lonely {lullaby} //shores.

Speaking
Text
Thinking
Hearing
Other

I bite my lip and carefully drag the brush across my nail. The color of cotton candy and bubblegum coats the big toe, and I smile proudly as I examine it. I wiggle my toes, all uniformly painted in a sugar-pink color. The fumes of the polish have been floating around for a while now, and the smell occasionally makes it way to the surface, making me wiggle my nose in protest. It may be a smell I'm used to, but it's still not a smell I like Just like how I'm used to Training, but I keep making excuses to get out of it or leave early. I've heard all of the reasons to go: "It's for your own good," "Trust me, it'll only help in the long-run," "It could save your life." But then, there're my excuses. They're pretty clever, if I say so myself. They're small, white lies like, "I've got a ton of homework," "My stomach's in knots, and I don't think Training will help." And then, there's the sure-shot one, the one that grants me the ability to miss Training on any given day. Of course, I can only use it every so often: "It's my time of the month." That may seem a little unfair, using that as an excuse, because if I'm thrown into an arena, I don't think the Captiol will give a single shit if it's my time of the month.

I find the remote by my side and click on the TV. Reruns of the 56th Hunger Games appear, and I find myself watching Topaz kill the one she loves. When this originally aired, I was pretty young. Now, whenever I watch it, I cringe. It's not seeing Nash Harvey die that makes my heart skip a beat, it's the fact that Topaz Ross killed her. But it isn't like she had a choice: it's kill or be killed, and like every good District One citizen, she killed. Ross realized the only thing standing in her way of winning was her girlfriend, and when she got that obstacle out of the way, the path was practically paved for her.

With a glace to my right, I can tell the sun has already set and it's the stars turn to shine. My window is practically nonexistent, with the only way to know it's there is the pane. I jump as I hear a thump erupt from downstairs. Luckily, my toes are already dried and I throw some blue toe-socks over my feet as I make my way downstairs. With each hop from the stairs comes a boom that echoes through the house unusually loud, but that's how everything is at night. Like each noise that would usually make no impact is now a hurricane compared to a drizzle. If I wake up my parents, I'm fine, I just don't want anything popping out at me in the dark.

Finally, I find myself in the training room at the bottom of our house. It seems like I wasn't invited to some party, because all of my siblings decided to now, out of all times, group together. Usually, we can't look each other in the eyes, because if what happened to Topaz and Nash has to happen to us, it'll be a whole lot easier. Now, however, they've decided to socialize and make a ruckus. The only reason I've come down here is to tell them to shut up and be quiet, but now that I'm here, I don't feel like having to climb the mountainous steps again.

My eyes spot a knife embedded in the wall, and it's just a few inches shy of the dummies head. "Nice miss, Beryl," I retort, "I guess when I saw you in that Training center that day, you didn't do much Training." I give him a look, a look saying, I know. Because I know that when he's not with us he's with some kids that're up to no good. But I don't know why he's neglected us altogether. I don't know the method behind the madness, but there's this craving growing inside me that knows if I can get my hands on that piece of information, I'll hold the key to all of his secrets. It's not like I'm the biggest fan of this family, but if I'm ever in the situation Topaz and Nash were in, I'd be Nash. I'd be the cowardly one, letting death take me because I know dying is better than winning.

See, my friend from school told me exactly what Beryl did when he wasn't home. She said she saw him one day, and she was certain it was the face she saw at the dinner table one night. I denied it, saying Beryl was home that day. What can I say? I'm a pretty good liar. It's a necessity in this house this big, because whoever says, "I didn't do it," fastest was safe, and whoever says it last is prone to punishment.

And then, when I know all of their eyes are turned to me, I ask, "What're you looking at?" My eyes weren't focused on anyone in particular, and neither was my question. I giggle, and I feel my eyelids starting to droop. I'm tired beyond my own good, and soon I'll start hysterically laughing at the most immature jokes, and saying the things that make the least sense. "Gimme that," I demand, but I don't wait for him to give my permission, I grab the spare knife from Beryl's hand and chuck it at the dummy. The blunt end hits the dummies chest and I start laughing. "Heh, that wasn't supposed to happen."


{ooc: i'm not sure, but i think aqua might be drunk.}

Looking out from underneath,
Fractured moonlight on the sea
Reflections still look the same to me,
As before I went under.
And it's peaceful in the deep,

Some people say that the Earth is nothing, that the sun is simply there for no apparent reason. They dwell in their lives never ever wanting to know the true meaning behind most things in this world. But then not many people ever find the courage to ask those questions. They stay hidden beneath the dark depths of the ocean, the places where no one dares travel, kept locked and hidden for all time. No one questions it, no one wants to know and those that seek it out become lost. Questions will always remain unanswered. Those kinds of people are often hitched up on drugs, mentally unstable and have no recollection of anything that they do.

