blink padilla [district thirteen]

This is my face
Covered in freckles
With the occasional spot
And some veins

( N A M E ) Blink Christine Padilla
( A G E ) Sixteen
( G E N D E R ) Female
( D I S T R I C T / A R E A ) District Thirteen

This is my body
Covered in skin
And not all of it
You can see


( B I O G R A P H Y )

My dad had heard rumors of some place we could escape to.

"We'll be safe there," he'd assure me night after night. Finally, I agreed to go. It's funny, because Ripred knows he didn't need my consent if he wanted to go to this safe haven. He could pick me up and drag me along. Of course, Mom would follow. When we finally left, the trees were growing back their leaves. Trees always struck me as odd: Why do they insist on growing their leaves back even when they know they'll fall off? I guess - in many ways - humans are like trees. We keep trying and trying even though we know the inevitable will always take us away.

I remember the ground was almost bare, as if the white snow had wiped away the imperfections of the forest. There were some nights when we would cuddle up in a clump, praying that the small fire in front of us wasn't made of fallen twigs in a poor excuse for a circle, but thick trunks in a fire-place. I was five when we went. I don't remember much, but I remember my dad would say the same thing over and over again whenever I cried. "We'll be safe there," he'd remind me. The more and more a person hears something, the more and more they start to believe it. That trick was working pretty well on me.

When we were three minutes away from the place - district thirteen, even though there were only twelve districts - I was bummed out. It wasn't there. All I could see was wrecked buildings, lingering ashes, but only a few specks, as if all the others left with the winter. But then, my dad led me downwards, into some tunnel. And then we were safe. I was immune to the Hunger Games. District five was nice, I guess, but it couldn't compare to district thirteen. Not that district thirteen is that spacious, because I can't help but feel I'm an ant in an ant farm, but it's a closer knit family. I know pretty much everyone there, and everyone knows me. There aren't those girls who try to brag about having everything, because here, nobody has much. I always preferred having a small group of friends, it gave us room to expand if needed.

I am an only child, but I have a few siblings. My closest friends, the one I hold closely to my heart and can trust with anything, count as family. Believe me, I'm not one to go around passing out my secrets, but when there's someone I trust, I do tell them things about me. My fireflies are among my closer friends. After all, I chose them, just like the humans I hang out with. Admittedly, I can't tell any two fireflies apart, but they're still important to me. We're kind of alike, me and the fireflies. We're both trapped inside some bottle, and on the inside, we're dying to get out. The only thing is, life just wouldn't be the same.

So I stay in District Thirteen and the fireflies stay in the glass jar with holes poked in the top.

I am, what people would say, reserved. That's the polite way of saying it. What they really mean is that I'm a bystander, and I only speak when needed. I don't get why they just don't say that. Or, they say I'm shy, which I am and I don't mind that as much. I'll be the first one to admit I'm pretty quiet.

The biggest risk my dad took was going to district thirteen. I'm also pretty sure it's the only one. My dad is more reserved than me - but that doesn't mean I'm not shyer - and doesn't like to attract attention to himself. He limits my opportunities to make friends by making a frivolous curfew. I understand it's for my protection, but there's a part of me that wants freedom. After all, I'm sixteen. I need to make friends, to live a little. My dad's rules influenced me a lot, and I have to say I'm a better person because of him. My mom is a bit more riskier than my dad. She wouldn't care if I had a boyfriend - and I haven't had one yet - because she understands me. She knows what it's like to be sixteen. She knows it's not easy, and that I just need some time alone. She knows I sneak out at night, and she doesn't say a word to my dad.

Besides being a girl, the one thing I inherited from my mom was her hair. Long strands of dark brown flowing from the top of my head to the top of my rib-cage. Soft and thin strings waving about and bouncing as I walk. I thank her for my hair. For one: it's easy to manage. It also goes well with my emerald-green eyes. I used to tell myself they were grass-green, but I thought it over, and realized No one cares about grass, they just walk right over it. I wouldn't want any part of me to be like grass. Even if I'm quiet, I refuse to be stepped on like an ant. My eyes are much larger than an ant, and a bit rounder, but you get the picture.

My posture is much more broad than my confidence. I have a slightly-ovular head sitting on top of a skinny neck. My collar-bones are prominent. I have sloping shoulders, but my back is straight enough to make up for that. My stomach is flat, though I'll admit it's not the skinniest. I have skinny and short arms and legs. My feet and toes are almost identical: small with skinny extremities.

The thing is, half the time, I think of myself of a super-small extremity in this impossibly-large world.

And, this, is my mind
It goes over and over
The same old lines

( C O D E W O R D ) Odair
( F A C E C L A I M ) Stare

And, this, is my brain
It's torturous analytical thoughts
Make me go insane

( C O M M E N T S / O T H E R )

Mouthwash - Kate Nash.
Template credit to Lalia.

I've got nostalgic pavements
I've got familiar faces
I've got a mixed-up memory
And I've got favorite places

( S P E A K I N G ) E9B18C
( T H I N K I N G ) ABAE8F
( T E X T ) 64504F
( O T H E R ) FDF0BC
( O T H E R S P E A K I N G ) F1DD9E

And, this, is my mind
And although you try to infringe
You cannot confine