Alfonso Parks D9 {done}

Gotta make the best of what I'm given which isn't much.

Mother and father spent most of my life giving all their attention to my younger brother, Benny. I understand that he has problems, and that he's not right in the head or something, but it's almost like they've completely forgotten about me. He's just two years younger than me, and it's a shame that I can't remember the first two years of my life - I bet those two years were the best. I've had to learn to do many things on my own. Often times I was shoved away - "We'll read you a story after your brother falls asleep. - I carried the book away and went back into my closet of a room. It wasn't much, but it offered me a place to spend time alone. A place where I could read the stories. Maybe I didn't want to read a story by myself. What if I wanted Benny to hear the stories too? I'm sure he'd enjoy it, but mother and father were always to busy to understand.

It was all about him.

Which sucked, but I learned to deal with it. Finding left over food in the kitchen. Getting yelled at. Learning to behave even when I should've just rebelled. Nah, I couldn't even do that. I loved my family too much, and I still love them to this day, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure they're taken care of. But my life turned upside down when my aunt and uncle died, and my cousins moved in with us. Chaske was a nightmare, and he loved tormenting Benny; Pherick followed in his footsteps. Rolf, on the other hand, would pick up stories and read to him. I'm not sure what Citadel did because I don't see her much. Yet it made things worse. Mother and father needed more money to provide more food. And who was the one who was forgotten?

Me.

Their own son.

Yeah. That's right. My own parents forgot about me leaving me stuck in the tiny closet for a bedroom. But one by one I watched as my family self destructed. Many fights. Benny crying all hours through the night. Rolf trying to calm him by reading stories. My stories. Often he stole my books from my room in order to make him happy. It's wrong to steal things, but at least it got my brother to shut up for a bit. Pherick tried ruining my life many times, and I wish he'd just go away because he's not my brother. This is my home, well my parents home, but I'm still living here, and they've invaded my personal space. And it hurts. But I try to pretend, and I try to take care of them. Mother and father can only do so much before they're crashing for the night, and there truly isn't enough food on the table for us all to survive. They taught me manners, and they taught me respect. When it comes to caring for them, I give my all. I open the doors for them. I try to make them feel welcomed, but there's just something about them that makes my hairs stand.

I've been offered a job working as a blacksmith, and I accepted it. It helps bring money home. But it's never enough. I'm away from home many hours of the day. I never get to see my family much anymore, but I look forward to the off days. I look forward to home cooked meals that I can eat at home and not shovel quickly down my throat.

During the daylight hours, I'm the person mother and father raised me to be, but once the sun sets behind the horizon, and the moon rises high into the sky, I become someone different.

All it takes is making sure everyone's asleep, and I slip out of my room. Most of the time, the old floorboards squeal in protest, but it never stops me. I have to find a way to keep my family alive. Once I'm away from the house, I take off running sprinting through the dark alleys of district nine wondering if anyone will find me. I'm always praying mother and father stay asleep because if they see me coming home with something I didn't buy, they'd kill me. Often times, I wonder if they know, but it's something best left unsaid. Sneaking through broken windows of old run down shops hoping nobody's inside terrifies me sometimes since I never know who or what may linger inside. Quick hands wrap around a small item. Just something to sell. Something to trade, but it's never enough to let people know. Yet I know, and it kills me on the inside. But I have to. I tell myself over and over as I make my way home as fast as I can. Stealing has become my way of life. For the longest time I felt bad, but now I don't.

Not after losing two cousins to the games.

All I care about now is protecting my family. Keeping Benny safe is my number one priority, but if I get the chance to save Pherick, I would do the same.

Because he's family after all.

---

I can't stand lying, yet I lie almost every time I open my mouth. It kills me a little on the inside because people want to hear the truth, and I wish I could tell them. I feel like my parents know what's up. I feel like they know I sneak out every single night just to help provide a little more. Even in the depths of my mind it's hard to make out fact from fake. What's real and what's not real doesn't matter because it only blows my mind away. And in the same way, I'm a hypocrite because I want people to be honest with me - but how can someone open up and tell me the truth when I'm just going to turn around and lie to them? It's wrong, and it makes me a horrible person for excepting so much in return. At first, my family knew when I was lying. My entire facial expression gave it away. I spent many nights standing in front of a mirror practicing. I learned to keep a straight face. But it never stops my heart from racing, or my cheeks from getting warm. My parents raised me differently. They told me to tell the truth regardless of what I've done. I'm afraid they're going to find out I'm lying because the story keeps becoming harder and harder to remember. It's not like me. How can someone go from opening doors and respecting people to lying to their face?

