cain parish {four} fin

I am a believer, above all things.

We are in the hands of fate- a destiny that God carved into our very bones the moment we surfaced into existence.

Fate decides everything- it sits in the palm of my hand, in my back pockets.

Flip.

Heads.

Flip.

Tails.

"Tails I win, heads you lose."

In fate, there is no winner or loser. There is only the path it has carved.

I carry my coin with me everywhere I go. It is my guide- it is fate. My mother gave it to me when I was a girl to teach me what fate was- a random, omnipotent force. But I never let go of it. Before nearly every decision, I will flip the coin- it is all up to heads or tails from there.

Reaping Day is Judgement Day. Mother says they haven't called me because I am not worthy. Because God's eyes see a frail creature. She says that God frowns upon me, because I cry when animals are sacrificed to them. Because I wonder too deeply. Because I ask too many questions.

But perhaps they have not called me because the Games are not a part of my path.

I can see Death's shadow. It does not follow me, but sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I see it. And it taunts me, flashes a sly grin at me. It is nothing but a black blotch in the fear east of my vision, and yet its presence shakes me to the core. In truth, the thought of dying terrifies me. Mother says it shouldn't. She says that I should not fear death because I am a believer, and believes are granted salvation.

Perhaps it is not death I fear. Perhaps it is the unknown.
(Mother says that death should not be in the shadows of the unknown. She says it should be certainty, because I know exactly where I am going. But I fear even so.)

In truth, I do not want them to call my name at the Reaping.

. . .

I like to sit by the fireplace and watch my reflection flicker in its brass borders. I like to watch the flames dance in its mouth. Sometimes, I reach my hand out to touch it, but when my fingers caress the tongues of the fire, reflex kicks in and I am forced to recoil from its bite.

Once, I flipped my coin to decide if I thought the world would perish in fire or in ice.

Heads- fire.

Fire is a beautiful disaster. I think that if the world has an end, it is fire that will ultimately destroy it.

In fairytales, authors like to write about fire. They use it for metaphors- they say how fire lives in the hearts of their heroes. I don't believe in heroes, and fire is not something associated with light or goodness. Fire is terror. Fire is destruction.

I think that if one has enough fire in their hearts, they have the power to destroy. Mother says fairytales aren't history books, and that I shouldn't base opinions off of them. But they are real- they lived in someone's mind once, and they live in mine now.

My favorites are Snow White and Little Red Riding Hood- I think they are like me. They love animals and the woods, and they have ebony hair like I do. In the pictures that I have seen, they have doe eyes- sometimes they are pale green like mine, sometimes they are blue like the sky, and sometimes they are dark.

Mother says that I should want to model myself after my other siblings. I have Winona's hair- cut bluntly at the shoulders with bangs hanging over my forehead- but mine is several shades darker. I have her skin, tan and freckled, too.

Her face is like mine, too, only hers is sharper, from her nose to her face shape. My bone structure is softer in contrast, my face with rounder edges. My nose is longer and not as pointed, too.

When I told my mother that, she said that she wanted me to act like my siblings, not look like them.