lepra eleanor vole. d5. (fin)
May 7, 2017 0:51:18 GMT -5
Post by vely. on May 7, 2017 0:51:18 GMT -5
seventeen|d5|female|fc:Mia Gruenwald
lepra.
Lepra, a name chosen by my father and crafted by his own indecisive mind. Lep being the start of the name of the large cats speckled with brown spots, and Ra stemming from the name for the horses that are painted with black and white strips. My father is an animal tamer. He studies many of the worlds species, though he specializes in those that are nearly ancient. Been around since as far as any of our history books will show us. It fascinates me that there are still a few species left that the capitol hasn't demented into their own creations. Though I am sure that both the leopard and the zebra have been genetically modified into some other creature for some ridiculous motive.
Growing up with my father was never really a struggle. He was one of the few exotic animal specialists in our district, and so his knowledge was sought after. The Capitol would come to him for his knowledge of the possibility of genetically modifying certain species, and the possible repercussions. For a family of two living in the smoggy district of five, we did alright for ourselves. I never knew my mother, she died in childbirth. Though father was an expert in delivering offspring from various types of creatures, I was told he had slipped up during my birth, and so my mother hadn't survived the bleeding. I know that to this day he blames himself, but he is a person of very few words, as am I.
He had told me that I was a spitting image, and it makes me wonder if that is why he had spent so many years with his head hanging low. His eyes looking anywhere but directly at me. I knew that I was one of his demons, though I could not be buried like the rest. Her auburn hair, her aqua green eyes, even the small cleft in the center of my chin that I love to hate. Everything about me reminded him of her, and I knew that made him feel guilty. He feels as though he has stripped me of a part of myself, though I do not blame him. Not for anything.
It saddens me to say that I grew up with little to no hardship, considering the state that our world is currently in, but I was relatively happy. We had plenty of food, and most of my hours were spent tending to extremely beautiful creatures from all over the world. Not all children were so lucky. I watched friends suffer, watched them starve. I watched as I grew distant from the children who no longer could spend their lives being children. I watched as I was pushed away, because in reality my reality couldn't even compare to theirs.
I was one of the few who get to live life the way a person deserves to live life, free of worry. Though I wasn't free of all worry, the games were my one nightmare. The dream that continues to come back as I watch children slaughter children. I knew that in that arena there was no mercy, no peace. That if I was put into one of those arenas, that I would no longer have the upper hand.
Some say that it is pointless to worry about something that has so little chance of actually happening. But every year that I stand at the reaping, I feel my stomach turn, my heart skip. I've been known to have a sick sense. Sometimes I make myself sick, knowing that my only worry is one so pathetic, so simple compared to those of the other children.
My father and I, we tried to help those that I considered myself to be close to, but our resources could only stretch so far, and he had told me to stop beating myself up over something that I couldn't control. So I stopped leaving my doors open, my defenses no longer deactivated. I don't let anyone else in, because I cant afford to protect them. Some say that the games are a place of selfishness and only the selfish survive, but the same is true for our world. Even when we are not a part of the arena, we are still a part of the Capitol's game.
Growing up with my father was never really a struggle. He was one of the few exotic animal specialists in our district, and so his knowledge was sought after. The Capitol would come to him for his knowledge of the possibility of genetically modifying certain species, and the possible repercussions. For a family of two living in the smoggy district of five, we did alright for ourselves. I never knew my mother, she died in childbirth. Though father was an expert in delivering offspring from various types of creatures, I was told he had slipped up during my birth, and so my mother hadn't survived the bleeding. I know that to this day he blames himself, but he is a person of very few words, as am I.
He had told me that I was a spitting image, and it makes me wonder if that is why he had spent so many years with his head hanging low. His eyes looking anywhere but directly at me. I knew that I was one of his demons, though I could not be buried like the rest. Her auburn hair, her aqua green eyes, even the small cleft in the center of my chin that I love to hate. Everything about me reminded him of her, and I knew that made him feel guilty. He feels as though he has stripped me of a part of myself, though I do not blame him. Not for anything.
It saddens me to say that I grew up with little to no hardship, considering the state that our world is currently in, but I was relatively happy. We had plenty of food, and most of my hours were spent tending to extremely beautiful creatures from all over the world. Not all children were so lucky. I watched friends suffer, watched them starve. I watched as I grew distant from the children who no longer could spend their lives being children. I watched as I was pushed away, because in reality my reality couldn't even compare to theirs.
I was one of the few who get to live life the way a person deserves to live life, free of worry. Though I wasn't free of all worry, the games were my one nightmare. The dream that continues to come back as I watch children slaughter children. I knew that in that arena there was no mercy, no peace. That if I was put into one of those arenas, that I would no longer have the upper hand.
Some say that it is pointless to worry about something that has so little chance of actually happening. But every year that I stand at the reaping, I feel my stomach turn, my heart skip. I've been known to have a sick sense. Sometimes I make myself sick, knowing that my only worry is one so pathetic, so simple compared to those of the other children.
My father and I, we tried to help those that I considered myself to be close to, but our resources could only stretch so far, and he had told me to stop beating myself up over something that I couldn't control. So I stopped leaving my doors open, my defenses no longer deactivated. I don't let anyone else in, because I cant afford to protect them. Some say that the games are a place of selfishness and only the selfish survive, but the same is true for our world. Even when we are not a part of the arena, we are still a part of the Capitol's game.
words // 727
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