~jack daghlian |finished|district one~
Jul 9, 2011 14:14:46 GMT -5
Post by Cel on Jul 9, 2011 14:14:46 GMT -5
Male
24
24
sometimes these feelings can be so misleading
The picture blurs, and the view zooms in and out a bit. finally focusing on a tall red figure sitting in a medium-sized white leather recliner. You can see his clothing is deceptively simple, being a plain red shirt and dark jeans, frayed slightly around the ends. Other than that, both the shirt and the pants look entirely new. He doesn't have any shoes on, as there isn't any reason to. His body language makes it clear that this is his home. The figure also has a small silver band around his wrists, which both have needle marks in them, from the intravenous chemo treatment he has been undergoing. He still has some of his hair in, but it is sparse and doesn't look particularly healthy. Instead of its typical dark black, it looks a little more like a faded gray. Some wavy locks of it hangs over his face, which must have been attractive at one point, but is now scarred with pain. His raggedy five o'clock shadow looks rather ghastly on his face. His eyes still shine blue, looking like a beacon of life in the pallor of his skin. Out of disgust, or perhaps from the flicking gesture that the figure had made from outside of the camera frame, the camera zoomed out to a clear view of his entire body.
Looking over him this time, it isn't hard to see that he hasn't been eating much. He looks unnaturally thin for a man of his age. If you look carefully at how loosely his shirt hangs over his body, you can see his ribs faintly through the thin fabric. Despite his thinness, it is clear that he can still move quite well, and could probably walk just fine. His lips move, as if to say something, but nothing seems to come out. Apparently he can tell, and he moves his hands in a decidedly exasperated motion. When he moves them, you can make out some tattoos on his arms, namely a dragon on his left arm that coils the length of it, with its head being his hand. He reaches outside of the camera's view, and returns with a top hat, which he promptly puts on. This is quite successful in hiding his lack of hair, and makes him look almost normal, unless you look at him from the side, where the lack of hair is a ghastly effect. From that angle, you can see a small silver stub in his ear. Periodically, he brushes it, as if reminding himself that it is still there. Calming himself down, he starts to speak again.
Alright, listen here... Check one... Check two... Mkay, I think I'm live, then. Well, let's start with the basics. My name is Jack Daghlian You could say I'm an artist. If you meant it in the conventional sense, you would be wrong, of course. Not that I don''t enjoy art, of course, but rather that that isn't my primary source of income. I do dabble in painting and drawing occasionally, of course, but really my arts are philosophy and music.You could say that I style myself a bit of a virtuoso of ideas. We'll go through some facts about my personality first, and then cover my personal history, as well as my family's.
zzzzz... (sound disappears, picture statics and returns a minute later, with Jack relaxed and reclining on his chair. The sound returns with Jack in the middle of a sentence)
Really, I'm a bit of an idealist, you could say. That is, I tend to hold to ideals. Mostly that people are ignorant assholes most of the time.
Jack takes a swig of something liquid in a silver flask
Yeah... that about sums it up. I mean, not all people, but most I know just seem to be after my money There are so few people that aren't greedy here. You would think that their lives revolved around to trying to siphon money off of people like me. Maggots.
Oh, there are good people out there, though. Like my sister. She isn't... corrupted... yet. Unlike me. That's what money has done for me. That's what money does to everyone. It corrupts us, makes us slaves to power, until all we care about is getting more of it [money]. It really isn't any way to live. As someone, I don't remember the name now, once said:
"Those who live by the sword, die by the sword."
I don't want to die by the sword of greed. And yet, I also don't want to go and corrupt others so I can die without guilt. And I am dying. They used to call what I'm suffering consumption or cancer. It has certainly colored my view of what I'll be seen as after I die. Hell, it makes me want to do good for once in my screwed up life.
Part of it is just karma. I've done a lot of immoral things in my life. I have to balance that out. And I'm not even going to go into all the illegal things I've done. Those don't really matter, though. The Capitol would outlaw living if they thought it would benefit them. The other aspect is just self enjoyment. Doing good. Man, it just feels good. I mean, I just don't get why people aren't more nice to each other. It feels good for both you and them. It's a mutually beneficial relationship.
