Distict 5: Phoebe Voltyn Mystervine

A girl with long, curly, pure-red hair is leaning against the wall of her house, hugging her knees and crying. Who is she? You wonder. Her name is Phoebe Voltyn Mystervine. Never heard of her? I'm not surprised. The girl stops crying for a moment, listening for a sound not even there, then buries her face in her arms. She lives in District 5, and is 15-years-old. You become fascinated with this crying young girl, and decide on staying for a while to find out as much as you can. I will tell you about her, but you must be patient. You will know what you need to know in due time.

The girl, Phoebe, lifts her head again, and you see her tear-streaked face in the moonlight. Her head is shapes like an oval, all the features looking rather smooth. Her jaw doesn't stick out, and it doesn't cave in. She has a nicely curved chin, obviously not a double-chin. When your eyes, up, you'll see her lips are a light pink. The bottom one has a medium-sized dip underneath, and the top one is much thinner, leaving it to look rather funny. You observe in utter silence, and see that when she cries, the upper lip seems to go over the bottom one, nearly making it disappear. She isn't biting it, but rather sucking in from all the sobbing. Her lip hair isn't noticeable, and she is thankful for that peck of luck she received. Her nose is thick, and large if you look at it in some perspectives. The top has a small ball on it, that actually fades away smoothly, leaving just a nice, rounded tip. It doesn't go out too far, but it certainly does go far. You notice her face is speckled with freckles all over, rushing over her nose, circling her eyes, dotting her forehead, and running along her cheeks. Now, you look in her eyes, which are zipping around at lightning speed, searching for the sound you still are yet to know. They are bright blue, and you see a hint of green. Just a hint, though. They reflect any light they find in the room, and her pupils have grown large from the darkness, and the fear that consumes her. They are shapes like the edges of the moon were cut off and put together, but shrunken to fit her face. You almost want to linger on them, watching her eyelids as they shut rapidly whenever she blinks. You feel the desire to stare forever. But you don't get the chance to do this, instead, she buries her face back in her arms and continues crying, shaking her body with every sob.

You breathe a sigh, then look at the back of her head, where a full head of hair grows. You are amazed by how it is like a torch in the dark, reflecting the moon's light. It is burning red, nowhere near the auburn color you'd seen before. When a candle flickers near, you see a hint of auburn highlight, but not nearly enough to call her hair auburn. It is red, and that's a pure fact. You see no colors except this beautiful red and the dim traces of auburn lining it every here and there. She has no noticeable bangs, but the hair still falls in her face often. It is very long, reaching past her waist. It is often tangles, but she finds it easier to brush her hair than most girls. Why is her hair not down right now? You ask in wonder. The answer is, Phoebe usually has her hair in a loose bun, so it won't get in her way while she works. When she gets out of the house, she takes it down so she looks a bit different, and you could almost call it beautiful. She works very hard, you know, and her face usually looks tired, scared, pained, or sad. It isn't hard to tell how she feels, as she can't hide her emotions, they just appear on her face like a chameleon on a rock changing colors. Tears will well up in her eyes when she's sad, she'll turn pale as a ghost when frightened, and if she is in pain she'll turn pale yet again and cry. Her eyebrows are thin and dark, often furrowed together in thought. You wouldn't think she could get any paler, as her skin is such a light tone it's almost unbelievable. Her neck is a medium length, and she can stretch it far, but never does for any reason, really. One shake of a sob sends Phoebe’s hair falling down, and you see her ears plain and clear. Small, and elf-looking. You laugh a little, and her head bolts up again. For a second, you wonder if she can actually hear you, then decide she can't. How could she?

She stands up, and for the first time you see her at her full height. She is 5'3", an alright height, you guess. Teenagers' heights vary so much in growing it's impossible to say what 'normal' and 'abnormal' is. Suddenly the image registers in your brain she is as skinny as paper. She could count every one of her ribs, and she was boney and gaunt to a point it messed up her appearance unless she wore baggy clothes, which she actually did. Her elbows are very pointy, and you can just imagine what would happen if she accidently bumped you with them. This, though, would never happen, as she is a very careful, balanced person. She has hardly a breast to speak of, but it's there, and still seeable. The shoulders that are so near to what you just saw and small-looking and thin, something that looked breakable by a feather. The long, skinny arms lay slack by her sides, and while you run your eyes down them you see so many bruises, and a cut or two in random places. Her hands are small like her ears, but not boney at all, they are actually rather smooth and gentle-seeming. It is not creepy for her to touch people as with some with boney hands, but nonetheless - she never touches people. She doesn't fancy being touched either, even though she goes through it every day.

