Alouette Reese | District 10 | FINISHED

{ a l o u e t t e . e l v a . r e e s e

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.the world is full of people that don’t want to admit that danger is upon us -- Alouette[/i][/b] [/color]


My name is Alouette Elva Reese[/b]
I am [/color]16[/b][/color] years old
I come from District 10[/b][/color]
I am a female[/b][/color]



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.a p p e a r a n c e --[/color]

Dead eyes.

The whispers that circle me and infect me as I walk through the district. The stinging pain of laughing as I try to act normal. I have always thought that I looked like a mouse, or maybe sort of a rabbit. Being in the livestock district, mice aren’t a rare sight. Many say that I have the face of one, I suppose that not all of these accusations are wrong. My eyes are large and commonly referred to as ‘doll-like’ by some. “It isn’t a bad thing to be different,” that’s what my father told me when I was younger. At the time, I only thought that was only directed at my looks.Gosh, I was wrong.

WhenI was younger, I looked at my eyes in a shard of glass and immediately faced confusion. My eye color, it was never a large deal. My parents had always told me I had blue eyes. In my mind, my eyes were blue. Seeing them in the mirror though, I began to really consider what color my eyes truly were. I suppose that you could say that I was still at that stage where asking questions was a large part of everything. It was then that I took sort of a survey of people around my family. This didn’t satisfy me though, it just made me realize how sore my eyes were after opening them wide so that my survey ‘victims’ could tell me the ‘truth’. After much consideration, the only conclusion that I could come up with was that my eyes were green/blue and that the only person who could be trusted was myself. As I was still little, even a small detail such as my eye color was a test of trueness to others. To them, something foolishly silly to blow off. To me, it was larger than that.

Mother looked at me with loving eyes for a long time. She would tell me that I looked like her, my face shape that is. I look nothing like her; I suppose it’s for the better anyways. Her face is narrow as mine is. That is about the only similarity between us. Other people seem to see more though, why? On other terms, I have always been told that my complexion is quite nice. For me to look into the mirror, all I see is a porcelain doll face staring back at me. Is that supposed to be considered nice? Nice or scary, to me it looks dead. Almost rotted away. Mother tells me that I hallucinate and see these things in my mind, she says that I don’t see out of my eyes the same way as others. As a personal thought though; I would be a fool to believe her.

I’ve heard that I was average. I’ve heard that my sister was perfect. This is in reference of course to the build of us. My sister, she is older, she is normal. She has a job and everything she needs. She even has admiration from people, what a dream. I don’t see much difference between how we look though. She has the same hair color as I and the same strangely colored eyes. We even practically have the same build. We are both considerably skinny I suppose you could call it. This, on top of, the lack of food in District 10 would also put into the deal of lack of weight. My family isn’t exactly living in the richest part of town, in the richest district. So far though, we have just dealt with it though, and survived through. I suppose that it would be possible to relate my family to cockroaches, we’re pretty hard to kill off.

Almost everyone in my family has the same kind of hair. It is quite awkward sometimes that besides my older sister, I’m quite different. Mother has light blonde curls that fall about mid-back and my father has blonde hair as well. Since he is quite ill, and inside most of the time; his hair isn’t weather-beaten and aged. Even though he is an older person, his hair stayed blonde and skipped the grey stage. Well enough of that. My younger sister and brother, they’re twins, they both have blonde curls. It is kind of strange being a brunette when the rest of everyone else is blonde. That is except for my older sister of course. If you were to describe my hair, I guess that you could call it mousy. In other words, it is a light brown that is stringy and can hardly be called hair. Other than that though, I’m pretty proud of the whole ‘different from my family’ thing. To have something in common with them, not something I would be proud of.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/color]


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.p e r s o n a l i t y --[/color]

Stubborn -- I don’t see how people think that I am stubborn or too defiant. I am a defender of what I believe in, that is a good thing. Mother says sometimes that I should let down on the walls I’ve built up and try to have a more open mind about stuff. Hypocrite, she should do the same. Every day, I inform her of the dangers coming, the images I see. I see peacekeepers surrounding the district, shooting their guns at people. I see death. I see destruction. Yet no one will believe me. Father has tried to convince mum though that I have a medical issue. Excuses. They call me stubborn because they can’t see the obvious. I hear them talking sometimes about getting me to the capitol sometime to be diagnosed, they don’t know how though because something like that is unaffordable at the moment. I am warning them of things that they claim to ‘not see’ and they call me names, how stupid.

Honest -- No matter what anyone says, I tell the truth as often as I can. Small things that will never get me into trouble; those are good things to lie about, but larger things. I don’t lie about those kinds of things. If you had to ask someone else, they would say that one of my main personality traits is ‘being a liar’. Even at school, it all started when we were outside as a small class one day. I was only about 7 years old at the time. As we were outside I saw shadows and people emerging from the forest, their guns pointed at us. When I began to scream, no one believed me, no one else said they saw anything. The teacher never let me come out for play time again. I was a disturbance, apparently. At least that’s what they called me. Boarding me up though can’t keep the truth away. One day, they’ll see the figures. I just hope that it’s not when they are killed from the ‘illusions’.