Well, I suppose I should start on my history. I was born, here in District One, approximately twenty four years ago, on the date of July ninth. I was born to the offspring of two of the richest people of their time. Consequentially, I grew up in a permanent state of indulgence. My childhood was a happy one, and, through the influence of my parents, became a career tribute. I may not look it now, but in my prime I was six foot four and full of muscles. I had trained so much for the Games that I could practically wield almost any weapon, blindfolded and asleep. My devotion to the task of becoming a killing machine, of bringing honor to my family, was so strong that I disregarded almost all relationships for this cause. Looking back on this, it was... single-minded of me. I had no issue with manipulating my parents and indeed anyone in order to further my training. I squandered a good deal of money attempting to give myself an edge.
And yet, my time never came. I, like all careers, took out a maximum amount of tesserae, and yet, year after year went by. By my eighteenth year, it became apparent to me that I was never going to get my chance. Oh, some of the people that had been my "friends" had been Reaped. They had died the deaths of true careers, fighting to the end. After that Reaping, it felt as if my entire life had collapsed around me. Never would I have the honor, the fame, that was winning the Games. I had failed. Honestly, I don't remember the two years that followed. My family tells me that I became a recluse, and drank incessantly. I lived in a drunken stupor, until my father died.
I suppose it didn't really come as a surprise. He had always had a weak heart, and the corporation he had inherited from his parents was going through a particularly difficult time. Recently, their producers hadn't been keeping their quotas and such. Apparently, this caused him a good deal of stress, which in turn lead to all sorts of complications. Regardless, this resulted in me inheriting his shares, and, the next year, all the shares my grandparents had left me. All of a sudden, I was the CEO of one of the largest producers of luxury goods in District One, and I was just some drunk, depressed, washed-up wannabe Career. I felt like shit.
So I cleaned up, dried myself out, and put on a suit. It helped me clean myself up, leading. I realized that I couldn't expect my company to be at their best if I wasn't too. So I became better. It's been rocky at times, but as a company, we've been able to steer ourselves in a direction that will lead us to lasting prosperity. Our profit margins, our employee morale, all of it was on the up. We were hiring, we were regaining our glory.
Then I got the news, six months ago. My doctor diagnosed me with localized liver cancer. Statistically, I had a thirty-five percent chance of living through it. Now, I'm probably around a twenty percent chance. It's looking up, but there's always a chance of a relapse. And that's assuming malnutrition or infections don't get to me first, as my immune system is pretty much fried at this point. In these short months, I have done the best I could to set my company on the road to not being merely fiscally, but also morally successful.
All I ever wanted to do in my life was be remembered. At this point, with death in sight, I can see that that was not in my fate. You can consider this to be one last effort of a dying man to achieve his dream. I plan on distributing this to several friends, and my sister, before I die. I'm hoping that it will shed some light on who I was to myself, and my actions recently. Thank you for your time.
Looking over him this time, it isn't hard to see that he hasn't been eating much. He looks unnaturally thin for a man of his age. If you look carefully at how loosely his shirt hangs over his body, you can see his ribs faintly through the thin fabric. Despite his thinness, it is clear that he can still move quite well, and could probably walk just fine. His lips move, as if to say something, but nothing seems to come out. Apparently he can tell, and he moves his hands in a decidedly exasperated motion. When he moves them, you can make out some tattoos on his arms, namely a dragon on his left arm that coils the length of it, with its head being his hand. He reaches outside of the camera's view, and returns with a top hat, which he promptly puts on. This is quite successful in hiding his lack of hair, and makes him look almost normal, unless you look at him from the side, where the lack of hair is a ghastly effect. From that angle, you can see a small silver stub in his ear. Periodically, he brushes it, as if reminding himself that it is still there. Calming himself down, he starts to speak again.
Alright, listen here... Check one... Check two... Mkay, I think I'm live, then. Well, let's start with the basics. My name is Jack Daghlian You could say I'm an artist. If you meant it in the conventional sense, you would be wrong, of course. Not that I don''t enjoy art, of course, but rather that that isn't my primary source of income. I do dabble in painting and drawing occasionally, of course, but really my arts are philosophy and music.You could say that I style myself a bit of a virtuoso of ideas. We'll go through some facts about my personality first, and then cover my personal history, as well as my family's.
zzzzz... (sound disappears, picture statics and returns a minute later, with Jack relaxed and reclining on his chair. The sound returns with Jack in the middle of a sentence)
Really, I'm a bit of an idealist, you could say. That is, I tend to hold to ideals. Mostly that people are ignorant assholes most of the time.
Jack takes a swig of something liquid in a silver flask
Yeah... that about sums it up. I mean, not all people, but most I know just seem to be after my money There are so few people that aren't greedy here. You would think that their lives revolved around to trying to siphon money off of people like me. Maggots.