She begins walking in the direction of her room, tired and wanting to sleep for a few hours for once. You follow, observing her more. Her legs are not long, and they are not short. They are made for her body size, and that was that. Her knee caps stand out a bit. Her legs are thin like her arms, and she walks slightly different, putting more pressure on her left foot than her right foot. Is she left or right handed? You wonder. The answer is, left. You follow her to her room, and instinctively look around for her bed. Where is it? you ask. It doesn't exist, and you learn that quickly as she slowly walks over to a spot on the floor with a small dirty blanket and a thin pillow. For a moment she pauses when she gets on her knees, but then continues onto laying down. She closes her eyes, but she is not asleep. Sleep hardly ever comes for her.

She'll still be listening, but in a quiet whisper I shall tell you the rest. She has two pairs of clothes she can wear. One is a pair of pants old and worn, which she prefers not use, and a shirt that is too big, but the long sleeves keep her warm in cold months. It used to be white, but years have made it dirty and ruined, and you can hardly believe it was ever clean. The other is a thick, dark skirt she wears more often. It isn't as dirty as her pants or the white shirt, so it's what she also will wear to the Reaping. Of course, only after scrubbing it clean as much as she could. The shirt she wears is her size, which she likes, but it's short sleeved and black, meaning it's a summer shirt, but can still make her hot.

She won't be sleeping soon, and you realize that quickly. I'll tell, just like how I desribed her clothes, how she is. Usually, like previously mentioned, you'll know exactly how she feels by the expression on her face. It isn't good for her though, as she has a dad who will take advantage of however she feels. The most common feeling she has is depression, or even more often, fear. She is scared of her dad, but would never dare do anythinghe disliked. Not, of course, unless she knew she cuold do it without getting caught. Sometimes, if you watch her long enough, she'll get a queer expression. When that happens, she is thinking about leaving. Her eyebrows furrow together and her nose goes to the the side like a rabbit. You'll notice she is hardly ever angry. She doesn't turn red, and she doesn't yell. She is silent most of the time, silent as an avox, you could even say. This is her usuall disposition, and it would take quite a lot to change it.

One of her primary motivators is to understand the world. She is very curious as to why people are so terrible at times. In general she is a curious person though, and always wants to know why, even if sometimes all she gets is a grunt. Her curiousty can sometimes lead to trouble, because she is interested on what goes on outside her house. She wants to know who is out there, and if anyone might be good or friendly. She is like a newborn deer, exploring her surroundings at every chance, but she is prevented because she hasn't been helped off her feet yet. Her dad doesn't want to her to go anywhere, and thinks of her as his makeshift slave. He pushes her around as much as he likes, keeps her isolated, and punishes her cruelly when she doesn't obey him. She will occasionally ask him if she can go out, but is then just sent to her room, forgotten about, then remembered a few days later. If you were to meet her, you would desribe her as pathetic. She seems to have absolutely no opinion on anything, and will simply say 'yes' if told something is right. She accepts everyone's opinion, and gets confused if givn two points by the same person. She has trouble deciding, but luckily she isn't often asked to decide on anything. Her dad does all the choices for her. Because of how she grew up, she is used to doing whatever someone tells her to do, and will instincively follow instructions no matter who told them. Of course, she has a certain dislike of peacekeepers which will land her into trouble very often.

Her outlook on life is what people would call, depressing. She herself is depressed, and very obvious it is. She somtimes think the world isn't worth it, and that if she died she would be alright. It has become somewhat of an obsession for her, that suicide would be a perfect escape. She has considered it so much you'd think her suicidal, but every time she gets around to trying she breaks down and runs back to her room and cries. She is scared of death, no matter how much she thinks it is right. It's not right anyways. She finds it hard to trust anyone, causing her to seem paranoid. She is a little paraoid, but not very. She's just scared of what could happen if the person wasn't nice. She is scared of most things in life, and that has proved a disadvantage for her many times in the past. Fear can occasionally engulf her like flames, and no one can calm her. Not like anyone would in he first place. She has no friends. That's right, not a single one. Why? You wonder, well she doesn't ever get a chance. Her dad enlisted her as homeschooled, but doesn't teach her a thing. Thus, she doesn't know enough to pass any test she is given. She is what some would tease as... stupid.

