Angel Grey | District 12 | Finished | Hunger Games: The RPG

forevermariella Seam Resident 11 POSTS last seen Jun 28, 2019 10:52:57 GMT -5 it's too cold outside for angels to fly	Angel Grey \| District 12 \| Finished Aug 23, 2015 16:38:51 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by forevermariella on Aug 23, 2015 16:38:51 GMT -5 Angel Grey 17 Female District 12 Odair
	Last Edit: Dec 28, 2015 9:40:46 GMT -5 by forevermariella

forevermariella
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last seen Jun 28, 2019 10:52:57 GMT -5

it's too cold outside for angels to fly

Angel Grey | District 12 | Finished Aug 23, 2015 19:03:42 GMT -5

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Post by forevermariella on Aug 23, 2015 19:03:42 GMT -5

My name is Angel Grey. I was born in the wintertime. A blinding storm. Cold bodies with pale blue lips, taking ever-lasting rests on the side of the road, heavy white blankets placed solemnly over them,to keep the children from staring too long. From inside, I suppose, it was probably beautiful. The delicate whisper of the wind, ghosts of the past dancing about in the cool winter air. The soft glow radiating from broken homes, and a deathly solitude, an unnerving silence that can only symbolize an ending. It was a haunting kind of beauty. The kind that takes your breath away. Sometimes the deadliest things can appear the most lovely.

But on this night of death, also came birth, in the small, dark cottage at the end of the road. Dusty white flakes coated the top layer of the roof, which was starting to cave in and was patched with only spare wood planks and a few old rags. Firelight shone dimly through the window, and the screams coming from inside were the only thing that broke the silence of the night. And then, there was me. And everything went quiet again. She said that my skin was so soft, I had to have been made out of unfallen snow. She said that my eyes were so bright, I must’ve carried the light of heaven within them. Soft flesh and silver eyes, reflecting the flicker of a flame. She said I was her Angel.  This is the way mom described it to me when I was little, before she left me. The broken soul vacating her body now is no mother of mine. She drowns herself in bottled happiness that really isn’t happiness at all and tries to sleep away the pain, as if she can live in her dreams in order to escape the nightmare that is reality. It doesn’t work. My weapon of choice?  A couple of drags.

 I used to have a savior, someone to hold me when mom was having one of her bad nights, someone who let himself starve so that I wouldn’t, someone who risked everything to keep me safe. But now I’m left alone with her hoarse yelling, her stinging words.  They don’t sting so much anymore, it’s just numb now. And then in the morning she’d try to hug me and kiss me, she’d blubber about how sorry she was and I didn’t mean it and you’re my angel and a bunch of other empty words that were unable to bandage the burns and the bruises. After my brother died in a mine explosion when I was 11, I started selling mugs of steamed vanilla milk from our home. There was a small patch of vanilla orchids near our house from which we could collect vanilla extract from, and my mother had been making it since I was young. I've been told it miraculously puts babies to sleep quickly, calms the mind, and warms the body. I manage to make just enough to keep us living, not nearly enough to keep us sane. I've crept into some of the darkest corners of District 12, at my most desperate. Where, when night falls, girls sell their bodies just so that they don't waste away. But I can't bring myself to do it. I am cowardly. I am weak.

If I didn’t buy mom's booze, she threatened to kill herself. By this point I knew these threats meant nothing, but for some reason unknown to me her words hurt less when she was under the influence. Maybe it’s because I have something to blame them on. I can convince myself that they’re meaningless, then. And then there were the drags. Greasy Sae let me have them for free but every time I asked for one she’d look at me with a sad expression that made my heart hurt. She’d say “You know if you keep smoking those things they’re gonna kill you.” This doesn’t scare me. In fact, if anything, it only motivates me to keep smoking. Maybe I can get out of this hell quicker. I’d never tell her this, of course. I don’t want to break her heart anymore than I already have. So anyways, I try to go light on those, no pun intended. But there is something unusually calming about the cool feeling of winter in your mouth, watching silver tendrils slip out of your mouth and evaporate into the air.

Sometimes I think about the way my mother described me when I first entered this earth, compared to now. Skin so soft, had to be made of unfallen snow. Try: So rough, had to be made of leather. The surface of my pale, winter born skin is covered in bruises and scars, calluses and burns. Eyes so bright, must’ve carried the light of heaven within them. This is the one I find especially funny. My eyes are more of a washed out gray than anything else. But they're big, and slightly slanted, and I've been told by others that they're beautiful, so much so that you could get lost in them.  My hair? Maybe the one nice quality I have. I was gifted long, dark silky hair from my ancestors. It doesn't improve my appearance as much as you'd think it would, though. I’m only about 5 feet, and sport a frail, clearly underfed body. My bones stick out like knives. An angel? It’s too cold outside for angels to fly.

I'm pretty quiet most of the time. I take comfort in solitude and unlike most people I don't see any point in talking unless what I'm saying will benefit myself or someone else. I've come to find these days that most of the time people will say whatever comes into their head. I just don't see the point in that.

I'm not exceptional in school. There's no point in trying hard when nothing good will come of it.
I don't try to fight the life I was given. I know many who do, and they just end up resentful and sad. There's nothing I can do to change it, so I just accept it. It doesn't make me happy, but at least I've come to terms with my situation and therefore can at least try to be content in it.

I know it's awful, but I really want my mother to die. These thoughts used to scare me but now, just like my life, I accept them. I've had dreams where I live in our little shack of a house by myself. I have my cat, Skyler (whom I named after my deceased brother), and that's all I need. It's quiet. And it's calm.
Like the falling snow.
Like me.

white lips, pale face
breathing in the snowflakes

Last Edit: Dec 28, 2015 10:40:09 GMT -5 by forevermariella

forevermariella Seam Resident 11 POSTS last seen Jun 28, 2019 10:52:57 GMT -5 it's too cold outside for angels to fly	Angel Grey \| District 12 \| Finished Dec 27, 2015 11:52:06 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by forevermariella on Dec 27, 2015 11:52:06 GMT -5 bump

✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
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5,832 POSTS
Pronouns: they/them
last seen Apr 30, 2024 12:13:53 GMT -5

“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

Angel Grey | District 12 | Finished Dec 27, 2015 15:28:08 GMT -5

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Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Dec 27, 2015 15:28:08 GMT -5

Bruh,

Before I read this I'm going to need you to break it into paragrphs. My eyes don't do so well with a wall of text! Tag me when you've done this.

(Tagging is done by putting an '@' symbol and then a member's username. My username is Elegant.)

thanks!

compendium / avriel
clown car / pietro
2022 tracker / 2023 tracker / 2024 tracker

forevermariella Seam Resident 11 POSTS last seen Jun 28, 2019 10:52:57 GMT -5 it's too cold outside for angels to fly	Angel Grey \| District 12 \| Finished Dec 27, 2015 16:19:48 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by forevermariella on Dec 27, 2015 16:19:48 GMT -5 ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ done! sorry about that!

✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ Graphics 5,832 POSTS Pronouns: they/them last seen Apr 30, 2024 12:13:53 GMT -5 “And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck	Angel Grey \| District 12 \| Finished Dec 27, 2015 17:29:00 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Dec 27, 2015 17:29:00 GMT -5 Your writing has a soothing quality to it. Maybe it's the snow outside or the chill to this bio but I really enjoyed the read. Accepted!
	compendium / avriel clown car / pietro 2022 tracker / 2023 tracker / 2024 tracker