ruphalia hayes {d11} fin

ruphalia "ruth" hayes

who's inside of me? the monster pulling strings

It's been 13 years.

I was only 5 years old. Bright green eyes, wispy dirty blonde hair that fell to my back. Since, I have grown into a tall, lanky woman. Even then I was thin, but I knew I had lost a considerable amount of weight. There he sat, tending to a wound on his forehead. Ever the rebellious soul, Fallstreak and I never had anything in common besides our looks back then. I grinned at my big brother, a wide, toothy grin revealing my overbite. Back then, Fallstreak wanted nothing to do with me. A set of deep brown met my own bright, youthful hazel eyes.

"Fall! Wanna play?"

"Not today, Ruthie."

I sighed and walked away from my older brother's room, disappointed in the results. Carpe Diem. Seize the day. I would have to find my own methods of fun. So that's what I did. 5 year old Ruphalia Hayes ran out into the sunlight. The sun kissed my cheeks and danced a long my skin. It coloured me a dark tan and caressed my cheekbones, leaving a trail of freckles behind. The sun gave me the gift of youth, but at the same time, it also aged me. It left me eyebags, stained my high cheeks with trails of tears and chapped my lips.

I was too young to understand.

"Daddy," I confronted my father one day.
"Yes, Ruth?" he asked, not looking up from the piece of paper he was engrossed with. I cocked my head to the side like a curious puppy dog.
"Why does Momma cry all the time? The question sent shivers down my father's spine. His once neutral expression turned into a frown and he furrowed his eyebrows.

My father explained to me that Momma had become pregnant with a baby, a baby just like me and Fall once were. He said that the baby was actually an angel, so God had to take the baby away to be in heaven with the other angels. I told him that I didn't think that was fair. I still don't think it's fair.

I was still too young to understand, when Momma was laying on the ground, surrounded in a pool of blood pooling from her wrists. I didn't understand why she was sleeping on the ground when there was clearly a bed right beside her. I didn't understand why Fallstreak was yelling at me to leave, to run, to be somewhere other than where Momma was.

So that's what I did. I ran, and I ran, I ran far far away until my little legs couldn't handle anymore exertion. And when I came back... well, things weren't quite the same.

Daddy told me that Momma was alright, Momma was gonna survive. Momma was a strong person and that I should aspire to be as strong as her one day. Momma did survive. She came home after a couple of days. Her wrists were all sewn up and she was ready to recover in bed. Sometimes, I'd thought that maybe her wrists were cut open was 'cause God had figured out Momma was an Angel too, and he needed to take her, too.

I didn't understand when Momma and Daddy took me to the District square and Fallstreak was called up to the stage. Momma cried, like she always did. It was a common sight to see Momma with tear-stained cheekbones. I didn't think anything of it. Daddy looked sad and even I saw a single droplet travel down his cheek, too. I didn't understand why. Fallstreak stood in front of his district, mustering the most possible brave face he could.

"Ruphalia... Fallstreak, h-he's gone away for a little while. He's on a trip to somewhere called... The Hunger Games. You won't see him for a while."

Sometimes, I still wait for Fallstreak to return. But apparently, he was an angel just like my little brother or sister and God decided that Fallstreak needed to be with him, too. I never saw him since.

I was ten years old when I walked in on my mother's lifeless body, hanging from a homemade noose from the top of our ceiling. Her body swayed back and forth, hanging like a rag doll. It turns out that God did need another angel that day. I had never seen my mother look more peaceful in her life.

I am eighteen years old now. The bright-eyed, young blonde girl had long disappeared. In her place was a sad, lethargic barely legal woman who spent her days moping, hoping for some day something exciting to happen to her. The girl that replaced her no longer had the energy to play, or to do much of anything. She lived in fear that one day, God might decide to take her as an angel too, just like he did with her siblings and her mother.

I am not proud of who I am. I accept things as they are and I never try to fight them. I am obedient and patient. While I'm good with people, I never have any desire to speak with them. I'm not that intelligent. I know one day, I will work the fields until my back gives out, just as the rest of my family did.

I'm nothing like my mother. I am not strong. Sometimes I think about just giving up and never waking up. I wished some day, I wouldn't wake up and I'd remain in a sleeping coma until the day I died. After all, wishing you'd stay asleep and wishing to die are too completely different things. My favourite past time became talking to my father and making sure his fate wouldn't end up like my mother's. I loved my father. I became incredibly protective of anyone that I became close with.

Attachment is a dangerous thing.

tag: Charlotte Anderson words: ## template by eliza @ tb & adoxography