Don't Worry About It {Lenoura}
Jan 3, 2012 20:50:31 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jan 3, 2012 20:50:31 GMT -5
[/b]Khiyyi Song
[/center]Khiyyi woke not to the usual sound of Angela’s footsteps, but rather to the incessant grumbling of her own stomach. She sat up in her bed, trying not to disturb the two boys lying beside her: Hayden and Connor, nine and seven respectively. Their mother had passed away from starvation only last week. Khiyyi’s adoptive mother, Angela, a good friend of their mother, had decided to take them in, at least for the time being.
Khiyyi couldn’t help feeling sorry for the boys. She understood what they felt, maybe not in the same sense, but at least to a certain extent. For a second, Khiyyi looked at their worn, weak faces: the face of starving children. A wave of empathy hit Khiyyi hard.
As she stood up from the bed, Khiyyi looked at her own reflection in the mirror against the wall. The moment she saw the wreck she had become, she looked away. A two-second glance and she was already horrified. She knew she was unhealthy, but she had no idea it had gotten this bad. Angela and Mark were too busy to notice their adopted daughter was starving herself to death. Khiyyi refused to accept the facts: she was perfectly fine.
Khiyyi quickly slipped on her work clothes. She knew there was no way she could go back to sleep, not with the sounds her stomach was making. The sun wasn’t up yet, but she knew most shops were. Most shops didn’t run well during the day: only during the early morning before sunrise or the late night after sunset did people purchase anything. Any other time, most citizens were too busy on the fields or in the orchards, working away.
Khiyyi passed Angela and Mark’s bed on her way to the pantry. Although they had brought her in, she never called them mother or father. She felt as though calling them that would completely dishonor her real family back in the Capitol. Too often, Khiyyi thought of turning herself in. She could easily tell one of the peacekeepers who she was: Capitol-born. However, it was the kindness of Angela and Mark that made her realize there was no way she could do that. They would be killed, only making things worse.
Khiyyi opened the pantry door. Nothing but a few last slices of bread and a banana. A sudden scream startled Khiyyi. “Behind you!” a girl shouted. Frightened, Khiyyi shut the pantry door, her heart beating fast. She could feel beads of sweat forming around her hairline. It had been her sister’s scream, her sister whom she had betrayed. She hadn’t seen her since. Khiyyi finally took a breath when she realized it was just another flashback. However, that didn’t make the memory any more comforting.
Khiyyi didn’t want the food in the pantry. She didn’t deserve any. The pain of being hungry was starting to feel good. It was just a lesson; it was discipline. Quickly, Khiyyi grabbed her bag from the kitchen table, pulled out a bit of money, just enough to buy some food for the family before work, and stuffed it into her pocket. Then, she pulled out Jayson’s old pocketknife. Jayson was Angela and Mark’s son, although he had moved out of the house a few years ago. Khiyyi had found his pocketknife under her bed a few days after he had moved out. It had now become her tool of self-discipline.
It was as though Khiyyi had blinded herself, unable to see how mentally unwell she was becoming…
Quickly exiting the shack, Khiyyi took a start towards the line of shops at the corner. She could feel her legs growing weaker with every step. Khiyyi was barely holding herself up. As she got closer to the line of shops, she saw people crowding around some sort of scene. A gunshot rang through the air, and Khiyyi knew what had happened: some teenager probably stealing food again, caught by the peacekeepers. Oh, this kind of stuff happened much too often.
Occurrences like these made her wonder which side she was on. She despised the peacekeepers, but she loved her family. She missed the Capitol, but she loved the people in District Eleven. She hated herself…but she loved her life.
Not wanting to get involved, Khiyyi turned back around. Better to stay away. Food for the rest of the family would just have to wait. Khiyyi started walking, but immediately had to stop. The dizziness was too great. Quickly, she sat down on the curb on the side of the street. She watched as a fraction of the sun peeked over the horizon, and as citizens began to make their way towards the fields. She knew it was time to get up, but Khiyyi couldn’t pull herself to her feet. Helplessly, she looked at the scars across her wrists: the cuts that she, herself had inflicted. What was Khiyyi doing to herself?
Suddenly, Khiyyi heard her sister’s scream again and she almost lost it. Too many flashbacks and too much regret for her to handle.
I deserve it, she told herself. I deserve to be sitting here, too starved and too weak to stand. I deserve to most likely miss my work shift and get publicly whipped. I deserve it all. I'm selfish: terribly selfish. However, Khiyyi smiled through the pain. It was good. It was all for a better cause, wasn’t it? She was merely punishing herself.
Khiyyi finally found the strength to stand again. She got up and began walking, her thin legs guiding her as she walked meekly through the streets. Everyone was heading to the fields by now. Khiyyi wondered whether Angela, Mark, and the boys had left yet.
Khiyyi suddenly stopped walking, frozen still and weak, at a loss for breath. A moment later she realized, she had just stopped a whole line of people filing through the busy streets. She immediately crashed into someone and fell halfway to the ground before regaining her balance. She stood up, looking down at the other girl who had fallen. “Sorry! So so sorry!” Khiyyi said. “Here, erm, lemme help you, miss.” Being as polite and helpful as possible, Khiyyi held out her hand to the girl to help her up, maintaining just enough energy to keep from falling again. [/size][/blockquote][/justify][/color]
