as the princess, and not as the footrest like the damaged King.

credit to nat of adoxography.

Last Edit: May 21, 2015 3:39:18 GMT -5 by Avalon

"solitaire something you consider rare"

credit to zoë

Avalon Retired Staff 1,291 POSTS Pronouns: They/Them last seen Oct 24, 2016 10:04:26 GMT -5 when i plant a fat ass cracker bitch i expect her to stay planted	Stella Summit \| District 7 {FIN} May 21, 2015 3:45:13 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Avalon on May 21, 2015 3:45:13 GMT -5 finished amg hopefully it's good ^^
	Last Edit: May 21, 2015 3:45:41 GMT -5 by Avalon *"solitaire something you consider rare"* credit to zoë

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	Stella Summit \| District 7 {FIN} May 21, 2015 15:22:20 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on May 21, 2015 15:22:20 GMT -5 Accepted!
	warehouse