★ {HESTER ELWYN} ★ D11 [FIN]

★ { n a m e } hester calypso elwyn
★ { a g e } seventeen
★ { g e n d e r } female
★ { l o c a t i o n } district four eleven
★ { s e x u a l i t y } heterosexual

I held your hand
In those years as a child
Soothed all your fevers
Tousled your hair

★ { a p p e a r a n c e }

Can you see it?

It’s everywhere, if you ever think to look. No one ever does. No one seems to understand that my dainty frame and seabird-straight waist are not built for this place, these trees and these skies and these fields that I have never truly belonged to, not really. I belong to a place far away from here, to a place where the grass meets the sand and the sand meets the water. My body was built for gliding through silky-smooth sea, my feet meant not for the feel of sticky-warm soil beneath them, but the feel of soft sand pushing up between my toes. I long for the feel of the ocean air tickling my skin, the saltwater sensations that I have long been deprived of. Can you see it, the sea that defines me? Look, stranger. It’s everywhere.

It’s in the straight slope of my nose, the strong line of my jaw and the bow of my lips. You must see it, it’s impossible to miss. It’s all proof, proof that I don’t belong here, can’t you see? These crazed and dazed eyes, these wandering feet, the whimsical smile that pulls at my lips when flashes of the faraway past swim through my dreams. I am not meant for this place, this home that isn’t truly home, my body made for the salt and waves and sand that I can still feel lingering in my shattered memory, but have not seen in so, so long. I can sense it, it’s there, but can you see it? You must.

You can still see it in the silky dark strands, the chestnut-colored hair, wild and untamed like the wilderness where we live, and the waves that roil within my veins. It’s under my skin, the salty brine and hidden deep, shifting and sliding just beneath the smooth ivory surface in a salty-sweet dance that pulls me from the shadows of the forest, across orchards and dark, warm soil and through the heart of the district, walking on bare, dirt-stained feet until I can walk no more. It’s home that’s on the other side of that fence, and one day dark eyes that have long been searching for their missing sea will fall upon the ocean once more.

Gave you my treasures
My shells and my shingle
Made you feel happy
When things seem so bad

★ { p e r s o n a l i t y }

Can you hear it?

The screams, that is. Ripped from the throat of a girl with a missing piece of herself, a broken puzzle and a breaking mind, I scream because no one seems to hear me. I try asking nicely, try being polite to those I gather the courage to speak to as I wander the district in hopes of finding answers, but all I’m ever given are confused stares and blank faces, awful words muttered under the breaths of strangers and fingers pointed in my direction, people who don’t even know me or understand me uttering words that sting more than I let them know. Look at the crazy girl, they all say in hushed whispers and sneering tones, casting disdainful glances at the girl with the ocean beneath her skin. She thinks she’s from the sea, that girl. Lost her mind, that girl. That girl. She’s as crazy as they come.

I scream, because they’re wrong.

I am the wind beneath a seagull’s wings, the calm before the storm and the waves that smash and crash and pull countless ships into a deep-dark and watery grave beneath my wrath. I am the shark that hunts the darkest waters and the seal that squeals between its teeth, the fish that swim in shimmering schools and the corals of the reefs in which they live. I am the grains of sand on the beach, the hush of gently rolling waves and the roar of a tsunami as it swallows everything in its path. I am the song that sings past rocky shores and beneath murky waters, the smell of salt on the breeze, the taste of free, fresh air on the tip of your tongue. I am many things, but I am not crazy.

My memory may have long shattered into muddled fragments, simple things such as my own name and the names of my sisters often losing itself among the scattered shards, but that does not make me insane. I remember some things, I swear, like the sea, the sweet-salty smells and tastes and sounds, the place that I have long been searching desperately for yet always in vain. I remember it – it’s there, I know it – but no one seems to understand me or my need to find my missing sea. I want my ocean, I say, where has it gone? But they only stare, uncomprehending, ignorant, and they don’t understand.

I’ll scream until they do.

The sea says
I gave you stories
Adventure and mystery
When all was not well
I sung you to sleep

★ { h i s t o r y }

Can you feel it?

Of course you can’t. You’re not like me. You don’t feel the ocean’s pull, it’s sweet and beckoning call, do not feel it finding its way into your veins even though you are miles apart and a lifetime away. The sea tells marvelous stories, did you know? My favorite is one about a girl, a child born among sand and saltwater and the roar of waves. She belonged there, you know – she still does, but she was torn away along with her sisters, stolen, ripped from her home and whisked away to a strange place with strange people and not a drop of saltwater in sight. The poor child, how lost she is now. Her ocean has been taken from her.

But she still searches for it, wandering the streets of this new and strange place and calling out for her home in vain. The people - they stare, they tease. They try to keep away because the girl is not normal, foreign, not supposed to be here in this place, with the dirt and grass and trees instead of brine and beaches. Their ignorance frustrates her, makes her want to pull at the hair on her scalp and stomp the soil, scream at them until they understand just how much it hurts. She knows they won’t listen, though. They never do.

It’s my favorite story, but it’s a sad one, isn’t it? Heart-breaking, really - a tale of child so lost and desperate that sometimes she can hardly breathe, as though water were spilling between her lips and into her lungs and pooling there, choking her as she sputters and screams. She doesn’t mind though, the feeling of drowning in the pain. It’s as close to home as she can ever get.

Crept into the cracks
Of your imagination
Made you feel happy
When things seem so bad

{ o t h e r }

★ { f a c e } freja beha erichson
★ { p l o t s } cass's elwyn family plot
★ { s o n g } the sea says by marc almond
★ { c o d e } oDair