LEVI KEVALA AMAURY // D4 [WIP]

I am nothing special to look at. My eyes are not filled with a "genuine sparkle" of curiosity, and my lips are not "voluptuously puckered." I do not obtain double takes or long, wide stares from passersby, because I do not radiate any startling amount of attractiveness. My hair, light brown and occasionally intermingled with tinges of bronze, sits delicately upon my head. My eyes reflect the identical shade of brown as my hair, but often are transformed into some kind of hazel tone when there is a significant amount of light. My nose is slightly too large for the small condition of my face, and the awkward, crooked bend of its bridge is prominent from all angles. My cheekbones protrude softly from my cheeks, and with a hint of stubble I have a long, extended jawline. My eyebrows are thick and frame my eyes well, although sometimes they are a bit unmanageable. My teeth are bright and clean, but they are just as much crooked and they dull the intensity of my smile.

My body is nothing more spectacular than the simplicity of my face. Living near District Four's strong ocean currents has provided me with the opportunity to keep a strong, defined muscle structure, but I am not overly accentuated. I have always been lean even with a diet heavily reliant on protein-packed fish, and I've never been able to keep a heftier weight. My skin is tanned by hours in the sun, and even with the distinct lack of any kind of sunblock in the District, I cannot remember the last time that I had a sunburn.

You see that photo up there? That was me, before I got kicked out. I used to be a happy, smiling guy. I found the small things in life the most enjoyable, quite extravagant; I was a stop-and-smell-the-roses kind of guy. Life was precious to me, because even in a glorified District like the one I grew up in, life is precious and nobody seems to make theirs last as long as they'd like it to. I suppose it still is, in a way. I just tend to see death as more of a blessing than an inevitable fear now. And I don't know why, but I guess that when there's nothing you can do to live forever, spending your life worrying about it seems like a waste of a life to me. I was never like this. I used to love the earth, love the people on it. Now I am nothing more but damaged goods, scathed and marred by her words and her motions. She left me in the dust and I was morphed by that, into a vile, hating creature.

But I suppose that I'm not all bad. I'm not entirely screwed up. I enjoy music. Even when you're not looking for it, you can hear it in everything, hear it as the wind whispers through the gaps in the trees, or as the water splashes against the rocks in a murky stream. I couldn't imagine being deaf; I don't think I'd be able to take it. I need to hear things, need to be able to identify and understand things by their sounds. I love music because everybody can understand it, everyone has a connection to it. It's in everyone, from the whistling District 12 coal miner to the laughter of a Capitol child running free in the city.

I have been told that even if the greatest thing had occurred in my life, that the look of sadness and deep thought would still remain on my face. I don't really see it when I look at myself in a mirror; but truth be told, I don't pride myself on looking in the mirror very often. Mirrors are for the few and far between that are beautiful, the undamaged ones that still have a chance at retaining a normal type of existence. For the rest of us, a reflective surface is just a painful reminder of our actions that made us what we are today. They serve only to mock, to never make us forget that the only reason we are living such bleak, miserable lives is because of laziness, pride, and bad decisions.

My life has been guided by bad decisions. And like almost always, bad decisions are followed by regret and self-pity. My choices were are lead by urges, by a profuse need of something or another. I do not mull over the consequences, but instead choose to worry about such things later, after the deed has been done. You'd think that I'd have learned by now to behave otherwise, but in actuality it only sends me deeper into that dark oasis of disappointing realities and disappointment.

I do not remember a whole lot about my life before my teenage years, most likely due to the fact that I blocked it all out. My mother was cruel and calculating, always knowing my every motive and future action. It seemed like I could never get a break in our house; every minor action led to a painful consequence. I will admit that the worst of the punishments never went to me. I was always her favourite, and the result of this was that sometimes I was let off the hook, while I sat in a cloak of smugness as I watched my older brother and younger sister take the blows.

Although I was the most boisterous of the three, I could be at times the most well behaved, and this is how I managed to avoid beatings. My little sister was too young to learn how to play mom's mindgames, and my older brother was too independent and strong-minded to back down to her demands. I was not old enough to have a sense of self yet, but I was big enough to know what mom wanted out of us. I knew how to play the game; and once you know how to play the game, it's possible to change the rules any way you like.

I grew up this way, and because I knew what kind of a person she was, I was able to avoid anything that would trigger her. I was the star student and fisherman, I ran her errands and picked up a job. Anything to get out of the house, to get out of her way. She just thought I was busy because I wanted to help her; in reality the outside world was an escape from all the chaos that existed in my house.

I did not think that I would get the chance to live my own life. I was under the impression that I would be confined in the walls of that house forever. My brother, four years older, had not yet left to make something of himself, and I was frightened that my future would bear a resemblance to his. Too old to be punished anymore, mom let him be, and he spent most of his time in the dark confines of his bedroom walls. My little sister had discovered the intriguing results of a love life, and she rarely came home anymore. Nobody knew where she went or who she spent her time with; but each time we were graced with her presence in the house, she looked worse and worse.

I don't know how I found Ava. It's almost like she somersaulted into my life with the intention of destroying it. I loved her like nobody had ever loved anybody else before; she was strong, present, and everything that I would never manage to be. We were polar opposites, yet somehow she had just as dire a need for me as I did for her. Her fingers fit perfectly in mine, her lips were like lock and key with my own as we kissed, and I never smiled quite as largely when she was away. She was so beautiful, yet I don't really think she ever quite understood that.

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