Carrieann Almas - District 9 - FIN

{ n a m e } carrieann almas
{ a g e } 16
{ d i s t r i c t } 9
{ s e x u a l i t y } homosexual

{ a p p e a r a n c e }

The first thing I do when I wake up is stumble to the bathroom to wash my face. Collecting the water between my thin fingers, I run it over the tanned skin of my face. I avoid my dark eyes as I move the water up to my forehead. I press my bangs up, rubbing the water into the awful acne that collects under them. After I’ve finished cleaning my face, I bring some water up to my thin lips for a quick drink.

I dry my hands, then run them through my fluffy hair. The dark locks reach to around my chin. I’ve always kept short hair, for it’s much easier to manage. There are a few dresses hanging on a bar near the sink. I filter through them, before choosing a short sleeved cream one. It’s a bit big for my thin frame, but the length is perfect for my height. I’m reasonably tall, according to the mark on the wall from July, I’m 5 foot 9.

I linger at the mirror for a bit longer. My hands, covered in the tiniest scars from mishaps with carving knives, cling to the sink basin. I think I've left my shoes downstairs again. Despite my rather large collection of dresses, I only have one pair of shoes. It doesn't matter much to me. The first thing people tend to notice is your face, not your shoes, and I figure myself as something rather pretty.

{ p e r s o n a l i t y }

I live behind the store counter, pressing the smallest of knives into the cool flesh of the soap. I wouldn’t suggest bothering me while I do this. I get into a very focused mood. The surroundings around me blur, morphing into an imaginary mess of forest and clouds. I put my heart and soul into everything I make, whether others like it or not.

As I carve the feathers into the soap duck, I check myself over. Then I check myself again. The carving has to be absolutely perfect. No smudges or chips. Anything that isn’t completely perfect will have to be worked on again and again until it is. I can’t allow something mediocre to be placed into the hands of another person. I do not want to be known for “mediocre” carvings.

I’m not very good around people. I love listening to them, they always have such interesting stories. Me, on the other hand? My life has been kind of typical. I’m not an interesting person at all. I don’t ever have anything to talk about, so I just bore people.

Truth be told, I’m happy with my life. I enjoy my work, and I have a loving family. The work I love to do helps support the people I love. I’m sure that my carvings bring happiness to people, too. There’s just something joyful about every tiny soap duck. Since I’m not very good at verbal communication, I send my feelings through my work.

{ h i s t o r y }

My parents didn’t want me. Simple as that. The moment I was born on that cold December morning, they handed me off to my aunt. I was going to be too much of a hassle, they said. As if I were a dog, and not a human child. My aunt, bless her, was a kind soul. “The child is no animal,” she said, or at least that’s what she told me she said.

I feel like it was a blessing I was taken from that house. My aunt was particularly well off, running a small business with her husband and daughter. It was a shock to them when my aunt just wandered in with a new baby. As I grew, they began to truly love me, unlike my parents would have. I shudder to think what could have happened if I’d been left with my parents.

My aunt and uncle ran a soap carving business. He would smuggle bar soaps from the factory he worked at, carve them into little designs, and sell them. The designs were marvelous, tiny ducks and seashells and fish. The ducks were always my favorite. I begged him everyday for a carving lesson, and when I was 12, he finally gave in. I started carving easy things like moons with faces. The quality of my carvings grew as I grew.

This past spring, my uncle passed away. It was the flu, they told us. My aunt said it was alright, it was his time to go. But I knew she was worried about the carving business. We had a somewhat nice house and food to eat on most days. How were we supposed to pay for everything if the business had to be stopped? Her daughter, who is now 20, offered to take over the business. I joined her. Now, she takes care of getting the soaps and managing the money, while I sit behind the counter everyday, whittling away at my tiny carvings.

I’m not like those big soap factories. They’re nothing but empty shells. What they produce is artificial. I’m real, you see. The things I produce, my carvings, they’re full of my love and passion. Whenever I sell my carvings, I feel like I’m giving a piece of my happiness away, and I hope whoever is on the receiving end uses my happiness well.


{ f a c e c l a i m } dia frampton
{ c o d e w o r d } odair