Lieutenant

Lieutenant “Lou” DiNiro Richter

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Seventeen
District One
Taxidermist, florist, botanist

Hey, slow it down; what do you want from me,
what do you want from me?
Yeah, I’m afraid; what do you want from me?
What do you want from me?[/center][/i]


I am not gay.

I hate it when people call me that. They make fun of me just because I like “girl stuff,” and it’s not even girly! Flowers don’t have to be associated with females. There’s plenty of guys that like botany and I just happen to be one of them. Humans are awful at judging and don’t understand that words hurt. I’m not a sissy, either. I’m just… sensitive. Words hurt me more than people realize. When someone calls me an awful name I don’t want to repeat, it’s like a punch to the gut. I hold grudges, too, for a very long time, and that’s also why other guys accuse me of being gay. But I’m not! I just prefer to not duke it out with some guy who’s all brawn and no brain. Those kinds of guys are utterly stupid. I’d much rather talk about my issues and keep the flying fists to a minimum since fighting never solves anything. Well, sometimes it does. Like if someone’s dissing on my brother – though I don’t know why they would since Brig’s pretty much perfect – then I won’t hesitate to bring out claws and teeth. That’s really the only time I’ll ever fight. Even though I’ve been trained as a Career, when someone makes fun of me, I take the verbal beating with my mouth shut, eyes down, and I just walk away. I’ve tried talking back before, but that never goes well. They’re all usually bigger and stronger than me – even though I’m quite strong, so they’re hulking like bulls – so I get a few slugs to the face or stomach and they chase me off. But I’m a lover, not a fighter, so I’m alright with running away from fights… I guess.

I look up to my older brother for everything. He’s my best friend and the only guy that doesn’t scream damned names at me. Brig’s always there for me, so I know I can trust him. I tell him everything: what I’m feeling, who degraded me and what they said, any particular things bothering or exciting me. He’s got my back, and I’ve got his. I’d do anything for him. Like I said earlier, if anyone ever tries to get onto him about anything, I’ll get onto them armed to the teeth. But then they deliver one or two blows and I’m cowering away. Another reason I admire Brig so much: he doesn’t back down from anything. He’s brave, courageous, smart, burly, and basically everything masculine that I’m not. I want to be like him more than anything. Okay, so don’t get the idea that I’m a freaky stalker brother or anything; it’s like we’re best friends and we’re constantly together as it is anyway, so we’re really close, mostly due to the fact that our dad is pretty distant when it comes to family. I don’t know why. But because of that, Brig and I look out for each other.

Okay, so the main reason people call me “gay” and stuff is because I love flowers and plants. Other than taxidermy, I love arranging flowers, growing all sorts of plants and trees, decorating with them, you name it. If it involves flowers or trees, I probably love it. Oh, and gardening, I love gardening. But all this floral business – I do it in secret. Only Brig knows about it. I have a “secret garden” out hidden in the woods behind our house, and on top of the family taxidermy building, I have pots of plants and stuff up there to stay hidden from the public and my family. This way, no one can see me and poke fun at me. I’m safe… for the most part.

Someday, I’m gonna show up all these condescending bastards. I’m going to do something so grand – so innovating that people will stop making fun of me and see me as an equal.

There might have been a time
when I would give myself away,
oh, once upon a time I didn’t give a damn.
But now, here we are, so what do you want from me?
What do you want from me?

Unlike Brig, I’m fairly short. Roughly 5’11” and 178 pounds. Most of my weight comes from the muscles I got from Career training. My arms are thick, but not as big as those crazy gung-ho Careers. The muscles on mine are slightly lean, but still quite noticeable. My arms are long, too, like a swimmer’s. And my hands… oh gosh. They’re always dirty, whether it’s from gardening or working with a taxidermy, I always manage to get some kind of grit underneath my nails and there’s rough callouses along the bases of my fingers and below the first knuckles on the palm side. I’m jumping around, but I’ll head back up the body. My shoulders are broad and my back is quite strong from training and lifting things. My neck isn’t all that thick, so it lessens my appearance as a Career. I have a straight, bony nose that’s fairly small compared to the rest of my face. My eyes are a light grey-blue and their color goes well with my light blonde hair. My earlobes aren’t those hanging ones that the majority of people have; they’re connected to my skin so they don’t flop around. I have a piercing on my left ear, too, and there’s a smooth black earring that’s shaped like a crescent moon with the ends nearly touching. I never take the earring out because I know I’ll lose it faster than I can blink.

