Xiomara Hart//D4//Fin

"She's a little rebel, that's what they say
I've been chasing trouble since back in the day"

5

“Xiomara gets down from that roof!”

I giggled at the sound of my stern mother’s

voice. Her threats and demands seemed as if they went in one ear and out the

other. I didn’t mean to make her mad, I just wanted to see what was beyond the

ocean. No one ever answered my questions. All I ever got in response to my ever

growing curiosity were words of discouragement. My mothers voice soon became

one with the ocean breeze as I felt it take control of my long brown hair I was

never allowed to cut. Another giggle escaped my lips as my hair tickled the

back of my neck.

Sometimes I would lie wide awake at night

with millions of questions racing through my mind. I wanted to know everything,

but the one thing I wanted to know the most was how it felt to fly. Sitting up

there at the ripe age of 5, my only thought was if this is what birds felt when

they soared through the sky. The wind gently brushing my tan skin gave me the

impression that I finally had a solid answer to one of my questions. My mind

could not even begin to comprehend the danger I put myself in.

“Xiomara, if you don’t come down then I

will have to get your father.”

There were not many things I understood at

the time, but the threat of my father was one I was all to familiar with. Even

back then I knew instantly that I was in trouble. I looked down to see my

mother staring up at me with a disapproving look. Her body was tense and a her

frown was so bold that it almost disguised the fear in her eyes. Without

thinking I pushed myself of the ledge and opened up my arms “Catch me Mama”, that’s

when I hit the ground.

“Xiomara, when will you ever learn to think before you act?”

I was cradled in her arms now. I felt the

pain everywhere in my body. It consumed me. That was the day I earned my first

scar, right on my kneecaps from where I hit the ground. 

               "I don't want to grow up

I'm just not built this way"

10

So much potential.

That’s what they told my
parents at the academy. So much potential but no self-discipline. I was 10 for
crying out loud, only 10 years old and they expected me to follow orders like a
soldier. I was labelled unteachable, out of control, a disruption to the
program. The exact reasons that got me in the academy in the first place were
now labeled as the reasons they could not let me stay. I was fearless and determined
to reach my goals and now I was a liability. How do you tell a 10 year old that
they are not obedient enough? How do you tell a 10 year old that they are not
allowed to have a mind of their own.

“She needs to grow up.”

I was not ready to grow up, I wanted to be
a kid that went on adventures and solved mysteries. I wanted to  explore and learn about the way the world
worked. I did not want to have to take orders and turn the skills that made me
a prodigy into qualities I resented about myself. Why could they not understand
that? What was wrong with these adults.

“She doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut”?

Is it my own fault that words just spilled
out of my mouth like a waterfall? How come I could not maintain my focus like
the other kids? Why was it when everyone else experienced silence, I had 10 000
different voices in my head all saying different things all at once? Why did the
adults get mad at me for things I could not help? All these questions built up
in my head but I could not seem to formulate a single word. The disappointment on
my parent’s faces were mixing with helplessness. They did not know what to do
with me. I screamed. I screamed as loud as I could to drown out the noises and
the questions. I screamed till tears were pouring out of my chocolate brown
eyes. I was not able to transfer my feelings into words, I was not even able to
describe what I was feeling. It rushed over me like the waves crashing into the
sand sending stones, seaweed and whatever else the ocean carried in all
different directions.

A hard hand met my right cheek and I
stopped screaming. 

          "Daddy wishes I was the girl next door
        Mama tells me I should smile some more"

12

The day of my first reaping, my parents
told me to make sure I shut my trap and behave. They did not want any spontaneous
noises coming from my mouth. I told them they were better off taping my mouth
shut. My mom held on my hand tightly as she pulled me towards the district
square in a feeble attempt to make sure I do not run off to somewhere more
interesting. After my short stint at the training academy that ended two years
ago, I lost all interest in the games. It was fun while I was good, it was fun
while I was someone to look out for. Now no one cared for my backyard flips and
my recklessness mistaken for being fearless.

I was bored, being still was never my forte.
My mind wandered around the square as I observed the girls waiting in line to
get checked in. Most seemed exited or as if this was a big event one should be
awaiting. To me it was another grueling day I had to contain myself. I know my
parents hoped for a career child with discipline. They wanted any other child
in this district but me, I put a sour taste in everyone’s mouth, tainted our
good family name. Isn’t it just cruel how aware I was at 12?

“Stop picking at your skin, you’ll ruin
your fingers, Xiomara.”

My mom hissed at me as she swatted my hands
right before I went up to check in. The tips of my fingers were always scabbed
and my nails bitten. When my mind races, I need to do something, anything and
my fingers have become my greatest victim. Mother wanted me to have perfect
nails, perfect hair, a perfect smile 24 hours 7 days a week. I was told we had
to keep up appearances and be presentable at all times. They cared too much
about what others thought and never let me forget it. I was constantly having
my long, thick, dark hair pulled back and straightened to be neat and orderly, I was never a neat or orderly child. I thrived in chaos.

“Remember to smile”

My mom called out after me as I walked away
to join the masses of girls from my district. I know she knew that I rolled my
eyes before forcing a grin on my face. I’ll get told off for that later. My
first reaping went by, and I was not chosen, thankfully. My parents did 

not see
it that way. They wanted to bring glory and redemption to the name I tainted
with my behavior I could not control. Words were never spoken aloud, but I just
knew that I was not the daughter they wanted, all their hopes and dreams were
now riding in my brother, Xavier, it was his turn in two years to have his
first reaping. He would be their main focus from now own, I was deemed
helpless. 

       

       "I've been smokin', drinkin', lyin', cheatin'

I've overpromised, but underachieved"

15

Smoke filled my lung with a sharp inhale
from my first cigarette, immediately I felt the cough build up deep in my lungs
as I struggled to gasp for fresh air. For a second it was if my body was in a weightless
state. For a second, I thought I found peace. Marjorie laughed at my attempt to
smoke. We ditched class in order for me to try something that would bring me
sensation, anything seemed better then nothing. The last few years were as if
my petit body was a beautiful corpse with nothing inside. Every ounce of
curiosity and joy I felt as a child was beaten out of me. Now I was done
understanding what made me so different, I could not care less anymore. There
was not a single thing I could name that made me feel like a human being.

Marjorie and I were friends of circumstance,
each of us having our own problems that we never dared to speak out loud but
found comfort within each other. The little patch of green behind some of the
bushes on our school yard became our safe haven. We went there to get away from
everyone’s disapproving glares and whispers behind our backs. Just the two of
us, some booze and some cigarettes. Substances that made us want to breath
again.

“We should write our names down, document
this place as ours so every other person who doesn’t belong knows that they aren’t
alone.”

Marjorie’s idea reminds me that she was indeed
the better person out of us two. No matter what she had going on, she always
thought of me or others like us out there. Her eyes still have hope behind
them, the longing for a future. There is nothing behind the two wide marbles
resting above my permanently upturned nose. She gave me hope that one day I
will find the joy in life again, one day I will be whole again. 

            "God knows I've tried to be good"

16

Congratulations, you have made it to the

present day of my story. I’m 16 years old now, and despite all of my best

efforts still only a shell of that what I used to be. The cigarettes have

numbed my desire to eat, leaving me a gorgeously skinny girl. Not an ounce of

muscle remains from my days as a career, one would not even be able to tell the

amount of potential I once possessed. My parents have given up on me and it

feels as if they rarely even acknowledge my existence. Once upon a time I desperately

attempted to be the daughter they wanted. I really gave it my all. A secret I’ll

never tell, not even to Marjorie, is that despite my best efforts, deep down

inside, I care a lot.