~ These ~ Fantasies ~ Burn ~ (Ella)
May 8, 2011 20:50:38 GMT -5
Post by Stare on May 8, 2011 20:50:38 GMT -5
Emenaria LeviteShe Will Act: F5758E | | | | She Will Speak: 64D2B4 | | | | She Will Think: D9F876
I like to think that people who don't believe in magic
Aren't worth knowing.
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You lean against the icy pole in front of your favorite store, resisting the strong urge to look at the clock for the millionth time that minute. You can't help it- your brother was supposed to be there twenty minutes ago. More than likely he got caught up in training again. Once more, you wonder why a person would ever train for the Games. It is, after all, a fight to the death. You've always been worried about him being sent into the Games and dying- or, even worse, him volunteering. You've warned him against doing something stupid like that a million times, but he rarely listens to you. Without really meaning to you, your eyes travel to the clock face. Now he's twenty one minutes late. The normal sisterly annoyance hits you once more, but carefully hidden underneath is worry. You hope nothing happened to him on his way here. Jaykub isn't usually late- in fact, more than often, he's far too early. It's something that has always bugged you, but you love your him anyway. He's sweet, understanding, and a better parent to you than your real mom and dad have ever been.
As always when you think of your parents, sorrow hits you with a bitter edge. They think you're a freak. Not normal. Well, they should be happy now. They have a little girl who's better than you are, because she's regular. But you don't exactly consider regular a good thing. After all, what would set you apart if you didn't have bright pink eyes and highlights? You'd look like every other person in District One, and that would be terrible. Anyone can be like everyone. It takes a truely unique person- such as yourself- to be like your own somebody, so you're not just anybody like everybody else. You lean forward, off of the pole, and tilt your head to the side, trying to figure out where such complicated thoughts came from.
At that moment, a child you recognize walks by holding hands with their mother. She's a sweet little six year old, just a few inches shorter than you are. She has golden locks and the most inviting brown eyes you've ever seen, with freckles sprinkled all over her cheekbones and her small, plump nose. She's one of the few little kids who continue to come back and listen to your stories. Seeing you, she uses her free hand to wave. Her mother immediately spots you as well, and she looks at you wierdly before towing her daughter away. Still, she turns back and calls out, "See you tomorrow Emi- Emem- Ememarnia!" Her mother breifly scolds her as a few people turn to stare, and you watch with a small smile as she is dragged out of your sight. Still, you cup your hands around your mouth and call, "You can just call me Em, Lily!"
There is no response, and after staring in the direction they left for a few moments, you pull your book necklace off of your neck, dig around in your pocket for the stubby pencil you keep there, and scribble down a few words, seeming facinated with the results. Brilliant. Using your fingers to gently close the book again, you slip the pencil back in your pocket and fumble with the necklace, trying to position it the right way so that it fastens correctly. A bit of hair gets caught during the process, but you carelessly yank it away, not even flinching. After a few moments of quietly staring into the distance, searching for fairies in the huge crowd that walks by, your eyes finally wander toward the store. Anyone who walked by could see that you shopped there- the style of your clothing matches what can be seen through the window. You got your favorite dress from that store, and you love the way the gloves have only some of the fingers ripped off.
By now, worry has overcome annoyance. He's almost half an hour late, you think, glancing up and down the street. Where could he be? Hopefully he hasn't been hurt in training again. You swear, if someone ever really hurts him, you will find them. Training for the Games is dangerous, and Jaykub has the scars to prove it. You still don't understand why your brother would do such a foolish thing. How many times have you had nightmares of him in training when suddenly someone accidentally lands a fatal blow? How many times have you heard his voice call out to volunteer in your deepest nightmares? What would life be like without your big brother? Horrible. You would become a freak with no confidence. That's what Jaykub gave you, after all. He loves the way you walk on your hands and do cartwheels on the street and tell wonderful stories about the creatures that live outside the fence.
And sometimes it's nice to know you're loved.