She is very industrious though. As you look at her now, you mightn't think that from her small, weak body, but she is very good at getting a job done quickly. Of course, if she doesn't do it quick enough she's punished, so she has a drive to get going. She is the opposite of lazy. That is a good thing for her, because if she were lazy she would be much more bruised than she already is. She has grown accustomed to telling the truth. If she were to lie and her dad found out, she is scared of what might happen. It's good to be truthful, right? It is, but for her it's like a plague set upon her. Always telling the truth leads to trouble for her. She can lie, she's just scared to do it. To a peacekeeper, to a stranger, or to her dad. There is a single lie that has been imprinted in her brain by her dad. One single lie she tells whenever asked the question. "My dad takes care of me just fine." It is the worst lie to have to tell, especially when her life is the exact opposite. He doesn't teach her, feed her, or protect her from dangers. He doesn't help her when she's sick or heal her when she's hurt. She is alone. She is part of her loneliness.

Her Lonely is something you want to hear about. She is lonelier than a distant star, isolated from every human but her dad unless she sneaks away, only to come back and be beaten. As she lays in bed as I tell you about it, she is most likely thinking about her Lonely. She treats it like something that can hear, even talking to it at times. "Lonely, please let someone speak to me." She'll say. But never are her pleas answered, because lonely has no voice. It is a feeling inside her she speaks to as comfort. You wouldn't think a feeling could be an enemy, but it is her greatest enemy. Worse than her dad. Whenever her Lonely visits her she'll cry. It comes more often than not, like right now. She cried because it tortures her soul, torutres her mind and her body. It makes her sick and brings her sleepless nights. Sometimes it will take controle of her, and make her do desperate things, such as leave the house. She'll come home, her lonely having left for the mere presense of other people. It will be back quickly enough after passing out in the kitchen.


Phoebe is not very easily distracted. She is an extremely focused girl and won't leave what she's doing until it's done, unless the deep yelling voice of her dad summons her. Even though she doesn't do what she wants often, if she ever gets a chance, she'll do something she likes. A few things she doesn't like to do, but has to do anyways I will tell. She can sew, and it's part of what her dad has her do. She fixes his clothes when he messes them up, and makes him new ones when he asks. She doesn't find time to make herself new ones, nonetheless she doens't have the materials. She doesn't fancy sewing either though, so it'd be hard to get her to do it unless she had to. She has a habit of apologizing without a need, due to making so many mistakes as a child. She has a problem with stuttering when she speaks, and it gives her dad another cause to laugh at her. Sometimes it's worsened by fear, but other time she just flat-out sutters for no reason. She also always seems to look like she's about to break down when she makes a bad first impression on someone. She'll get to believing they won't want to see her, and she just wants to talk to someone after being so Lonely.

Phoebe can be very timid when around her dad's friends. They're mostly his gambling buddies, a few drink with him, and she prefers to hide from them. She had an encounter with them a few times, and she hates them. She doesn't like hating someone, but she knows perfectly well they would never be nice to her like her mother. Sometimes she wonders if her mother still sees her. She thinks she does, and will ocassionally pretend her mother is right next to her. Whenever she manages to get some sleep, her dreams are either pleasant with her and her mother, or they are replays of the day's evets. The latter is most terrifying. Although she acts so shy around her dad's friends, when she gets outside she'll become rather daring. She still stays quiet, but she's more likely to trust than at her house. If she recognizes someone from a late night with her dad, she will quicken her pace and move on. She can't be caught. Not in the act, anyways. No matter when she goes out her dad always seems to know. How? You might wonder. That is a question neither I nor she can answer. So let's move on.