It's a question I'll never answer.

During the day when I'm not working, I do my best to keep up with the chores. I wash the dishes, wash laundry, clean whatever needs to be clean. I set the table. Open the door for mother and father. I tell them how happy I am to be with them. Trying to keep myself looking like a gentleman. I tell mother her cooking tastes great even if it's the nastiest food on the planet. When I'm at work, I greet my coworkers with a genuine smile. I try to be nice, polite. I take their order and ask if there's anything I can do to help them. I listen to my boss, and do as I'm told. I take constructive criticism. I hold my tongue when people are yelling at me, and it's hard to do that because they're pushing my buttons and it only makes me want to yell back. I'm trying to be something I'm not, and it's slowly tearing me apart.

I stopped caring when my cousins moved in, and it slowly changed me.

I didn't cry when Chaske died.

I didn't cry when Rolf died.

I don't know how to cry anymore. I don't know what it's like to feel the sorrow my parents felt when Rolf fell in the games. I watched them cry. I watched them mourn his loss. I watched Pherick scream and throw things. But I retreated to my room and opened the books before escaping into a fictional world that doesn't exist. I scribbled his name on pieces of paper, and I marked it out over and over because I wanted nothing to do with it. They stole my life away. Left me with nothing but the crumbs on my plate, and I hate them for it. But do I miss them?

Sure, I miss them, however, I'm glad they're gone because it's two less mouths to feed.

When the night rolls around, I feel more alive. I feel free. I'm taking things to help out the people I love, the people I care for. But by doing so, I'm hurting other people. I've walked into stores the following day, and I've seen how it messes with them. Yet I didn't do it. I can't tell them I'm the one who's ruining their lives. I'm just making mine better. It'll never change though. I'll always feel bad for hurting them, but I have to do what I can to stay alive.

I have to keep my family alive.

---

"You look like him ya know? You two could be twins."

But we're not twins - we're cousins.

A silent sigh leaves my lips as I look around. Dark eyes bounce from wall to wall before landing on my reflection inside an old shattered mirror. Dark, shaggy hair falls in front my eyes hiding my dark, bushy eyebrows - I guess I shouldn't call it eyebrows more along the line of a uni-brow. My hair is always a tangled mess, and it's hard to comb it out. Heavy bags rest beneath my eyes - "Are your eyes black? What happened?" It's disgusting, and I hate it. Lack of sleep always gets to me, but I wouldn't change a thing. The whites of my eyes ares stained red. My eyes are heavy, and I want to sleep, yet I find myself staring at the walls and the ceiling the couple of hours I'm lying in bed. My face is pale, and it almost looks like a ghost. I don't look like him. I may resemble him, but I don't look like him.

Rolf is my cousin, and while I share his identity, it's just who I am.

My nose is large, I have terrible acne scars covering my face. My hands are calloused from working endless hours. Soot covers my face. My face is covered in black, it stains my nails. It's stuck in the cracks, and I've rubbed myself raw trying to get it off. My lips are chapped, and cracked. My teeth are covered with yellow plaque, and it makes me look disgusting. My breath stinks. I look nothing like him. Height isn't on my side. I have trouble reaching the top shelf in the cabinets. I have little to no muscles. My weight isn't anything to brag about. It never has been.

My voice is deep, and sometimes it cracks whenever I try to sing. I flail about a lot.

Rolf was the handsome one, and I'm the mediocre person.

I walk with a limp, and my run is more of a gallop. I'm very ungraceful, tripping over my own to feet many times. I've stumbled up stairs instead of falling down, I'm constantly dropping things, yet it never stops me from trying to succeed.

I try to smile throughout the day because I should be grateful for all that I have. But it never seems to happen. I have too much of a resting bitch face, and people are always asking me what's wrong - "Nothing's wrong." Yet they don't believe me and the only walk away. Sometimes I do wish I looked like my cousin, but at the same time I'm glad I don't. We're two separate people, and I enjoy being myself.

This is who I am.