Loneliness ~ America Haywood, Capitolite [Onyx]

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phoenix123
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6 POSTS
last seen Jun 12, 2012 14:20:40 GMT -5

Loneliness ~ America Haywood, Capitolite [Onyx] May 18, 2012 13:27:49 GMT -5

Post by phoenix123 on May 18, 2012 13:27:49 GMT -5

Loneliness

America Haywood

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"I'm sorry, Ams, but you really need to get your act together." Faunia sighs whilst I storm around the kitchen making a cup of coffee - District Ten's finest.

My so-called 'best friend' is sitting at the breakfast bar of my too-big and rich apartment, her brilliant purple curls quivering and her silvery eyes glittering in the dim light. The air is silent despite the whirr of the coffee machine.

Everybody is telling me to sort my life out, but I think I'm doing perfectly fine. I made eight good sales today and earnt more than 'perfect' Faunia earns in a month.

I slam the hot coffee down on the counter and the hot liquid splashes over the sides. I'm about to turn around and grab a cloth when Faunia places a cold white hand on my wrist. "Just listen to me for once," she says quietly. "Get yourself a job in an office or something."
Just because she is doing well.
My face hot with anger, I turn to wipe the grey marble counter knowing every inch of it has been paid for by my over-generous, pompous parents.
The smooth motions of wiping down the surface seems to calm my frustration at Faunia. "I'm doing fine, Fauns," I address my reflection in the marble.
Faunia looks into her coffee as if trying to find her reflection too, "I just want you to be financially stable." I wince at the 'f' and 's' words she uses and Faunia flicks a violent purple whisp from her glittery forehead.

As I begin to make a second cup of coffee, Faunia sips the remains of hers, trying to look occupied by drinking every dreg.
Finally she mutters, "Come tonight; to the dinner party. Meet a few people. You'll have a job by the end of the evening."

I shake my head, flicking the coffee machine switch on. The coffee machine - another unnecessary kitchen appliance.
"I've got work to do on my large canvases this evening," I say matter-of-factly then watch the brown liquid from the machine gutter and eventually stop flowing. I reach for the mug; the first sip burns my tongue.

"As you wish," Faunia sighs. Slowly, she heaves all six foot of herself - including those spangly, awful heels - off the stool and grabs her acid green handbag off the counter. There isn't a word exchanged as she leaves. I know I'm being stubborn, but there's nothing to stop me following my dreams. Plus, Faunia's probably been told to spy on me for my parents - typical.

I wait for the click of the front door closing, but it never does. Turning the corner I see Faunia rifling through some post that has just arrived.
That's the tipping point.
Before I know it, the mug that was in my hand is hurtling through the air. I can hear myself yelling the words, "Get out now!" as the mug smashes into the metal door in a firework of brown liquid and china.
Faunia's small grey eyes are wide, her mass of purple hair is a contained catastrophe as she rushes out the way. She's gone before I can say "Happy Hunger Games".
For a second I'm left, panting and fuming. Then I feel my eyes stinging with heat and a lump rise in my throat. I don't even notice Pig burst in way too quickly.

Sobbing uncontrollably, I sit there on the polished wooden floor, knowing that my problem is nothing compared to those of the people of the districts; but I don't care anymore. They all want to control my life: mum, dad, Faunia and my brother, Cassius...I know what I want in life, but they don't seem to care. Nobody seems to care what I want anymore.

Too numb to speak, I watch Pig wipe down the walls and door, sweep the shattered china away and clean the floor of coffee.

What a wreck I am.

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Last Edit: Jun 12, 2012 13:52:33 GMT -5 by phoenix123

Onyx
Capitol Resident

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Pronouns: she/her
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in between somewhere and nowhere

Loneliness ~ America Haywood, Capitolite [Onyx] Jun 9, 2012 10:51:33 GMT -5

Post by Onyx on Jun 9, 2012 10:51:33 GMT -5

Doing | Thinking | Hearing

They say that curiosity killed the cat, but it just made the Pig want to know more.

