WITHERITE SHORE D1 ~ FIN

Ever wonder what the face of fear looks like? That moment when the emotion strikes you to the very core and sends cold shivers down your spine, forcing your limbs to become motionless - the complete and utter terror that leaves you too scared to even exhale a single breath, for running will not save you from the feeling that echos against the enclosures of your brain. The moment when death even sounds more inviting than this poison that leaves you so tainted. The fears that are placed in people's mind are not the faces of fear, but the subjects that are slaves to it's will. Beasts that strive to project this feeling into even the strongest of creatures, for the only thing that can harm them is the fear of fear itself. I am one of them, a creature of the night that finds immense pleasure in hearing the blood-curdling scream within my pointed ears as they stare into the sick blue eyes of this monster. Something that stares back with a sick smirk upon such full lips must be a monster.

With brown, gelled up hair that reveals a sharp, angular face that can cut like a knife, I am my own weapon. I strive to see the day when just the sight of my tall form can send even the bravest of creatures slithering back into the shadows. I already achieved this with some of my siblings, especially Niobium... although she's not much of an achievement My long and nimble fingers stretch out greedily toward any human that emits even the faintest sign of weakness, the smell of it overpowering to my straight nose and enough to furrow my bushy eyebrows in disgust. The others in this god forsaken house remain as if they were high above me, heads raised and lips curled up as if to say you're not as strong as you think you are.

If only they would see how wrong they truly are. It's as if they completely overlook the muscles that ripple through my tanned skin, muscles that completely reflect the essence of a Career - a Victor. Yet all I receive are the annoyed eye rolls of a family who has been trained to not to feel intimidation. In this dark place of children who are all sick in their own, twisted ways, we are all the signs of intimidation and strength, yet it's who learns to mask their emotions the most that decides who is on top.

I have none to hide... so where does that leave me?

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Unstable, reckless, arrogant, ruthless, twisted...

[/color] Basically, according to my siblings, I am the living, breathing definition of a psychopath. I have no idea what forces them to believe this, for isn't everything that I do... everything that I am, just how a Career is supposed to act? With a hunger for the blood curdling screams that curl one's toes in pure agony, a strategic mind set that everyone contains a weakness of immense fear within them, and deserves to be revealed by countless, unknown tests how a soon-to-be Victor is supposed to think? The willing to kill, the arrogant pride that one must have to actually thrive in this world, and the ruthless tactics of one who is simply claiming his rightful place on top. It's all in good nature, right? Of course, if you consider taking out my siblings one by one and proving them to be the weaklings that they attempt to hide good nature.

You see, within each human, there is a mind-set that to be stronger; to truly appear to be the essence of one who stands high above the rest, they must train, train, train until muscles appear upon their skin and a deceitful lie is placed within their head that everyone is below them. What these people fail to see is that to stand above the rest, unless they are truly standing upon a wreckage of their foes that they completely shattered, they are the most breakable. I am slowly but steadily building up that pile, an invisible but easily seen pile of defeat of the enemies that once thought me incapable of conquering them. A boy they once called too stupid to even think clearly.

A claim that almost always manages to clench my jaw in a firm line of frustration and anger. Weakness. A claim that sends me leaping toward the owner that let the words fall from his mouth, fists balled with a vicious intent. Let them see my strength, then let them tell me how stupid I am. Yet all that it solves is to prove how much of a short fuse I possess, and to place in the minds of those who look upon me a state of caution. The only thing I gain is the fear of those who see how much I am capable of, yet even that can't replace the lie that is planted within them that I hold the mind of a child.

If anything, they are the ones who are dumb. When they are placed in the Hunger Games, I'll simply sit back and laugh as they die a painful death, for in the arena that contains so much cruelty, books will not be there to save them. Sure, I may not have the smooth flowing language of Beryl, but I do contain the will do bend the emotions of anyone I come across, not with a few words of persuasion, but with the power to strike surprise and fear into the very beings of their heart. Of course, if there comes a time when reading is proven to bore someone to death, I'll take it up, but until then... it's just another waste of my time.

Bending the emotions of my siblings, a habbit that is met with so much more joy and satisfaction than any other; an act that leaves my heart beating and a sick smile curling upon the edges of my lips. Siblings that thrive in the daylight hours and call me incapable of anything in my future, yet are morphed into the creatures they truly are when the darkness of night claims them. The indescribable rush I feel when I stand in the corner of their room, shadows cast down upon my devilish grin as I simply open the door a crack... just to make the haunting noise that would send a child running to their mother. It's at these moments, when I watch the person that called me weak scrambling for the knob on their lamb to see what lurks in the shadows, that I earn my revenge.

