Canvas Hope D8 {done}

Canvas Hope

Apperance:
Short, light brown hair sits on top my head. I never do anything to it because it doesn't need it. Most of the time it makes people think I just crawled out of bed. It may look that way with the dark bags sitting underneath my eyes circling around my cheeks. The whites of my eyes feel like they're permanently dry because of how many tears I've shed over the last few days. I don't even know why I have a nose anymore. I mean, I can't smell nothing anyway. It's just there allowing snot to drain down my face mixing with the constant stream of tears. I used to smile all the time because I didn't have a care in the world - I loved showing off my white teeth, but now I don't smile. I don't have a reason to because my entire world has come crashing down. I used to talk a lot even with my voice changing, but now I don't talk. I refuse to say a word to anyone because it's best to hold all the pain in. If someone sees me pretending to be strong, maybe they'll leave me alone. It's a mask I'm hidden under, yet what I really want is for someone to sit down beside me and tell me it's okay to cry.

I'm not the tallest person in the world, and I definitely don't have many muscles. I'm thin from not eating as much as I should. I don't want to eat becausse there's so many people sitting here in the district right now that's broken and without food, so I donate it to them. I've grown used to the constant rumble in my stomach. My ears have learned to block out the sound because it's just another problem in the world. It's beyond my wildest imagination why anyone would take anything from my dirty hands, though. I sit in the dirt and mud so much, that my hands are a permanent brown in color. No matter how many times I scrub them, it doesn't go away. I'm tired of being told I look like I'm some stragler left behind by the world, but I guess it's true. My clothing is always messy. My pants are full of holes. I never wash them because what good does it do? Sometimes it's alright to look messy. It's alright to feel like I have no reason to dress up because in all honesty, that's the truth. I've lost my will to make myself presentable. It's not worth it. Not when nobody cares.

Personality:
I used to be a carefree person. It was fun going through the world living like nothing was wrong. Each and every day I tried to joke around making people laugh. I found ways to express myself through artwork. It was all enjoyable. Every second I tried to imagine what life would be like if I wasn't living in the world of Panem. I would draw pictures of what I imagined the outside world being like. An island surrounded by water with no people to torture anyone. All the animals in the world existed on that small place. I longed for it because it would provide the ultimate freedom. I would draw myself and my family sitting together around a campfire telling stories. It was all apart of life. A great part that I enjoyed. It took a lot to put me down, and it took even more to make me angry. I would always smile back and tell the person thank you even when they were pushing me around. It shocked them, and that's what I was going for as it made them leave me alone. I thought the world was a happy place to live despite the conditions that were given to us. I guess I was wrong.

I wanted to give up when Lily volunteered for the games because how could someone like her even think of winning? I had no hope for her. It was so dark, and I spent so many days hiding away from the world crying because I wasn't sure what to do. I was lost. For the longest time, I felt like a shell. It was like my soul was gone away. I was empty. I couldn't feel anything except extreme loss because it wasn't the same. I stayed around people because it kept me alive. It kept me going when I watched her on the screen. On the inside my entire body was screaming. Begging for her to return home to us safe and sound, and for the longest time it felt possible, and I started getting my hopes up. I started preparing myself to reunite with her once the games was ended because she had got so far. She had given me so much to hold on to, and I did it for her because I needed to be strong. I needed to live each day to the fullest because it's what she would want from me, but my world came crashing down the moment the knife drove straight through her eye.

I locked myself away from everyone. Every single emotion was shoved so deep down inside of me that nobody would ever see it again. At least, that's what I thought until it all came out as anger and rage. I was shouting at people telling them it was useless to even believe in someone because it'll only be taken away. Lily was taken away from us far too soon, but she asked for it herself when she volunteered for the games. I resent her for that. I hate that she was selfish enough to leave me here with the rest of the world when she was given a freedom she didn't deserve. Nobody deserves to die, but some of them don't have a choice. She did. She chose to go into the games, and every time I think about her, all the pain goes away, but it turns into anger. I scream at people. I call them rude names. I tell them to leave me alone because they're worthless. I want nothing to do with anyone. I'm best off by myself locked away in an imaginary world where I can draw the true meaning of life. All that's left is blood stained tears with an arrow through a broken heart.

History:
For as long as I can remember, I was always drawing. The world is just a canvas waiting for the artist to draw every existance into life. Before I could even speak, I would draw what I wanted. Sometimes it involved me mixing dirt with water only to get a brown color. It wasn't much, but not having the money to buy anything didn't destroy my will to express myself. It always became a piece of hope. Something I could do that nobody could take away from me. I'd lay out on my stomach staring at people sitting together, and I'd press the edge of the brush down scratching against the old, ragged, worn sheet of paper until the figures were connected. It was something that I could do, and mom always hung them up in the house because she was proud of me. I had trouble paying attention in school because all I wanted to do was sit at the table with my eyes fixed on the paper drawing away, yet I always learned something because drawing relaxed my mind enough so I could listen in on what was going on, but it never stopped me from having trouble.

When I was ten, I started going to work with my dad. His job was sheering sheep. It didn't look fun at first, but after watching him run that razor across their wool coat, it looked interesting. One day we made a game out of it, and every single change I got, I went to work with him. It passed the time when I ran out of things to draw. I loved watching the wool fall to the ground as people gathered it preparing to send it to a factory where it would be sewed into some sort of clothing. That was the second thing I started doing. Mom was a seamstress. I always followed her around in the factory trying to figure out what she was doing. I watched as she tirled the needle and thread around her fingers like they were nothing. I learned that it was another form of art. I could sew anything together how I wanted it to look. I could make things that many weren't capable of. I learned that every thread had a different color. That's what formed the colors of the world. It also helped me learn to sew wounds together whenever someone was injured. It felt nice taking what I had learned from the factory into a real life setting where someone in need could benefit.

But now I always ask why. I haven't got an answer as I stare at the blank canvas in front of me. A brush laying on the ground near it as it calls for me. It wants me to draw, but I haven't picked up a brush since Lily died in the games. I sigh softly to myself as my tiny hands reach out in front of me gripping onto the edge of a brush. Edges smeared with an ugly brown from the dirt and water I mixed together. Light blue eyes fix on the ragged piece of paper as my hands move up and down drawing a picture of stick figures forming a family. Everyone in my family growing rapidly with each stroke of the brush. Red tears stain the eyes of those around as droplets of blood leak down pale faces mourning the loss of my dearest cousin, Lily. Watching her volunteer for the games was one of the most heart breaking events in the entire world, yet her death feels much, much worse. Every single breath drawn in brings a new pain I've never felt before in my entire life. The edge of the brush sketches broken lines into the picture. Hearts shattered beyond repair dance across the page until the entire family is complete. But we won't ever be complete again - not with Lily dead.