From what Phoebe has endured, she has become extravagantly tolerant. She is very level-headed, and isn't quick to snap at anyone. Her mind is very flexible, and she has learned to make do with whatever she has at the moment. She is slightly modest at times, and feels awkward whenever she is given something out of the blue. You would think she'd accept anything someone gave her with large thanks, but when someone she'd just met offers her something, she'll try not to take it so she isn't questioned by her dad. She has a fear that it might be a trick. Paranoia, you could say. She gets very tense around new things, like when she leaves her house if she sees something she'd never known before, she'll feel like leaving it, yet curious as to what it's there for.

Her natural affinity is to stay away from anyone who seems to make trouble, but sometimes she can seem very needy. She is capable of taking care of herself just fine, but in some situations she has trouble doing that, like if she is sick or hurt. If she gets to a certain point in desperation, she'll force her Lonely to leave, and get out of the house to go ask for help. When she does get out though, she'll feel strange asking for help, and will more often than not shy down and not ask. It's a preoblem for her, and she knows she needs to get over it one day. She has wonderful manners, despite growing up with her dad. He actually wanted Phoebe to use the manners around him, so it came in handy for her to know them. At least she didn't grow to be rude and drunken like her dad, right? There's a plus to look at, in her mind.

She is very observant, and when outside will ask random questions to people after she watched them for a while. After that she'd walk away. Hardly a soul knows her, and none by name. It isn't too hard to forget the Lonely young girl you spoke to for a few minutes, that you never see again. She isn't a very stand-out type of person, more like a girl in a apassing crowd. The only thing that identifies her completely is her hair. If she were to speak to you, the first thing you'd notice is she doesn't talk about herself much. She talks more about things around her, and gives an air of mystery as she talks. You would wonder why she didn't ask how things were going. The answer is - she doesn't want to be asked the question in return. She would answer truthfully, because deep down she really does wants to tell. She's just scared of what would happen if the peacekeepers found out, how her dad would react. That's basically what her life is - a humongous jar of fear, with gaps allowing her to have a few moments of excitement. Then to be replaced by the fear of getting caught, and of course, the happenings of going home.

Phoebe doesn't have much of an imagination. She isn't a painter, a singer, a sculpter, a writer, or any of those things. You might think from all the stories about Lonely girls who have to work hard that have wonderful imaginations. For Phoebe it's just hard. She tries to make up stories or imagine things might be okay, but after a while of trying and not succeeding she gave up, and succumbed to her Lonely. Sad, isn't it? You continue to watch Phoebe attempt to sleep, and she falls into a light doze. Satisfied, you ask to hear more about her. Curiousity is blanketing you, so I will let you know more, of course. It's my job anyways. So from here there is nothing more I can say about her personality, and that you must accept. As she is getting drowsy, I ought to stop here anyways. Nonetheless, I told you I would say more so I shall. I will let you know about this girl's history, no matter how shocking it may seem. From day one to this very day you will find out how she has so far lived her life. I will try my hardest not to leave out a single detail. So as she shifts her position to trry and sleep, more will be told as quiet as I can possibly speak.

An accident. That's what Phoebe was seen as. An accident. An accident, and a no-good girl. Her mother had just married her dad, and it was the night they had gotten married she was concieved. It took months before her mom knew, and that was when she noticed her belly getting bigger. People's bellies don't just get bigger in District 5, so it was obvious what was happening. Her mom was overjoyed she was going to have a baby, but her dad was rather gruff about it and wouldn't comment. He didn't want a baby, and he didn't want another mouth to feed. Nine months passed slowly for him, but for Phoebe's mom it seemed to whiz right by. In no time she popped out. It was, obviously, a girl. For about two weeks her mother celebrated and loved on her, and for about two weeks her dad attempted to deal with it all.

Then came the night he couldn't stand either of them. Phoebe's mom was sitting in one of the chairs they had, stroking Phoebe's few hairs slowly and singing quietly, trying to get her to sleep. Now, her dad had always had a problem with drinking, but her mom loved him enough to get over that. He had drunken a bit too much that afternoon, so when he came home to find his wife and child sitting idly, he snatched Phoebe from her mother's hands. Just like any baby, she had begun to wail. He took her mom by the arm and led her to his room. So while Phoebe yelled, he screamed at her mom, occasionally hitting her when she tried to defend herself. It was definetly a fight that wouldn't be repeated, because her mother was a strong woman and managed to win that fight. It was a lucky thing for Phoebe indeed, or what she knows now would've started much earlier. He didn't mess with her mother again for a nice while, so let's move to some up-ays in her life.

