^Wither Vermelion^D11 {FIN}

^Wither Vermelion^D11 {FIN} Jun 21, 2015 14:07:25 GMT -5

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Post by Loony on Jun 21, 2015 14:07:25 GMT -5

Wither Vermelion
lost and found boy | 18 | District 11 | Vladimir Averynov

I was born to be lost.

Mama never wanted me. She made that clear when she dropped me off at the orphanage, tucked in a little blanket with big brown eyes still staring up at the great beyond. She must have kissed my little head, because I still have a scar where her lips touched my forehead. They tell me she abandoned me, but I know better. My mama lives in my heart, her heart of gold still beats within me, guiding me in through this world of hatred. I have no memory of Mama, she is nothing but a religious figurehead, but I know she was beautiful, I know she was kind, I know she had not intentionally given me over to a cursed life.

They told me when I first arrived as a baby, I did nothing more than cry and poop. I refused to drink their formulas, screamed at the slightest disturbance, and caused hell for this little planet of lost children. I like to imagine it was because of grief that I was such a hell raiser, still looking to be found by a mother who intentionally lost me. I’ve always wanted to be found, even in those first few months of life. I knew I would be found one day, even as a child, I just had to survive within these dark wooden walls.

The first real memory I have of my life was of Ms. Vermelion, my “mother” if you must put a label on it. Her chestnut hair was always yanked back in the tightest bun imaginable, as if her hair was drawn back by nature rather than by force. It always amazed me that her scalp was never ripped up, because it seemed as though her hair wanted to get away from her just as much as we did. She was a strict mother; her words were always sharp and meticulous. She had a distinctive firmness about her, as if she had learned about the world through past mistakes and was determined not to allow any of us children to follow in her footsteps.

Of course, I now know this to be true.

On a cool summer’s eve a few years ago Ms. Vermelion told me her story in her meticulous way. “I was born to a rich man. His business is nothing short of evil, but it was rather profitable. He let me run amongst the rest of the prissy girls, let me become something unspeakable. I was nothing short of a whore, all those years ago, a self-destructive mess, seeking attention like it was a necessity. I never knew the pain that was occurring in our district, only my own. I was a selfish little bitch. I know that looking back, but it kills me that I cannot change it. There will always be people in this world who look at me and still see that young woman who had no self-control. My reputation will always be tainted, for as long as I live. The drink was a particular favorite of mine, something I could hide behind as I ruined my life. It was when I woke up in a ditch, violated, hungover, and sobbing that I realized I needed to change my life. I burned my bridges, used the family fortune to buy this house, and never looked back at the life I had left behind. And I’m glad I did. I will never let you children fall into the traps I did. And I will always protect you from those who want to harm you.”

I have always liked Ms. Vermelion. Despite her firm ways, I knew she was just looking out for us. However, the other children did not. Benny was the worst of us. Her words were wicked, full of distrust and hatred. Benny was not left here as an infant like many of us. Her parents waited until she was 5 before casting her aside when she got in the way of their drug addiction. Of course this led to her becoming one of the least respective children in the District. It was a constant power struggle between her and authority, and I just could not help but cheer for her. My little brown head would bob with joy when it was announced that Benny would be returning after a stint in the detention center. She ~~was~~ is my sister, the only real sister in this orphanage. I would do anything for her, anything at all.

Back when we were little, around 7 or 8, we played beneath a gigantic apple tree. She could climb, I could not. So when she dangled above me I would pout, my large pink lips sticking even further out and give her the largest puppy eyes a boy could pull off. I like to think it works, but by blue eyes are rather small in the first place. She would taunt me, laugh gleefully when I fell on my butt. It was only when the first large tear made it’s way that she stopped. Carefully she climbed down, sitting next to me in the plush green grass, and looked at me hard with her turquoise eyes. “Don’t cry, Wither. Who care’s if you can’t climb? You’re smarter than I’ll ever be, just close your eyes and count to three, and you’ll be able to figure out the solution to any problem you’ll face.” With that I closed my eyes, and when I opened them she was already gone, scampering up the tree trunk with ease. Only this time I could follow her.

I suppose I thought I was found. She had saved me from this orphanage; she had taken me under her wing, and now we were going to fly off into the sunset. As we got older, it became clear no families were looking to adopt a troublemaker and her needy friend. She had picked me up from the pile of lost objects and claimed me as her own. I remember her cursing off one of the boys who had picked on me for my small frame, held me safely behind her as she screamed at them. It was nice, behind her soft arms; it was as if the world was nothing but an echo. We talked of aging out together, moving into our own place. No, not romantic. There were too many moments when people thought we were sibling for anything close to romance to bloom between us. But we were our own family.

I learned the hard way that family’s can crumble.

She was stupid, like always. Drunk and up for a challenge. It was a stupid idea, stealing from a peacekeeper, but she was willing to do anything. If I was there ~~why wasn’t I there?~~ I would have stopped it. Instead I spent my evening talking with Ms. Vermelion, just chatting and enjoying the setting sun, as my sister was whipped, beaten and taken away. She never had a chance, neither of us did.

I would only hear about it later, through whispers and rumors I found about my sisters arrest. They did not even have the decency to notify us. Benny was ripped away from me, from her family, and thrown into a hell never to be seen again. I don’t think I’ll ever see her again, never hear her deep laugh, never hold her small hand. She is nothing but a memory, leaving me alone in a big old house.

And just like that, I was lost again.

Suddenly I had nothing left, the carpet yanked from beneath my feet letting me fall face first into a world I was not prepared for. The girls were not kind in school, none of them has that same innate feistiness that Benny had. The boys were worse, cruelness ran within them, disaster ran in their bones. The beatings were bad, the words were worse. They said that Mama was nothing more than a crack whore who didn’t want me, made me into some kind of useless pet. Submissive. Spineless. Pitiful. I was nothing special, I was not who Benny had dreamed I was. No… I had withered into noting.

My teachers wrote glowing statements about how bright I was. They sung songs of praise for my work, but that was never enough for Ms. Vermelion. After Benny was ripped away from us, she begun to deteriorate. Her strict policies became ruthless laws, curfew grew closer and closer to sunset, she was enraged with grief, and convinced she had failed. She became bitter, with nasty words and firm dissatisfaction to accompany it. I was the only one who avoided the beatings. Gone were are nights of chitchat, replaced by watching with salty tears as my siblings were given the belt for the slightest infraction. I could not take it.

I moved away. I moved into a rickety shack, and worked in the school. A receptionist after all the glowing reviews from the teachers I now work for..

I walk children to school, grip their hands as they cross the street and ensure they make it to their classroom. They are a diverse bunch, with hair from stringy to lush and eyes from chocolate to periwinkle. I stand above them, their heads barely reaching my hip. Some of them are Ms. Vermelion’s children. I can tell by the way they walk. It’s a joyous occasion when one of them are adopted. But there are times when I can feel envy building within. I want to demand that ~~Mama, Ms. Vermelion, Benny,~~ somebody finds me. I want to be rescued from this life. I want to be held in gentle arms, and kissed on my pale forehead, and loved and cared for.

I know it is selfish, but it is what I want.

But I’m still lost, alone in this world. I’m a servant to people who hold me in esteem. I do not mind the mindless work of a receptionist. Being reduced down to nothing but a phone operator may seem like a punishment, but it’s something to do. It does have one perk.

I run the lost and found.

odair

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literally wrote this in like 2 hours so don't judge