*--Runyon Redpath D11~ DONE!!

*--Runyon Redpath D11~ DONE!! Jul 17, 2013 21:11:27 GMT -5

Post by ~Paris~ on Jul 17, 2013 21:11:27 GMT -5

Runyon Redpath
district 11 | 17 | male | Connor Franta

[presto]

Strength comes from within, do not seek it without
I don’t really know what I look like in their eyes. In her eyes. Was I anything in her eyes? I’ve given up trying to understand how she saw me. A burden? A blessing? No, not a blessing. Otherwise she wouldn’t have left me with him. In her eyes I was just an obstacle. Another obstacle to get past, to forget and leave behind. Her eyes. I have her eyes, or so I am told by him, a light, almost icy blue hue. Soft, yet striking, standing out against the rest of my plain features. Like her. Like him. The only thing they had in common.

She, a free spirit, roaming, selling her body to men all over Panem, some of a high position, and others like my father, far from an important status. But she didn’t care. She felt that she could do anything she wants with no consequences. And there were none. For her. But for us, she left a gaping hold of shame and lies and forced us to create what some would consider a family. But in reality, we are far from that supposition.

She left me with my father, or at least I think he’s my father. I can never be certain, giving the details of her employment, but we share the same soft, plain features and reclusive tendencies. He is young, much too young to be raising a child. He couldn’t have been more than 17 when I was born. He never talks about my mother, probably because he wants to forget about her and the troubles she forced upon him, but those troubles are kind of hard to forget whenever he sees me. I only ever asked about her when I was little, old enough to know that my family was different from my friends’, but still far too young to comprehend the truth. He told me that she was dead, that she died after giving birth to me. As young as I was when he told me this, I couldn’t help but feel the guilt rush through my veins, guilt from the unintentional murder I committed against my own mother. For years I carried that blood on my hands, seeping into my every thought, my every action. I decided that I could never hurt somebody again, forcing a shield against any kind of violence over my head. As a kid, I got into a few fights here and there, but what little boy doesn’t? But since he told me truth, or what I thought it was, I couldn’t do it anymore. Everything sickened me; hatred, violence. I just couldn’t take it. So I took a step back. Or, rather, a jump. I separated myself for a while, nurturing a personality that could thrive without a hunger for violence, hoping to edge off some of my guilt by becoming a better person. It was stupid, looking in hindsight, separating myself from somewhat of a normal childhood just to ease the pain, but it did the trick. As the years went by, I realized it wasn’t my fault entirely, but twinges of guilt still tore at my gut. Trying to find empathy with another, I imagined the guilt my father must have felt, knowing that he had also caused the death of my mother; I felt reassured that I wasn’t alone in my woes. But I was alone. Because he wasn’t guilty at all.

I knew when I met Nike that she was telling the truth. But I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of it. A few moments twisted around my whole life, turning my reality into a dream that seemed like it happened in a different lifetime. Just moments before I had left my friends in the fields, going to my favorite spot in the woods beyond the edge of the orchards, far enough to relax, but close enough to run back to safety. I remember pulling myself easily up onto the nearest tree bough with only my right hand, my left hand sporting a fallen apple I had picked up on my way here. I remember fixing my spiked blonde hair with my fingers, and then she was there. Standing right beneath me. A few words spun me around so fast, I had to grab an adjacent branch to keep from falling off of the bough I was perched on. “I’m your sister.”

She didn’t stop there. Everything he had told me was a lie. I now knew the truth, and I am angry. Not at her. I understand why she left me. She had no choice but to go. There’s no way she could have supported a child, heck, she could barely support herself doing what she was doing. I am angry at him. For lying, forcing me to carry around the burden of thinking that I had inadvertently killed my own mother, saying nothing as he saw me exclude myself from the other kids, watching me slowly inch my way back into society as I grew older, cautious for no reason, careful without a purpose. And thanks to him, I always will be. I have trained myself to avoid violence whenever I can, which I the main reason why Nike and I are so different. She wants nothing but our mother’s blood for leaving us. I don’t know what she has been through, but it must have been terrible enough that she has developed a lust for vengeance. Maybe I would have been the same way if he had told me the truth. Was he protecting me from turning into Nike? Or was he just protecting himself from not wanting to relive his mistakes and face the consequences that coincide. He doesn’t know that I know the truth. And he never will.

Nike told me that there are more like us, more that have spawned as “mistakes” from our prostitute mother, eight in total, or at least 8 known to us. One of them is my twin. Twin. I have had a twin sister all these years and never even knew it. I thought twins were supposed to have some supernatural communication powers or something like that. I guess not. I have 8 siblings. Moments before I had none. Nike, who is 18 and lives in twelve, Thalia, my twin who lives in nine, Eustacia, the eldest at 23 in one, Balthar, the middle child who is fourteen and lives in seven, Eunia and Calwell (12 and 7 respectively) who live in four, and Grey, who is an avox. Nike says that she wants to find the others, to put back the pieces of the puzzle our mother left behind. But I myself am not so sure that’s a good idea. Maybe we were never meant to meet, maybe this is all a mistake. Maybe she separated us for a reason. I still don’t understand why she did it, but I still trust her, the woman who I have never met, but I still recognize as kin. Nike, however, has no respect for her, the woman who brought her into being. She wants her dead for leaving us to fend for ourselves. Night and Day, Nike and Myself, there is no difference. How can we share the same blood when she wants to spill it on a whim while I back down from any confrontation I find myself in? We may be related, but I don’t think I can ever see any of these people as family. Family. The word has a new definition for me, meaning a group of people who care about you and protect you. But I have no one anymore. I guess I never have, and probably never will.
[/presto]

*credit to the lovely Anzie