Every time I walk these stairs, barefoot and quiet as a dancer, I can’t help but appreciate the beauty that surrounds me. The marble is cold and present underfoot, the gauzy fabrics that adorn these walls shimmering lightly, planting brightly coloured kisses on the rooms as the sun shines through them. Nothing in District Thirteen was ever this beautiful except Mother, on the few occasions where I did an exercise right and made her proud. I miss them now… I perch my light frame on the bottom step, tracing the patterns of the Ace of Spades as the single card lies in my palm. Hushed voices travel though from the kitchen, and I know America is fighting with the purple haired girl again.

“Just listen to me for once,” how typical of an airhead Capitolite. They never think anyone else’s opinion matters but their own. In a way, that of course is strictly forbidden, I feel sorry for America. She has been kind enough to care for me, to put up with this friend, and she doesn’t deserve the treatment she’s getting. After the purple haired girl murmurs something about “financial stability”, and mentions the dinner party I know all too well. On errands in this area, glittered women like festive decorations cackle and wave their arms about as they discuss this event. It seems it will be the largest gathering of highly known Capitol citizens of the century, darling. And America has been invited?

I am brought out of my inner monologue – the only time I can hear my voice anymore – by the clack, clack of ridiculous shoes on wooden floor. In a storm of brilliant violet curls, she floats out, hesitating at the door. I peer down form the top of the staircase, where I have scampered to, and watch this villain look through America’s private conversations. Envelope after envelope, she scans until finding a neon-stamped return address that stops her criminal fingers. It seems she has found what she was looking for. I want to scream out. I want to use all the fighter’s instincts inside me to tell America, to hurt this witch. But she takes what will never be rightfully hers while I simmer silently, choking gutturally on the curses that are desperately bursting in my throat.

America embodies what I am feeling and gives it a voice. Screaming madly, she hurls her mug and it spins, almost elegantly, through the air. It hits the door with such force I feel spray from the coffee inside it all the way up here. The purple haired hag sprints away in a flurry of mauve and sparkles. I pad downstairs again as America sinks to the ground, like a boat against the cliff of her wall. I picked up her distress call. Tugging out the cloth I am obliged to wear at my waist, I gently rub the almost viscous drink from the door and pick up the shards of porcelain from the floor. It is the richest drink I have smelt in all my life. I bring one finger to my lips and try to taste the freedom of District Eleven on the drop. Taste has never been the same since I lost my tongue.

America sobs in a pathetic heap on the floor, and I wander her way cautiously. I shouldn’t do this. Reaching into my pocked, I hide the shiny disc I keep there in my rough, but nimble, fingers. America looks up at me as I wipe one tear from her cheek with the coffee stained cloth. A mask of mock surprise crosses my face and I bring my hand back from her ear, revealing the coin. this was always my favourite magic trick. A tiny smile passes over my mutilated lips and I try to show her everything will be alright. Though, even in the long term, nothing is ever alright.

OOC: All the lateness. Expecting a reply on Wednesday xD

Template by Bryya the BEAST

someday we'll be drinking with the seldom seen kid

phoenix123
Seam Resident

6 POSTS
last seen Jun 12, 2012 14:20:40 GMT -5

Loneliness ~ America Haywood, Capitolite [Onyx] Jun 12, 2012 13:08:35 GMT -5

Post by phoenix123 on Jun 12, 2012 13:08:35 GMT -5

America Haywood

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The realisation that Pig is in the room makes me sob even more. I am reminded of the cheque that I received a while ago; I knew who it would be from.
The money from my parents was too much to be my monthly allowance. I remember it was the middle of January when I collected my mail from the flowery doormat. The number on the cheque astounded me; why would my parents send me this much money?
I'd seen that number before. Scrawled then across the blue card in my mothers spiky handwriting. I'd heard that number escape the lips of my brother, Faunia and even my hair dresser who teases me with sarky comments about my lifestyle when I visit Fine Cuttings, beautiful hair for the beautiful Capitolite, darlings!