I remember once, when Phoebe was only two, her mom took her outside and started running around outside with her. It was an odd game, but somewhat like tag. Mommy would tag her, then she's turn around and catch mommy, who would always let her catch her. She had a very good mom, but her dad just went to work then locked himself in his room. She never did get to see much of him, so they never grew close. She went running around outside that day, and then she tripped on a rock and fell on the ground. She cried heartily, just like any other 2-year-old would, wanting mommy to kiss it better. Of course, the kissing was a placibo, yet it didn't work much. The neighbors got tired of her screaming and came outside. Her mom tried to apologize, but that's not what they wanted. They pretended the tiny cut needed a bandage and wrapped it up for her. Now, this satisfied Phoebe and she went home without another tear. After that their neighbors became like play buddies. It was just a woman, who she called Ms. Brandon, and her song, who she called Brandon. It was easy for her to remember, and Ms. Brandon was fine with that. They were both very nice people, and Brandon was only a year older than her. It was from that day forth that her mom hung out with Ms. Brandon and she hung out with Brandon. A nice group, if you might ask.

A few months later, when she turned three, Brandon and her went playing around outside together. They played the tagging game her mother had taught her, and were having a pretty fun time too. They didn't pay much attention to anything else, just concentrated on catching eachother. Well the chase ended up with them wandering away from the house, which was a big no-no. It was actually a good two hours before Phoebe's mom realized she wasn't there. She panicked a bit, and sarted running around trying to find the two. When she found them still chasing eachother near the Square, she picked up Phoebe and took Brandon's hand, then led them both home. Ms. Brandon was merely relieved Brandon was okay, Phoebe's mom was the same way, but her dad insisted on punishing her somehow. Her mom wouldn't go with it, saying it was just once and they were just having a bit too much fun. Not wanting to lose another fight with her, he consented and didn't punish her. Phoebe was a good girl, and just being told not to do it again was enough for her.

When she was five, it was time for her first day of school. Interesting time for every, isn't it? It could begin a sad stage in life, a happy one, or even a painful one. It all depended on what kind of person you were - and for Phoebe that meant new friends and whanot. Being the friendly girl she used to be, she immediatly ran around trying to make friends with everyone, just as a few other people were doing. A few people didn't want friends, but then a few people did. She liked having people to play with. Kindergarten was like heaven for her, and she enjoyed learning and trying new things. She was very bright, picking things up as the teacher said them. If she was told a lie, you'd be caught the second you changed your story even a little by her questions. She's always been curious, so that truly does add to how much she learned. There was always a new question on her tongue, and some days the teacher would laugh at some of her silly questions, even if she was dead-serious.

Later that year she made friends with a girl named Starry. Eventually they did become very good friends, best friends f you want to go that far. They truly did do everything together, from sitting together in class, to eating lunch, to walking home, playing together and everything. Meanwhile, Brandon grew apart from her, and they hardly ever talked except a few times after school. They were still friends, no doubt, but played a bit less than before. He was fine though, he made other friends just like she did.

Starry and Phoebe were like salt and pepper. Now you see, Starry was a bit of a mischief maker, while Phoebe was more calm and honest. Once, Starry convinced her to play a trick on Brandon. She was going to do most of it, all Phoebe had to do was lure him outside. So she went to his house and knocked on the door, out came Brandon and she got him out a few steps. Then, out popped Starry with a bucket of mud! She dumped it on him, and he was so startled he didn't have a clue what to do. It made Phoebe feel terrible, even more when she was grounded for quite a while. After that she couldn't convince Brandon she was sorry, and therefore lost a friend because of Starry. She was eight when this happened, and her parents made sure Starry and her never saw eachother again by homeschooling Phoebe. So now you know how that happened, and we can continue to a very important part of her life to know. The year she was nine.