"I know it's you Witherite," they say, trying to mask the beating thump of their heart that throbs throughout their form and covers even the sound of my own thoughts. They can't fool me. I can hear the quivering shake in their voice as they sit still once no other sound meets their ears, the fear of even turning the lamp back off forcing them to sit up straight in a stiff position of fear. I can even see the sweat beading their forehead and hear the dull, raspy breath of one who is on the verge of fleeing. It's during these moments when one's true being is revealed, as a steady flow of emotions runs it's course through their form, proving the very essence of themselves to me. It starts out as panic, then a slow, steady hum of fear through their veins, then anger at realizing what they have been diminished to, and finally a convincing that what they heard was in their own mind. But the fear never leaves, for I simply stand and stare at their wide eyes once the light is out again, and their hand remain clenched tightly upon the covers.

Yet it never fails that they walk out the next morning, with the same expression of one who is above them all and is incapable of feeling the cold chill of fear through their bones. But all I can do is smirk, for I've finally seen them for who they are. I've added another body to my pile of defeat.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/color]

I was born ninth into a family of thirteen, actually born with the title of Shore upon my head and the claim that I would be destined to do great things. I grew with my parent's expectation of strength and intimidation, a pupil that they would point to my other siblings and state "see, this is the face of a Victor." They based that assumption upon just the build of my structure, yet once who I truly was began to burst from the seams of such a molded Career, a permanent layer of uneasiness and disgust was planted upon the brows of my parents. I see no wrong in who I grew to be though, for wasn't their definition of who we were supposed to strive to become a strong force to be reckoned with; one who fears nothing but is the master of fear. Well, it wasn't exactly worded that way, but that's how I perceived it.

Thoughts were placed into our heads from the very day we learned to speak, videos implanted within our mind and forcing us to believe that the Games is our only future, and the Capitol is only trying to help us. I believe them. Growing up, I only payed attention to the films to please Rose and Tiberius, yet even following along with their plans for our future did not earn me the gaze that they so often gave Emerald: the golden child. I remember a time when those gazes fell upon my face, yet they soon grew weary of the definition of a Career that I had placed within the depths of my unstable mind. They saw my strength, yet stated that my insanity would only bring down their reputation.

It started when I was young and was just beginning to recognize my joy of inflicting pain upon others. They often found me sitting upon the floorboards of my room, dead bugs and animals scattered freely across the room and the smell of rotting flowing slowly through the air. I remember smiling at Rose, holding up the dead bird I held within my bloodied hands with a laugh. Only disgust. I only remember vague phrases of what they heard, yet those words were enough to prove to me that I was a disgrace to them. "Don't tell anyone of this... quick, clean it up... disgusting... horrible... rotten peace of filth."

I only got "worse" after that. I only wanted to gain the favor of my parents once again, so I focused every fiber of my being on training. This only fueled their resentment toward me. I would stalk my siblings through the house quietly, giggling in a childish way when they showed no signs of noticing me. It was all fun, until one day I leaped upon Aquamarine with a pair of scissors and immediately began chopping away at her beautiful locks, laughing sickly at her screams and feeble attempts to get me off of her. Let's just say after that, the distance between my brothers and sisters and me only grew farther. From that day, uneasiness was shared with me, always a few steps taken back when my presence was felt in the room. Rose and Tiberius made it a point to always have me separated from the rest. Isolate him until he realizes the insanity that eats away at him.

I only grew farther away from their approval, yet the farther I distanced myself, the stronger I became. Birds became humans and hair became limbs. Yet, I still yearn for the approval of the ones that once thought of me as the golden child, or just simply a nod to show that they still know I am alive. I look forward to the day when I stand above the 23 tributes of the Districts that deserve to be obliterated and finally look down upon the faces of a family that once thought of me as so small. Yet I know deep down, when I look upon the parents that isolated me my whole life, the only expressions they will hold is disgust.

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( f a c e c l a i m ) Conor Hosford
( o t h e r ) Broken Crown by Mumford and Sons

(m a i n ) 2b4140
( t h o u g h t s ) 3d3532
( t a l k i n g ) 313737
( o t h e r s t a l k i n g ) 526061
( o t h e r ) 6e645f

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