m e m o r y | lala | Hunger Games: The RPG

Azalea
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last seen May 4, 2024 17:38:27 GMT -5

m e m o r y | lala Sept 26, 2017 15:46:44 GMT -5

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Post by Azalea on Sept 26, 2017 15:46:44 GMT -5

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Hendrix gave me this book today. I don't see myself as the diary type, but, here I am, being just another one of those girls that writes her feelings down in some shoddy old book. I think this old thing has been used before; there are doodles in the front. Probably used to belong to Hendrix, but alas, it is mine now.

Don't people usually name their diaries? I don't know. I don't seem like that type of person, I'm the diary type, but I'm not in that deep. At least, not yet.

I imagine I'll probably find myself looking back at these awkward few pages when I'm thirty and have children who are old enough to look after themselves. Except, I really can't see myself as a parent. Doesn't the thought of having a child seem so strange? Something that is part you and part someone else; it's a lot to comprehend. Having something get put inside you and then grow in your stomach—it is supposed to be human but it sounds so very alien. But, I do think it would be nice to have something to care for, something to call your own and something to bring you and your lover closer together. This is me I'm writing about, though, I'll probably be one of those people who just has a hundred or so rats and calls them her children. Real babies? I just don't see it.

One thing I do know though—if I ever do end up pregnant, I'll love it. Since no one but me is going to read this, I'm going to write down the things people don't really know. I was given up. They didn't want me, and by that logic, I shouldn't want them. But I do—blood is one thing in life you can't choose and to not know what runs through my veins makes me feel alone. Isolated. Raised with headstrong values, I know that there is a possibility I could find out who I really am, but the odds aren't really in my favour. When I was little, I'd fantasise about who my parents could be: famous people from the Capitol, beautiful people who lost me somehow. I used to hope that one day, they would pick me up and I'd feel at home finally. It never happened. I think I was about 10 when I came to the conclusion that they're probably dead in a ditch somewhere.

I digress. I'm good at going off on tangents.

Point is: I don't want anyone to experience that. If I ever do end up pregnant, I will be everything I didn't have. And I know that right now, these scribbles are just empty words which amount to nothing more than some sort of silent promise concealed within the wet pages of a diary, but when the time comes, these words will niggle away at me. I'll know what I wrote and I won't forget it. That moment will be when the silent promise becomes a scream; I'll never go back on my word after that. People deserve better, right? People deserve a good life, a proper one—a free one.

I could write for hours about freedom, but it is getting late. I'll write again soon when I actually have something to write about and I'm not just writing words for the sake of filling a blank page. Until then, book.

Azalea
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2,114 POSTS

last seen May 4, 2024 17:38:27 GMT -5

m e m o r y | lala Sept 27, 2017 7:53:45 GMT -5

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Post by Azalea on Sept 27, 2017 7:53:45 GMT -5

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I wasn't lying when I wrote that I wouldn't write again until something eventful happened. Today, something did happen. Soppy as it is, I want to write about it because I can't stop smiling and yes, it is probably sad that something so simple has made me so happy, but I am a girl who thinks that the smallest things take up the most room in our hearts.

It doesn't take much to impress me. Show me a field of daisies and I'll light up, if I get caught in a rain shower and find shelter under a tree, I'll breathe a sigh of relief knowing that Mother Nature has extended her hand to me. Clothes that are worn far too often for them to be remotely hygienic, birdsong as the moon begins to set at dawn. It doesn't take much, there is something special about the ordinary things. They are often overlooked, I don't like that, I like to take a second to just drop everything and breathe. I don't really believe in mindfulness or anything of the sort, but it never fails to put a smile on my face. When you're a wanderer, sometimes, that can mean the world.

Anyway, Hendrix is the root of this problem—well, it isn't a problem but I like the phrase. He's the root. Roots are strong. Hendrix is quite strong, actually.

He told me that he likes me. I know, I know, big deal. But really, it is. Confessions like those are what make girls blush red, make them feel warm inside and make them never ever want to stop thinking about this one person because this one person is the whole goddamn world and more. It's happening to me, dammit. Lovestruck. I think that is what they call it—when nothing else matters apart from one tiny little person who means nothing to everyone but is everything to someone. Forgive me if I'm pouring my heart out to these pages, I am, but I knew that from the day we met this would happen. Love at first sight?

It was for me. 35 days later and he feels the same. I'm not used to dreams coming true.

And now I'm here. Caught in his line of fire, and if it meant having him with me for the rest of time, I'd let the bullet get lodged in my heart. I don't know. I never used to be one for boys and love and romance, but it is like there is something in the air. Dangerously contagious, he told me his feelings and I told him mine. It just felt right. A moment so pure yet so fragile at the same time; one wrong move and things could be completely different. Maybe I wouldn't be in this position now, with my heart like one of the trains we see that has become a speed demon of a runaway, and my eyes fluttering with every thought of the guy. Bless him, I bet he's the complete opposite.