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The number was the exact amount it costs to buy an Avox.
When I flipped through the attached leaflet (mum had highlighted all the advantages with red pen) I felt sick. I painted dark pictures for days, refused to watch the tributes at the training centre because the Avoxes lurked in the backgrounds and they haunted my dreams for weeks.
My parents called several times, then gave up and withdrew the money.
Every time I visited Faunia, her Avox gave us little homemade cakes and sweet tea. I'd convinced myself that an Avox was company. Forget them being a servant; I'd have company.
So that morning I went down to the whitewashed Avox centre. The place was full of greedy, lazy Capitolites picking their fourth or fifth Avox. I wondered the bone-white isles, staring at the floor, imagining all the Avoxes staring at me with hatred in their eyes.
Pig sat isolated on her own little bench. She sat looking down, playing with a piece of rope; twisting it into shapes almost subconciously and deep in thought, unlike the others who stood, vacant expressions on their pale, severed faces. I couldn't look at those cast down eyes of Pig's.
I couldn't smile either, but just told the peacekeeper that I wanted her. He gave me a sad expression - almost a frown. She was fifteen, small and skinny like me, why had I chosen her? There was something about her that caught my attention even despite her mannerism, there was something about those eyes; when she first looked up, it was as if she wasn't at all what the description pinned to her overall said. She's just an Avox. No she couldn't be.

Now as I look at Pig bending down to sweep up the morcels of china I realise how grateful I am that she is here, and my hatred for the districts and peacekeepers fades. I can't speak; I just let the tears roll down my face, ruining my bronze makeup.
I watch as Pig reaches into the pocket of her uniform even though she has done her job and should go back to the cellar; I wait, still crying. She bends down, kneeling at my level and takes the cloth. Brushing the tears from my cheeks and wiping away the makeup, Pig doesn't look directly in my eyes. I should be repulsed, but I am not. It is the first time I have looked into her eyes and they are not emotionless as my brother had said. They are full of worry, pity and anxiety.
Then her free hand reaches behind my ear for some reason. As she pulls back there is something in her finger and thumb: a silver coin reflecting in the chandelier light above our heads. A gasp escapes my lips.
Magic. The art of illusion. Where had she learnt such a thing?
I wanted to ask but I couldn't. I knew the unspoken rules between Avoxes and Capitolites...
"Drew can't push you on your scooter, darling, he's our gardener," I remember dad drawling one summer evening. He sat reading on our balcony the messages on his tablet and refused to push me around our incredibly large veranda. When I had mentioned I would ask one of our Avoxes to play with me instead, the look on his face said it all. He had gone as bright red as mother's evening dress and the piercing look he gave me was enough to make tears well up in my eyes.
"November cannot brush your hair for you; she's our dinner maid," my mother had once said, steely-eyed and irritant as she fanned herself and gossiped with her gaggle of glitter-clad ladies. All the time I interacted with our avoxes, asked them questions, hugged them and smiled at them. And all the time I was smacked and given looks of disapproval. To me, Avoxes were no different from mother's gossiping girlfriends or father's dull clients.
But now I know they weren't 'our' Avoxes. They had been whisked away from their ordinary lives. They weren't helpful friends like my seven-year-old self had though. They had been forced to work for Capitolites, had no voices and no contact with their families or friends. The had been taken for comitting petty crimes - a Capitol excuse for more labour that we were too lazy to do ourselves. These Avoxes were almost as innocent as the 23 children taken every year to kill each other in the Games.
Pig was one of them; she wasn't mine. I didn't own her; I never will. Pig had a life; a life I will never know or understand. I know she isn't mine, my property or my possession.
"Thank you," I say quietly to Pig, my voice shaky. Coffee stains fade from the walls and the air is dense with emotion; silence. I see confusion written all over her face. I feel that all I ever want right that second is an from the Avox. Just a little murmur would be all it would take to make me feel stronger. Is she scared of me?
I replay what has happened in my head. What Pig did; is this her way of reassuring me? Does she understand what I'm going through?
And what about how she feels..?

It then hits me how little I know about Pig. Beyond those sharp, green eyes, pale skin and freckles, who is she? Pig had for a second, opened up a tiny part of her to me and I was grateful: grateful that she had cheered me up and shown me the truth - that she was human.

I manage a slight smile; it is anything to show my gratitude. I want her to know that she doesn't have to be afraid of me. That despite the many spangly lights of our apartment block, she is the one true light; an outsider perhaps, but the only real flicker of hope in this world. Why? Because she is innocent, unlike me or anyone I've ever known.
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Last Edit: Jun 12, 2012 14:17:26 GMT -5 by phoenix123