Then there are those who have gone so far into the beliefs, and their own self-love that they have the grand idea that perhaps the sun is only there to warm them. That the air in the world is only created so that they can breathe. That perhaps even the Earth itself came into existence waiting the day that they would walk upon its surface and when they die, the beauty and life itself will collapse into dust with them. I have long since drawn the conclusion that most in my family feel this way. The world revolves for them; it halts and tilts, coming to the slow and stop that marks the end of one day and the beginning of another, for them. The time in which the moon shines brightest and the sun has fled for the day, sending the world into an eternal darkness only broken by dawn, happens only because they tire for the day. When they cry the world pauses to listen. It is their world, their home and that is what they see.

Dirt clings to each individual finger on my hand. It has bitten so deep into my fingers that each crack and crevice appears permanently stained by their tainted touch. Grains of sand linger under my fingernails, black smudges my open palms. There is nothing unwelcome about the cool touch of soil under my hands, the tender feeling of moist Earth and the sweet smell of the fresh air. I love the feeling of it as it races through my slightly parted, cherry red lips, slipping down my throat to fill lungs that seem incapable of sustaining me. There it swirls around like a wild mass and I can feel the power of the open world as it lingers upon my stained lips, my warm heart and fire breathing lungs. I feel only warmth from its angelic touch and with each breathe that fills my a small smile flickers across my lips. Pulling them up slightly and drawing long creases from my eyes.

Breathing keeps me alive, but I have no doubt that I only breathe because I am needed. Air continues to circulate through my thin, lean body because it is commanded to, some greater good forces it through and into each part of my body, where it flows into the crimson liquid that slips under my skin and through my veins. Without it I would be nothing, even though I am nothing right now. The night was dark, but then night appeared to be that way. When I speak of darkness I see a world where the stars have faded from existence, as they do long before their light reaches Earth. The moon has lost its glow and even the clouds that often seem to shimmer with the reflection of the worlds warmth or blank and dead. Tonight was one of those days.

A night when the world appeared to end and seeing feet ahead of you seemed impossible. Impossible to most, except for those who truly saw. My hands dig, dig, digdigdigdig into the soil, sinking into the well used Earth, to the homes of many forms of life and the escape of water as it sinks once it has touched the surface. The plants that lay wrapped an twisted were all mine -their beauty was as endless as the suns and their shine and joy was as timeless as all of eternity. My eyes sparkled with my obvious pleasure at glance towards their fine exterior. Brown eyes peered gleefully at the dark foliage, drinking in every inch of every plant, memorizing each crease and crinkle, watching for the slightest difference and knowing the slightest change to colouring, height and size. The world of life that grew behind the scenes was the place I loved to be. being near others was a curse that i carried as my own ability to be near them was limited.

I could never stand to talk, that trifle business leaved me weary and tired. Pulling the skills to speak and communicate with another person drained me. I loved plants, their inability to speak was amazing, but their ability to talk and speak in every other way possible was something I wished I had. I loved the way that a touch of brown meant thirst, of the hint of an orange meant death. When yellows, and darker shades of green often meant autumn and the lighter more prominent greens meant life and birth. They were so easy to read and know. Digging in the soil and plating a new life was so much more simpler than staring at the empty walls that often surrounded the world that was not in a garden.

Gently as though unwilling to disturb the eternal resting place that surrounded me I stand up. Grains of sand trickle from my clothes, hair and skin, spilling onto the soil that remained moist and upturned. Where the air that I breathed once more filled those wholes and gave life to a world that so desperately needed it. A lingering smile stays on my lips as I survey the work of my hands. Ignoring the dirt that stains my fingers I step away from the garden, already feeling the tug in my stomach to turn around and flee once more into the safety of the tall stems and magic that lives within the folds of each leaf and petal. The training center stood meters away from me, myself having found the neglected garden that stood before it needing my attention.

A soft breeze tempts me to flee, calling out my name as I know my own plants were calling for their mother. My chest ache for the company as I knew they ached for my gentle touch. My barefoot felt warm against the coldness of the stone, it seeped into my skin as I turned my eyes away from the garden and finally letting them rest in the building that stood in front of me. It intimidated me to no extent, tall, dark and forbidding, I stay hidden in the shows that were thrown over the entrance and I wait. As still as a statue, as tall and elegant as any of my children.

Cathedral, where you cannot breathe,
No need to pray, no need to speak
Now I am under, Oh.
And it's breaking over me,
A thousand miles onto the sea bed,