It doesn't matter though. He said he likes me, and I said that I liked him. And yes, it is in that way.

Ripred, I just read through what I've just wrote. Wow, I'm such a mess. One big, fat, loved-up mess.

Azalea
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2,114 POSTS

last seen May 4, 2024 17:38:27 GMT -5

m e m o r y | lala Oct 10, 2017 11:05:07 GMT -5

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Post by Azalea on Oct 10, 2017 11:05:07 GMT -5

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We’re all so goddamn normal.

I’ve heard stories about everyone and everything and I’ve heard stories about everywhere; it all seems like it amounts to so much more than what we have here. If we’re lucky, we’ll have a horseshoe but if they’re lucky, they’ll win big on machines and rake it thousands of gold pieces and call it a day before the sun has even had a chance to rise. Sometimes I think that this world is a world of opposites. For every person in the Capitol who has the time of their life repeatedly, there is someone who struggles to wake up and can’t even find a gold piece down the back of their sofa. And then there are people like us – the runaways, the escapees, the people who don’t have nothing but are far from having everything. The inbetweeners, the middle men and women who work and work harder to live and continue living.

It’s the norm for us. I guess that for everyone else, those in the Capitol raking in millions – it’s just normal for them too. Funny how we’re all so different yet the same. Circumstances does that, I’m convinced, because if my circumstances were different and I grew up in a home where the foundations weren’t taking every chance they could to crumble, I’d like to think I’d be living the tasteful life of the rich and famous. Absorbing the fame, rolling in the fortune and not giving two shits about anyone other than myself.

...Even if that was the case, I think I’d quickly realise how important it is to care about others. Care is what makes the world go round. Love too – although, you can only really have so much love before it runs dry. Obviously right now, my love is occupied by one person and one person only: Hendrix.

I don’t want this diary to become updates on my love life but we kissed last week. We both agreed that we’d take things slow but hey, you can’t catch your heart when it desperately wants to fall into someone else’s chest. I’ve been kissed before but it wasn’t like this. It meant something, like a stamp of approval or something.

Odd how two normal people can be so extraordinarily perfect together. Me and him, him and me, yeah, we’re extraordinary.

Azalea
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2,114 POSTS

last seen May 4, 2024 17:38:27 GMT -5

m e m o r y | lala Oct 14, 2017 10:00:01 GMT -5

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Post by Azalea on Oct 14, 2017 10:00:01 GMT -5

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Today was a bad day.

You know how you think about things and are certain that they will never happen to you? Simply because… you’re just not that type of person–you’re aware, active, ready and it just seems bizarre to think that the unthinkable could ever happen. That happened today, we all experienced the same pain and loss that, I guess, we knew would come eventually.

A tall figure in a white suit. The alarm was quickly raised and we fled, except Silas was still injured from the rabbit hole situation and we all completely forgot and nobody even tried to help him and that’s the saddest thing about it. We forgot. That puts the blame onto us-we are responsible for his taking. The aftermath was a mess; shouts and screams and desperate attempts to try and answer how and why this sort of thing could happen to us. I think the answer is simple: we were too caught up in our own selves to think of someone else.

Selfish.

He’s probably at the detention centre by now. Locked up, small thin window at the top of a concrete wall to remind you of home. Dang, I’ve heard rumours about that place and nobody deserves it, definitely not Silas who was already broken and was someone who was a friend. Truly. He was one of those guys who could tell stories for hours and you could just get completely lost in his words and your worries would just become nothing. If only he was here now, perhaps we wouldn’t still be shaking from events that happened hours ago.

I don’t know how I’m going to be able to sleep tonight. There’s every emotion running through me: anger, sadness, annoyance, rage. Our paradise feels like it has been dampened, like someone has drawn a large red cross through our faces and marked us as criminals. They’ve always seen us as criminals, sure, but they came and they took–it really puts it into perspective. Why are we branded as people who deserve chains and swallowed keys? Freedom is something that we all deserve but that only some are brave enough to follow, why are the brave being punished for following their dreams?

I’ve always been sceptical of the Capitol and its regime. The response to any situation from them is always force. There isn’t any room for diplomacy or peace talks because guns are fired before you can even beg them to stop. It’s quite sad honestly; I imagine the people that wear the white suits are the weakest. They break others because they are so close to breaking themselves.

But there isn’t anything a girl like me can do about it.

So, to Silas: I am sorry. I don’t know if you are dead or alive and I don’t know which option would be the better result. If it was possible, I’m sure we’d conduct a break-in-break-out operation and save you from the horrors that probably loom. But both you and I know how impossible that would be, so I pray that you’ll stay strong and live for you and you only. And if darkness comes, look it straight in the eye and show it what you’re made of–God knows it’ll be scared.

I guess that a girl like me can do something. A tiny, little thing. She can vow to never let the same thing happen again. I'll sign my name now. Consider it a promise. This isn't ever happening again.