Phoebe doesn't enjoy recalling that year. She had pushed her dad too far about a month after her birthday, but losing his 'special drink.' A friend of her's had told her it was alcohol, so she wanted to see, but spilled it on accident. Her dad just blew up like a volcano, and started breaking things. Her mother was terrified, and tried to hit him like she had when Phoebe was born. This was useless though. He had spent nine years tolerating having a daughter, and all the anger he'd felt came out. It was like the pot and been filled too much. It wasn't just the small accident she had done that set him off, it just topped him off. Wrong thing at the wrong time, you could say. He started beating on her mother and her, out of all the anger. This lasted a week.

At the end of the week Phoebe's mom couldn't take any more and left. She ran as far as she could, and eventually disappeared from District 5. What did this do to Phoebe? You might ask.It made her life a chamber of fire that can't be extinguished. Her dad listed her as homeschooled, but instead of teaching her he cut her off from everyone outside. She was just so easily forgotten though. As far as she knew, no one remembered her after a little bit. She spent every day inside the house, the blinds closed and the doors locked, the key in her dad's pocket at all times. She became a bird in a cage. If she ever asked him for something or asked to go outside he turn from her. If she persisted she was answered with pain. A pain that would continue untill she couldn't bare it any longer. After a few weeks he started telling her to do things, and out of fear for getting hurt she did everything he told her. If she didn't, well, I believe you can guess. Those days were how she shed her inside feelings and became a somewhat mindless slave to him. She became a shell. Her body was her body to him, and she had no feelings and didn't think. If he hit her she would cry and satisfy him. It was her crying, her screaming, and her helplessness that brought her dad joy. Inside she felt like a ton of bricks had fallen on her. She truly did feel like she only looked like how she had been before her mother ran away, and that in truth, she was a completely different girl. Her life was different. Her dad was giving her - according to his words - everything she ever deserved.

When she was 10 he started really getting into his drinking. Phoebe of course, didn't want him to, but he did, and it only made it worse for her. The more he drank, the more dangerous it was for her, and the more painful the beatings became. She wasn't strong. She was weak, and she cried. Maybe if she hadn't cried he'd have given up. Eventually, he started bringing home his friends. Most were men. Men Phoebe didn't know, and didn't trust either. They tossed insults at her, and whenever her dad would yell at her they'd of course, back him up. It was only a few months before they became truly comfortable around her and would hit her like her dad did. Toss her around, order her to do things for them, abuse her, and thow insults. If she cried in front of them they'd laugh. She wasn't safe there. She couldn't tell a soul about her troubles, since she couldn't even get outside for a fresh breath of air.

The next year she was eleven. To her to seemed every day her situation was getting worse. She broke more often, and would cry longer. She could never in a million years imagine her bruises away. She couldn't rid herself of the headaches or the cuts. Nor the burns or the emotional pain. It was two years since she'd seen her so-called loving mother, and her dad brought home a woman. A very beautiful woman, blonde hair blue eyes. Rich, too. One problem though. The woman had a heart like her father's. The second she arrived at the house and Phoebe attempted to hide, only to be dragged back out by her dad, it was instant hatred between the two. The woman, named Avama, wanted to be the only woman in her dad's life. Thus, the second she knew it'd be okay to hurt her, she did. Phoebe didn't like Avama simply for being so much like her dad. Terrifying. After a few hours of them hanging out in the living room talking, and occasionally putting Phoebe to use. Soon enough, they disappeared to her father's room. What was going on she didn't know. All she knew was it was a great chance to try and sleep. She didn't sleep though. No matter how tired she would get, until it was near passing out time. Then she would recieve nightmares of all types. Her mother, her dad, the pain, and mostly her Lonely. Yes, it was the year she was eleven her Lonely became a living thing in her mind. It was that same day as well. So as Avama and her dad were in her dad's room, and she lay on the hard ground of her room, she created the emotion. It lived in her head. Just like an imaginary friend would. The difference was - this Lonely wasn't her friend. It was her enemy.

After a few months, it was her twelth birthday. It was only a few weeks after her dad broke up with his girlfriend, Avama. Phoebe was glad to see her leave, but she was alone in the house with him again. Except of course, on nights his frinds came. On those nights, she began hiding in the hallways instead of standing around her dad where she could get hurt so quickly. They didn't like not being able to hit her at any time, but they knew where she was an she was too afraid not to do what they asked. If they wanted another drink, then by all means she'd hurry quickly and get it. Do you think she hated her life? Yes. She loathed her life from all corners. The more time went by the more she seemed to want an escape.

Then she was thirteen. It proved quite an interesting year for Phoebe, indeed. A few months into the age she was being tossed about in her home, and eventually was knocked out cold. She had awoken with a terrible headache, but her dad was passed out on the floor, while his friends had somehow managed to leave in the night once again. She lifted herself from the floor, and noticed something peculiar about the door. The lock wasn't turned in the diretion it usually was. It was pointed up. It wasn't locked. She jump-ran to the door and opened it wide, greeted by the fresh air she hadn't known in so long. Her pale, weak body was barely able to handle all the sights she saw and remembered immediatly. The trees, the flowers, and the colors. The colors! She wasn't as healthy as she should've been, and at first she had a bit of trouble. She quickly ignored it though, wanting only to talk to someone who wouldn't hurt her. She knew to steer clear of peacekeepers - but oh! She could tell one! She had been so close, and one had taken notice of her, but she frightened herself with the thought of what her dad would do and ran quickly away. But she ran out of breath so quickly.

"Hello?" Someone had called. The word is stuck in her head to this day. A boy. Not a single person seemed to remember her face, after all the growing she'd done. "Who're you? I've never seen you." The boy continued. At first she was so terribly frightened. The person was a stranger. She was so desperate for conversation though, she launched into her middle name. No one could mention a Phoebe that no one knew. It would make her dad know immediatly where she'd gone. So she was Voltyn, and the boy was Colby. She didn't know him for long though, because she went home. She felt rather depressed to have to go back to her dad, who the second she stepped in the door whammed a first into her gut. Still though, she can't forget the first person she'd heard in years that hadn't hurt her. Colby is the name stuck in her mind and if she was ever to see him again, she feels she ought to let him know who she really is. How she lives. Where she lives.

The same year's Reaping was a mess for her. Her dad led her to the Square and made sure she kept herself covered so not a single person would ever comment on a bruise or scratch. Only if she were to be Reaped would anyone know. Thus, he half-hoped she'd be Reaped so she would die, and he half-hoped she wouldn't so he wouldn't be busted. She wasn't Reaped. Of course, either being Reaped or not he would've hurt her. Either during the goodbye's for getting him in trouble or for not going to her death. She was beaten for not going to her death. She would never have a nescape. Every Reaping would be like that for Phoebe, just as her first was. Just as her second was. It was how things worked in her life. They would never change as far as Phoebe knew.

During the later months of being fourteen, life became a steady drum. It was repetetive and not one interesting thing happened. She left the house twice more during that year, but was always caught. Every single time. Every day she was beaten. Every day she was insulted. And, it seemed, every day she acted the part of servant to her dad. Her dad, or her master? It had become that way. Never once could she find peace within her own home. Her home was barely a home anymore. It was like a prison, and there were no guards except her dad and his 'friends.' Nothing was fair, and no matter what she said, it was answered with pain, and another sleepless night. She didn't talk back as much as she used to. She had become used to being treated the way she was, and the only time of freedom she ever got was when she sneaked out, which wasn't often.

Four months ago. It was four months ago. It was four months ago that she turned fifteen. It was then she snuck out once again, and that was on her birthday. Of course, she only remembered it herself, her father didn't. She snuck out early in the morning, before even his friends could wake up, and stole the key from the floor. It had dropped from his pocket. She even dared steal some of his gambling money, so she could have food and maybe end some of her hunger. Once she was outside she quietly walked to the Square, and a few shops had already opened. Rather early. She didn't have enough for meat, but she ate a loaf of bread as though it was her last meal. Her hunger wouldn't be satisfied though. She ran back to the house, and for the first time wasn't caught. She relocked the door and placed the key on the floor. Then she crawled around on the floor and did what she always did. Felt around for leftover food from the night before. She only came up with a few bites, as usual, and, as disgusting as it might sound, a few where soggy. Soggy from.. you know. But when you are so hungry, you become desperate and willing to eat anything. Soon after, her dad woke up. Not suspecting a thing.

Suddenly, Phoebe's breathing slows and you look again in her direction, away from me. Her face has taken on a softer look, not so tight. It is now that she has fallen asleep. a light sleep, no doubt. So let's be very quiet and leave her to rest.

We don't know what the next day will bring.