Daisy Gates - District Ten (Fin)

I was told I resembled my mother a lot, but I never caught sight of the woman. Instead I just know that she is supposed to be the mirror image of me. That, when I look inside the mirror, I am supposed to see her with the same red hair. That hair which curls, barely, toward the end of each strand. And to know that hers was the color of cherries, my favorite fruit. It makes me giggle to think that maybe she was as sweet as the color of our shared hair. And maybe she would grow down to her shoulders too, so that it was easier to take care of. Having long hair just ruined the entire experience of a red head. How the hair would cling to itself, make it impossible to comb. But she is the mirror image of me, with our hair held high.

But she would agree that our eyes are so plain, dull, nothing really to look at. Brown, the color of dirt, something too common of a sight in District Ten. And how unique of a soil is that, where I originate, to have my eyes the color of earth. It's hard to even look at them at nights, thinking on what my eyes have seen. Maybe mom was the same way, with how our eyes appear. Nothing can really grow in such dark soil anyways. No soul can reside or grow there. I'm just an empty flower, and so was she, waiting to bloom from those brown eyes.

The stem, though, is what I am proud of. Our delicate skin, our pale appearance, it's almost like we were ghosts on this earth. Nothing like me grows anywhere else, or at least here in District Ten. And it would be delicate enough to cut, hold in a vase, and water it with your hose. Or whatever this little flower desired. Isn't that right mom? You always knew what to do for yourself, and now I'm going to do it for myself. I'll root myself somewhere with this body of mine, grow to live this long life of mine, and be the best flower there ever could be.

That's why you called me Daisy, isn't it?

And so I came to be, Daisy Gates, teenage girl looking to find herself in the world after everything fell apart. I never really got to know who I would be with my mom and pop, since the accident with the two of them, but now I try to figure it out on my own. Sweet, sympathetic, those are the things that match me, correct? A lot of people in town do treat me nicely and I know I greet them with a smile, so that is who I am. The sweetest little thing in District Ten. I know when I'm around I can hear them talking about how pleasant it is to see me. Just like a freshly picked flower from the meadows. And I want to be that nice person...

I really do...

But then I can remember the times that were trying and hard, thrown in seclusion and solitude. I won't deal with anyone, won't speak to anyone, hide away for days so that I won't be bothered. The memories that tug at my nerves, the pain that fills my entire being, it's almost as though I've been robbed of sunlight and locked away in someones basement. But I do it to myself. Who is there to blame? Only me, right? I have to remember that there are those that care for me though, those that wish me to have a better day.

There are those people...

But when I don't remember things, when I'm just myself, there is the cheerful Daisy who is down to earth. I don't care about the misgivings people have or the pains the world comes with. I just enjoy existing. The fresh smell of a rose or a nice stroll out in the sunlight is really refreshing after being locked away because then I remember all those good things. I can be the easy-going, smiling fanatic that I'm trying to develop. How well it is to just wave about at people, skip along the road and just remember that it's another great day.

Because that's all there is...

But then, there are those people in life, the hurt and the sick, who try to make life out to be worse than it is. The only thing I can't stand: a person who is down on the life that has been given to them. How hypocritical it is, to have similar behaviors, but I do not bother others with it. I am no burden to anyone. I am just alone, in solitude.
Not like them
Not like them
They just give up on what could be a splendid day. So what they should do is wear a smile, like me, and remember the sun is just outside. All you have to do is let in the light.

I don't have many memories, but the ones I do have aren't very fond. I remember back to when I was seven, living with my mom and pop. Everything before then was too traumatic, or was it then that was too traumatic? But it was a nice summer day, mom was out in the gardens tending to the flowers. I can't remember her appearance too much either, I just remember she was there. But pop, I couldn't forget him. Giant, terrifying, even for his daughter. Some nights I vaguely feel the need to lock my door, to keep him from getting into my room. He can't get into my room now. But on that day, he had gone out to her. A wrench in his hands, probably from work on one of the machines. And I could hear mom crying, shouting out for help. I just locked my door again, locked it tight and sat there, cradling myself.

The Peacekeepers were quick on response this time though, and arrived just when pop hit mom for the last time. They told him to put the wrench down. He was never going to put it down. And the inevitable bangs, the clashes between skin and bullet, all of it silencing the violence. He took three shots before falling to the ground, covered in his own blood. For once. And mom wasn't going to make it. He had beaten her to that last point, to where the doctors couldn't do anything more. But she told me she loved him, I remember that, but I don't remember her. I just remember that day with pop, the inevitable gun shots, and not remembering why I hated him so much.

But the rest is all so crystal clear.
I wish the past were.
So easy to recall at any moment.

I was put into the community home for awhile, keeping my own against the others growing up in there. None were really too harsh. But you had to learn to fend for yourself, keep to yourself, and don't let anyone else walk all over you. And that was easy to learn after the memory I had left. Not going to let anyone walk all over you, are you pop? And it worked for the while. I had my own place to sleep, made friends easily, and things were great. Didn't have too much of a worry.

And when I was ten, a small family adopted me. I didn't remember my last name, so I adopted theirs: the Gates. And it sounded right with my name, Daisy. Daisy Gates. And so I went home with them, helped grow some herbs. My new mom is the healer of the town knowing how to work with herbs and such. My new dad is just a farm hand, but he sure does have some crazy stories. But I loved working with my new mom more so, seeing her garden and learning about all the different plants. I even learned about the daisies, those flowers I'm named after, and how they can apply to certain things.

And I truly love them
Is what they'd hear
Because it was true

The Gates are my new family, and I hope for new friends. Come at me District Ten, because my name is Daisy Gates, and I'm living life!

Buuuuuuump (Please don't get buried. xD)