Apis Moriarty {d2} undone!

Name: Apis Moriarty
Age: 13
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 2
Appearance:

Like the nights I spent with nothing to hold, streets dark and damp, each step with the rags for shoes began to get a little bit harder with my body eating itself. I was desperate for something to live for. The bones in my body were a little too prevalent; when I walked past a storefront window, the smallest of coats remained to hang off my limbs, sleeves flapped over my hands and they'd fall seconds after I would pull them up. By some miracle, I (well, not just me, there were two others in my struggle) survived off of scraps. Breyer and I slipped into trances for days while Lola snooped around and dragged back the Careers' garbage. There were cases of thievery and I've kept my thievery a secret, that protective heap of a brother would never let me hear the end of it if word were to slip.

And it's not that I'm fat now, but.. I'm healthy. Fuller figure (though I've always been twiggy, when I suck in, you can still see my ribs. I don't do that often, reminds me of starless blue), healthier hair, and I've grown, of course. My blue eyes shine through black, or I'd like to think so. I'd prefer yellow -- cat color but without the slits for pupils. Far too many times I've lost myself in a lynx's friendly threat. I know a cat's eyes. But I'd much rather know a bee's. And I feel like I do, the constant touch of insect's legs makes a person feel like they're becoming it.

I'm little, I guess. Little and healthy and healthy and little. I smile when I think like that because bees are little and even though some of them aren't healthy, most of them are or else they wouldn't fly so fast. Hair's like an ashy honey from the sweetest of hives. Golden. People use that all the time to describe hair and it's worn down the meaning but my hair is gold-en. Shiny and even though sometimes it's oil that causes it and not proper hygiene products, it's soft.

Face is a diamond - cheek bones high - lips thin - petite - small - tiny - like a bee if they had them.

What if bees were humans? No, what if I were a bee? Would Breyer still be my brother? I would be able to fly. I could fly like in my dreams. Do bees have dreams? They've never told me.

My face is bug-ish.

I live to live, because living is what life is for. I get drunk off of my worries and then I sober myself up with the love of my life, they're bees. Fermented imaginations sweeten by the minute, like district industrialized honey. My stick figure often stumbles about, and many-a-times my want for the buzz often leads to side effects, battle wounds, and I have them. I'm thankful they don't swell into a rage too often, because my skin has never liked their understandable abuse, swelling and itching and if it's bad enough - sickness. And it's miserable to throw yourself in front of a crowd with snot dripping from your nose and your temporary enemy crawling on your neck and face and slipping into your ears.

Personality:

Everyone has a reason to live. Even those that says they don't have one. Or else they wouldn't be here.

History:

Codeword: odair
Comments/Other: