District 2: Sadie Twain
Apr 22, 2018 0:26:12 GMT -5
Post by Sockie on Apr 22, 2018 0:26:12 GMT -5
SADIE :: TWAIN
Despite my parents' permissiveness, and my generally friendly personality, I don't often actively pursue interaction. I am usually fine painting while my father plays, or playing while my mother paints. Until I was ten they home schooled me, but eventually I became too antsy and they began sending me to school. I found out quickly that most people in District 2 didn't share my intentions - whereas I was friendly, honest, sincere, a lot of children seemed to be fiercely competitive. We could never just "play a game." It always had to end in someone trying to argue - and I am not an arguer. I learned to let things go for the sake of peace, but it meant a lot of people thought very little of me.
I don't worry, after all, what is the likelihood of the worst happening - being reaped - when there are so many people willing to volunteer? I don't worry about much at all, actually. Money isn't an issue, and a lack of human company never bothered me (although it is nice, I would never reject a friendship). Painting and viola - my two greatest passions, are all that I ever worry about. Standing on the tips of my toes to paint fluffy blue clouds, and stretching my pinky till it aches to reach that fourth-finger on the C-string. Waiting five minutes for my tea to steep. Those are my concerns. Except for that one thing. My past.
The absence of anything serious to worry about started playing with my head around last year, when I was finally able to pull the information from my parents about why we looked so blatantly different from each other. That was the first and last time they openly spoke to me about it, and I barely got any information. Not a name, not a District, not even a token from them that might have given some clue to my origins, and why I didn't quite fit in with my classmates. I've imagined it thoroughly. Wanderers from District 10. Expelled Capitolites. Explorers from District 13. People of the Ocean. I have it painted on my walls.
AGE 12 :: DISTRICT 2 :: FEMALE :: YE WON YOO
I don't belong here. I don't know where I do belong but it is definitely not in District 2. I was a year and a half old when my parents were caught outside the gate of District 2, wanderers, and there is no telling what was done to them although I would assume something along the lines of Tortured, Avoxed, or Executed. Something had to be done with me, and by some chance instead of the community home I was given to a very old couple who offered to raise me. They were former careers, but never too insistent on me going down that road. They have shown me basic things, but they're both too old to take it seriously anymore. No one knows what District my parents were from, or if they were even from one at all. They could have been from the capital for all I know. I shouldn't think too hard about it, though, I've been told I'm not supposed to talk about it. Talking about my roots has always gotten me in trouble.
I talk a bit much. At least, that's what my current mother says. I like to talk about all the things that interest me, and even things that don't interest me, just to fill up time. After all, our house is just so boring, and I feel a responsibility to liven up the place. When I was younger this took the form of dancing around and "helping" my adoptive parents as much as they would let me, but now that I'm a bit older I find other things work just as well. I definitely talk less than I used to, as I'm starting to develop a sense about when I should keep my mouth shut (although I am not afraid to admit that it is definitely too much). Instead of the chattiness, when I'm by myself, or it's just my parents and I, I like to paint. They give me free reign over the walls, and it usually takes me a month or two to completely exhaust the space before I go over it all so I can start again. Some paintings I leave forever, but I'm used to painting over them, and there are probably dangerously cakey layers of paint in certain spots on our walls. Canvases are just too limiting.
I am aware that I'm smaller than most of the children my age, and if I were a career this might be an issue. Fortunately for me my parents let me pursue the things that interest me. So, painting. I also enjoy watching my father work. He is a luthier, which means he makes and sells string instruments to sell. He plays so beautifully, and I wish I could be as wonderful as he is at it, although I'm not that terrible myself. He let me play with it as young as I can remember, but he never seriously started trying to teach me until I indicated an actual desire to learn -- which developed around the time I was six (but was not strong enough to commit until I was nearly eight). The only difference between what I wanted to do and what he let me do was I started at "Double Bass!" and negotiated down to "Viola." I wanted BIG - like my personality, but he was not about to give me an instrument twice my height.
I don't worry, after all, what is the likelihood of the worst happening - being reaped - when there are so many people willing to volunteer? I don't worry about much at all, actually. Money isn't an issue, and a lack of human company never bothered me (although it is nice, I would never reject a friendship). Painting and viola - my two greatest passions, are all that I ever worry about. Standing on the tips of my toes to paint fluffy blue clouds, and stretching my pinky till it aches to reach that fourth-finger on the C-string. Waiting five minutes for my tea to steep. Those are my concerns. Except for that one thing. My past.
The absence of anything serious to worry about started playing with my head around last year, when I was finally able to pull the information from my parents about why we looked so blatantly different from each other. That was the first and last time they openly spoke to me about it, and I barely got any information. Not a name, not a District, not even a token from them that might have given some clue to my origins, and why I didn't quite fit in with my classmates. I've imagined it thoroughly. Wanderers from District 10. Expelled Capitolites. Explorers from District 13. People of the Ocean. I have it painted on my walls.
credit to Laura of Adox