Because I’m usually outside for my passions, I keep a fair tan year round. Not like those District 4 people, though; mine’s more of a light one, just enough to where people can see it and know that I spend a lot of time outside. My skin’s not leathery like the seafarers’ either, but I bet I have just as much roughness on my hands as they do. And scars. Scars of all sizes and shapes are scattered all over my body randomly, mostly from training mishaps and scrapes from rocks and such while digging holes for my plants. Oh, and I nearly forgot, I have some tattoos. One on my left upper arm is a line of symbols that don’t mean anything in particular, and on the bottom of my right forearm there’s one of my family crest, which I wear with pride. It has two identical red flowers, which I like for obvious reasons, and a red lion, which reminds me to be courageous – or at least try to be. Be strong and don’t let others get you down is more like it.

Even though I'm in District 1 and we can have access to extravagant clothing, I don't want to stand out anymore than I already do, so I tend to stick with normal, low-key clothing. Plain T-shirts, longsleeve shirts, sleeveless shirts and jeans. Sometimes I'll wear plaid, but only if the colors are red, blue, or black. I've had my one pair of tennis shoes for years, so they're broken in quite well. Okay, so maybe they have a few tears in them and have clay stains, but what's the use in getting another pair if they'll just turn out the exact same way?

Just don’t give up, I’m working it out.
Please don’t give in, I won’t let you down.
It messed me up, need a second to breathe,
just keep coming around.

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Brig and I didn’t really have the most ideal childhood. We were caged, pretty much – never let out, never allowed to do anything. We did nothing but sit around, playing pretend with each other. That is, when we weren’t being pummeled into the floor by our dad. I won’t lie, I’ve never really laughed since then. Oh, that sound was like a trigger for him. The second he heard it – the giggles, the snorts, the squeaks – he’d come running after us. It was terrifying. Even though I was really young, I remember it clearly.

Not only the chasing, but the beatings. The anger in his eyes was unmistakable. He came down on each of us with such burning hatred, fists flying and feet kicking. It hurt so bad, both physically and emotionally. I remember seeing other boys with their dads; they loved each other and did so many neat things together. But when I saw my dad, he came after Brig and I just for the hell of it. I don’t understand why, even to this day. Aren’t you supposed to love your kids? If you don’t like them then why not just stay single? Don’t marry anyone?

My brother, Brig, he began looking out for me at an early age. He would sass our dad so as to draw his anger and hatred away from me. I love him for his sacrifice, but I felt it made me weak. Like I couldn’t protect myself. And, really, I couldn’t – and still can’t. Despite my Career training, I could never properly defend myself or someone. I just… can’t. I owe a lot to my brother, and I want to be like him. I want to be brave like him, I want to be strong like him.

But I can’t.

When I was about seven, I started fiddling around with flowers. I’d pick them and arrange them, first by color and then by size and shape. Then I’d color coordinate them. Mother didn’t mind me doing this since it made me happy, but dad threw a fit. He said it was “unmanly,” “unlike him“ (apparently I was supposed to be like him), and because I liked different things than he did, he punished me for it.

Brig couldn’t help me then.

Dad cornered me, each and every time. He made sure I couldn’t escape as he beat me, not just once but multiple times, yelling at me all the while. It got so bad that I remember cowering underneath him, sobbing and begging for him to stop, but he never did. I was in so much pain after the attacks that all I could do was curl up as tight as I could without it hurting and just cry. My fear of him only increased, but I continued to collect flowers as secretly as I could. He always found me and pounded me into the ground. I figure he was trying to either beat or scare away the feminine side of me, but I can’t help it! I like wildflowers, I like all the different kinds of weeds and trees.

One day Dad had me cornered and Brig came to my rescue. He actually hit him, in the rear, and drew his attention away from me. I saw him get slugged across the face, and then Dad was tearing after him like he had just been doing to me.

After that, Mom took us away to live with our grandparents. I didn’t want her to have to stay with that devil of a man, but I was too young and terrified to do anything. Our lives became so much better from that day, and we learned the trade of taxidermy. I did enjoy that, but I also spent a lot of my time outside, gardening with my grandmother and collecting flowers to arrange them. I’d even bring Brig a daisy or two in appreciation of him, but I don’t think he liked the flowers. Oh well. At least he doesn’t pound my face in for liking “girly” things.

It didn’t get any easier for us. Grandpa died and suddenly we were at war with Dad again, but we were fighting over the taxidermy shop. Eventually we won, only by Brig’s smart thinking. We became grave robbers, stealing items from the dead to help us get by. Not only that, but I’ve been getting ideas for taking a human body and turning it into a taxidermy. No one would probably agree with me on this one, but I want to do something that’ll show up all those bastards that think I’m weak and “gay.” I’ll prove them all wrong.

Yeah, it’s plain to see
that baby you’re beautiful,
and there’s nothing wrong with you.
It’s me, I’m a freak;
but thanks for loving me
cause you’re doing it perfectly.

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