Foolish -- I will admit it to the world, I make some very stupid decisions. They aren’t very large things that need deciding on, just the smallest things. Such as what time to go to bed. It’s a silly thing but going to bed at 4 o’clock in the morning isn’t exactly going to make you the nicest person the next day. It is those kinds of decisions that I am used to making and unfortunately, having to follow through with. I have never been called foolish to my face, thank goodness for that. It is something that I can admit to others when I’m saying it but if its reflected back at me, something about that doesn’t register in my mind well. At least, that’s how mother says it. Everything has to do with my mind apparently, gosh!

Doubtful -- Just another trait really, my continued doubtfulness. While I will believe in obscure things, I will only believe in such if I have seen, read, or have heard proof. I suppose it isn’t good though that I will count almost anything as proof, even when it isn’t. This is what leads people to think that I’m lying when I see the disasters coming. They see other situations and they are led to believe that my sightings are just another childish thing. Others read me wrong though, I try to tell them, and they won’t listen. If you ask me, they are the ones that are being doubtful. I have never even once, seen anyone, except my little sister, consider that anything I said existed. Lydia is the only one who will ever believe me, even though she can’t see what I see. She has admitted it but she says that if I can see it, it must be true. I think that she is just trying to comfort me sometimes. Even if she is, it’s good to have someone in the world think that you aren’t a freak.

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.h i s t o r y --[/color]

Putting one hand over the other, I slowly stacked the blocks higher on the tower. Already, I could see the letters facing back at me; first and ‘A’, then an ‘ L’. Learning how to spell ones name was fun, letters could be daunting but exciting at the same time. It was a whole new experience. I knew how to speak but written letters were a totally new thing in my mind. I attentively picked up the letter ‘O’ next as I showed it to my older sister. As she nodded, I added it to my letter tower where my name was slowly being created, like a masterpiece drawing, one step at a time.

In front of me, the small clouded window was facing my way. It had slightly rotted wood that framed the edges as a small worn away design decorated the sides. Dust covered the glass panes like a blanket, filtering what you could see through it. If you did look out though, as I did, you would be able to see the neighbor’s small house. It looked almost the same as ours; of course, every house looked the same here. Small, old, and worn-down. It was then, as I was looking out of that window, that I felt something behind my eyes. It was a sensation like no other.

“Fire,” I whispered at first, my mouth hanging open as I continued to absent-mindedly pick up blocks one-by-one. Out of the window I began to see the flickering image of flames appear as they engulfed the house next door. It was more of a fascination thing than fear. I had only seen fire when mother was cooking and seeing it on a larger scale, it was another experience to me.

My sister began to talk to me, her voice sounded worried but I paid no attention to her. Her hastened words were blocked out by the roaring of the fire, the sound as wood was burned. It took over me, it controlled me. Even though I could see it far away, the flames felt as they were wrapped all around me like a cover of protection. I felt safe in the heat and warmness that surrounded me. I didn’t know what my sister looked so scared about, there was nothing to fear. How could something so protective hurt you. It was then I learned why people feared fire, the word fire, or any type of flames that weren’t contained correctly. It was then that I heard the tortured screams.

The sound of pain filled my ears with ringing and despair as a wave of hopelessness fell over me. I continued to watch the fire next door but I knew now that it was something more sinister, something that once it pulled you in, you would be burned and badly hurt. It wasn’t comforting anymore as I watched it, the warming presence was no longer safe to me. Just as before, I felt the burning rushing towards me, I was scared. I began to scream just as loud as the others, it was like a choir, the different pitches and sounds combining as one.

Before I could feel anything else, I felt arms around me. Through the burning image in my face, I could vaguely see an outline of my mother. “Alouette, darling.” Her voice whispered and morphed through the flames so I could only hear it slightly. “What is wrong, dear?” I knew then that someone could do something about the people being tortured in the house next to us. Mum would understand.

“Fire, there.” I took my finger and pointed out of the window with much difficulty. “And here,” I pointed my shaking finger at myself as her outline flickered for a moment, I could tell that she was looking out of the window. I bit my lip, thinking she would feel what I did and begin screaming. Instead she looked at me with a confused expression.

“There is no fire, Alouette.” Her voice was firm; it wasn’t soft and caring anymore. The gentleness that was once there was gone, I could hardly see at the time and I felt as though she were joking with me. Yet though, I saw the seriousness in her face and it made me wonder if she were lying to me, a sick joke like that. There were people that needed to be saved.

“Yes there is,” I yelled, “Fire, it’s there, can’t you see it.” Tears were falling steadily down my cheeks as her expression didn’t change. She didn’t want to see the destruction, she just wanted to continue with a perfect life. That’s all. If others died, why should she care?

“You are lying.” Her words were whispered as she walked out of the room on steady feet and closed the door, It was then when I first felt hatred to her. She didn’t believe.


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.c o d e w o r d --[/color]

<img src="http://i41.tinypic.com/16h2ibt.png">

.f a c e-c l a i m --[/color]

Anna Nocan

.o t h e r --[/color]


test

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.t a l k i n g --[/color] E8EDB7
.t h i n k i n g --[/color] E1D5BD
.o t h e r s t a l k i n g --[/color] B0818B
.t e x t --[/color] 5E5E5E
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