Oh, there are good people out there, though. Like my sister. She isn't... corrupted... yet. Unlike me. That's what money has done for me. That's what money does to everyone. It corrupts us, makes us slaves to power, until all we care about is getting more of it [money]. It really isn't any way to live. As someone, I don't remember the name now, once said:
"Those who live by the sword, die by the sword."
I don't want to die by the sword of greed. And yet, I also don't want to go and corrupt others so I can die without guilt. And I am dying. They used to call what I'm suffering consumption or cancer. It has certainly colored my view of what I'll be seen as after I die. Hell, it makes me want to do good for once in my screwed up life.
Part of it is just karma. I've done a lot of immoral things in my life. I have to balance that out. And I'm not even going to go into all the illegal things I've done. Those don't really matter, though. The Capitol would outlaw living if they thought it would benefit them. The other aspect is just self enjoyment. Doing good. Man, it just feels good. I mean, I just don't get why people aren't more nice to each other. It feels good for both you and them. It's a mutually beneficial relationship.
Well, I suppose I should start on my history. I was born, here in District One, approximately twenty four years ago, on the date of July ninth. I was born to the offspring of two of the richest people of their time. Consequentially, I grew up in a permanent state of indulgence. My childhood was a happy one, and, through the influence of my parents, became a career tribute. I may not look it now, but in my prime I was six foot four and full of muscles. I had trained so much for the Games that I could practically wield almost any weapon, blindfolded and asleep. My devotion to the task of becoming a killing machine, of bringing honor to my family, was so strong that I disregarded almost all relationships for this cause. Looking back on this, it was... single-minded of me. I had no issue with manipulating my parents and indeed anyone in order to further my training. I squandered a good deal of money attempting to give myself an edge.
And yet, my time never came. I, like all careers, took out a maximum amount of tesserae, and yet, year after year went by. By my eighteenth year, it became apparent to me that I was never going to get my chance. Oh, some of the people that had been my "friends" had been Reaped. They had died the deaths of true careers, fighting to the end. After that Reaping, it felt as if my entire life had collapsed around me. Never would I have the honor, the fame, that was winning the Games. I had failed. Honestly, I don't remember the two years that followed. My family tells me that I became a recluse, and drank incessantly. I lived in a drunken stupor, until my father died.
I suppose it didn't really come as a surprise. He had always had a weak heart, and the corporation he had inherited from his parents was going through a particularly difficult time. Recently, their producers hadn't been keeping their quotas and such. Apparently, this caused him a good deal of stress, which in turn lead to all sorts of complications. Regardless, this resulted in me inheriting his shares, and, the next year, all the shares my grandparents had left me. All of a sudden, I was the CEO of one of the largest producers of luxury goods in District One, and I was just some drunk, depressed, washed-up wannabe Career. I felt like shit.
So I cleaned up, dried myself out, and put on a suit. It helped me clean myself up, leading. I realized that I couldn't expect my company to be at their best if I wasn't too. So I became better. It's been rocky at times, but as a company, we've been able to steer ourselves in a direction that will lead us to lasting prosperity. Our profit margins, our employee morale, all of it was on the up. We were hiring, we were regaining our glory.
Then I got the news, six months ago. My doctor diagnosed me with localized liver cancer. Statistically, I had a thirty-five percent chance of living through it. Now, I'm probably around a twenty percent chance. It's looking up, but there's always a chance of a relapse. And that's assuming malnutrition or infections don't get to me first, as my immune system is pretty much fried at this point. In these short months, I have done the best I could to set my company on the road to not being merely fiscally, but also morally successful.
All I ever wanted to do in my life was be remembered. At this point, with death in sight, I can see that that was not in my fate. You can consider this to be one last effort of a dying man to achieve his dream. I plan on distributing this to several friends, and my sister, before I die. I'm hoping that it will shed some light on who I was to myself, and my actions recently. Thank you for your time.
I said it once before but it bears repeating, now
Codeword:
odair
Please note that by rich, in this case, it is meant that he has a relative income of equivalently around $100,000, which as I understand it is probably a good amount. Of course, he also has an inheritance, but that I'm not considering that. Also, the corporation he heads would be fairly minor by today's standards. In case you hadn't noticed, he has a bit of a grandiose tendency. He's not some kind of millionaire. Additionally, most of what he says in this is colored through the lens of his own (minor) narcissism.
Text:White (ffffff)
Speech:d52a33
Thoughts:070707
Theme:
Leave Out All the Rest|Linkin Park
