// Fire Burns Like Tears In My Heart // [Sycamore]
Apr 1, 2012 5:27:21 GMT -5
Post by florentine, d4b ❁ on Apr 1, 2012 5:27:21 GMT -5
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the girl who wanted [/b][/size][/color][/font][/center]
- and this place is as desolate as the ocean, a silent desert of broken promises. So bleak and empty it is, overflowing with things that signify our losses. Each of us have them, engraved deep into our soul, hidden behind our eyes, memories of before we came to this house, before we were unwanted. At least, I think we all do. I've never really wanted to pry there with the others, mostly because I don't really try to pry anywhere at all. Hidden behind everything is misery, so why would I bother looking? I have enough of it myself to last me until the peeling paint on the four walls that surround me plasters itself back to the ancient bricks. And that, incase you cannot see this desolate, miserable place and it's sorrow beyond repair, is never at all.
Sometimes I look in the mirror. That is when I remember why I looked away to begin with. I'm not ugly, it's not that at all. In fact, even if I was I couldn't care less. It's just that when I see my eyes, great orbs of blue, and my complexion so pale, I cannot help but see my sisters staring back at me. Only their eyes are all dead, rotting away under the ground. No longer are they smiling children. Now they are empty, and I cannot bear to think of what their bodies look like, now they have been under the soil of the district for three full years. I shudder every time my mind stumbles upon that image, of those five tiny children captured before the age of ten, never growing up. Something I wish I'd never had to do alone. And my brothers, too, each a miniature of my father, still in their separate graves. And then, once my mind has lingered on the children for a moment too long, I drag it away and bite my lip to stop myself exploding and breaking down to nothing.
It never works. Always I let myself become so engrossed in myself and my own pain that I forget everyone else is suffering, too. Suffering more, perhaps. The walls of this house hold so much sorrow and despair I do not know how they manage to stand, with nothing at all holding them together. Lilith and Edgar are the only things stopping this place form tumbling into pieces, with me out on control and Lalia likewise, with Silas hidden in his shell and the smile finally gone from Septimus' face. Sometimes, though, when I look right at Lilith, look right into her eyes I can see that maybe, underneath, she's just as broken as the rest of us. And then it is gone and she is strong again, and I wonder how I will cope being the eldest once Lilith turns eighteen and is forced to leave. Then what will I do, how will I cope?
I know the truth. I wont. And that is why I need Lilith more than anyone else in this place. Not that I'd ever admit it.
Sometimes I just sit and stare at the peeling walls, and I wonder what would happen if one of us elder ones were reaped. Any of us at Sycamore could be, actually, now that Laila is twelve. Any of us except for Ara, of course, yet I think she is the least broken of all of us to begin with. The most likely to be adopted. The rest of us, we have no chance of living anywhere else, unless of course it is our name called at the reaping, and even then the only place we are going is death. Good.
Then I could see them all, those eleven family members I lost that fateful day, my parents.
I would cry into their arms but I wouldn't need to explode anymore, I wouldn't need to spiral out of control. I would kill myself, I really would, because there is nothing left. But for Silas. The thing is, Silas is my everything. He could never, never know but he is my very best friend and he is the only one I feel I can rely on in this pitiful excuse for a world. I don't love him in the way that my mother loved my father, or the way I am sure Lilith loves Edgar. Just in the way that I know he will always be there, and if once he was not I would not hesitate to leave this pitiful excuse for a world.
The walls of this place are as bare and cracked as my heart. Yet they still stand.
I am sitting on the floor, because it seems as though everything else is just as hard. I am in the attic because here I can be alone, and I am staring into the foggy old mirror that lives up here by the window. I cannot bare to look at myself, so instead I study the intricate design etched into the wood of the wall, not really thinking about it at all. I think, for once, about the others who are trapped here too, with nothing but sadness to turn to. I think of Lilith, and what I know of her past. Her parents were running away, and they were caught. That is all I know. Edgar was a doorstep baby, as was Laila. He has been here far longer than any of us, maybe even back when Miss Aggie was present enough to console him. I never asked. Nothing is known to me about Ruth nor Blaire, for nobody has ever told me. I figure from the boy's protectiveness of his sister that she was in some kind of danger at home, but I am clueless as to what. Septimus was abandoned here.
Silas. well, I know barely anything, for he hates to speak of it. His mother died, and his grandmother, too. My knowledge stops right there. Suddenly, I feel cheated, because I know almost nothing of the people I have lived with for the last three years. I don't know their stories like they know mine. I'm selfish. I'm in so much pain. So that is why I reach for behind the mirror for a shard of glass from the window, back when Septimus broke it two years back. I push back my sleeve and draw it across my flesh, indifferent to the pears of scarlet that appear on my skin. Usually I would not stop so soon, but I notice the glint of light shining from the mirror through the glass and I smile. I know what hurts more than the feel of flesh being cut in jagged lines - being burned. And what burns a girl like fire?
What girl deserves to be burnt more than me?
It is so much easier than you might imagine to angle the sunlight onto the newspaper and wait for it to burn. So slight is the flame at first that I barely feel it lick across my skin. And then it burns me like fire should and I smile. I smile like I haven't smiled in so long, yet at the same time tears tumble like rain from my closed eyes.
I am all but alone.
. . .
thank you chelsey for the template