May Arthur, D12 [FIN]
Nov 25, 2013 22:45:36 GMT -5
Post by Parks on Nov 25, 2013 22:45:36 GMT -5
May Arthur
Appearance: I was born and raised in the seam. You would think I would have the lavish brown hair, and the majestic gray eyes that all members of the seam composed, right? You would think, that just like everyone else in the seam I would just blend right in to District Twelve, and that I was be able to happily frolic around with the other starving children, correct? You think that’s the life I have? If you think so, well let me just tell you how utterly wrong you are. I am from the Seam. There is nothing happy here. Even though my luscious blonde hair and deep blue eyes lack the qualities of most seam members, I still am just like them deep down inside. We all faced the same hardships, have endured the same struggles, and have embraced the worst life the capitol of Panem could provide. Trust me, my skinny body and coal-dust covered skin is something to show for it.
Ever since I was a girl, there have been multiple questions lingering on my mind. What is true beauty? I don’t believe my unlucky eyes have had a chance to lay themselves upon such a sight. Is there even beauty in District Twelve? I find it hard to believe, for even in the wealthier parts of the district everyone seems so depressed, so gloom, so out of hope. Beauty is oh-so lacking in our district, and rightfully so, considering we are the lowest of the low. We have the least amount of privileges here in our district, and we have the least amount of respect when it comes to the capitol. Then again, do they respect anyone? They clearly respect Districts one, two, and four, for they win most of the time, and then there is us, and eleven, and ten. The opposite of what the careers are. At least with the other districts they are in the middle, and they fit in. Hell, sometimes they will even have a victor, unlike us, who have barely won before aside from the winning streak twelve had about ten years ago.
Oh how we lack beauty. Then again, as my father combs my hair he always speaks about how I am beautiful, just like how my mother once was. He says just like me, she stood out, and he always spoke about how she was proud that she stood out from the rest of the seam, for looking like someone from the seam wasn’t exactly something to be proud of. I often wonder how I would like compared to my mother today. She died when I was fairly young, and while I still have pictures to compare her to me, (and to bring back painful, yet fond memories of course,) it’s not like I get to see her side by side next to me in person, or to feel her warmth as I cuddle up next to her by the fire. All I have are pictures from the past to stare at and wonder “what ifs.”
Compared to my older brother and my father’s skin, mine is not as pale and much smoother considering I don’t have to spend more than half of my day in the coal mines. (At least not yet.) They practically never see sunlight, so I often find myself feeling bad for them while I am off at school and they’re out there chopping away at the coal endlessly for about ten hours a day.
I remember as a little kid a boy once had a crush on me. Back then we were still into the whole cooties thing, so I was kind of confused as to what he meant when he said he liked me. But now that I look back on it, I understand what he meant. I mean we don’t choose who we like after all. He used to say he loved my smile, and that whenever I smiled it made him smile. I don’t remember his words exactly, though he was very wise for his age. He said my lips were as red as roses, and that they were the prettiest lips he had ever seen. It kind of creeps me out, but in a sweet way if that makes sense. I respect him for saying, because it’s not like people ever complement me on things often, normally they just stare at me and wonder what a blondie like me is doing in the seams. I try to ignore it though, because all in all...
I’m proud of the way I look.
Ever since I was a girl, there have been multiple questions lingering on my mind. What is true beauty? I don’t believe my unlucky eyes have had a chance to lay themselves upon such a sight. Is there even beauty in District Twelve? I find it hard to believe, for even in the wealthier parts of the district everyone seems so depressed, so gloom, so out of hope. Beauty is oh-so lacking in our district, and rightfully so, considering we are the lowest of the low. We have the least amount of privileges here in our district, and we have the least amount of respect when it comes to the capitol. Then again, do they respect anyone? They clearly respect Districts one, two, and four, for they win most of the time, and then there is us, and eleven, and ten. The opposite of what the careers are. At least with the other districts they are in the middle, and they fit in. Hell, sometimes they will even have a victor, unlike us, who have barely won before aside from the winning streak twelve had about ten years ago.
Oh how we lack beauty. Then again, as my father combs my hair he always speaks about how I am beautiful, just like how my mother once was. He says just like me, she stood out, and he always spoke about how she was proud that she stood out from the rest of the seam, for looking like someone from the seam wasn’t exactly something to be proud of. I often wonder how I would like compared to my mother today. She died when I was fairly young, and while I still have pictures to compare her to me, (and to bring back painful, yet fond memories of course,) it’s not like I get to see her side by side next to me in person, or to feel her warmth as I cuddle up next to her by the fire. All I have are pictures from the past to stare at and wonder “what ifs.”
Compared to my older brother and my father’s skin, mine is not as pale and much smoother considering I don’t have to spend more than half of my day in the coal mines. (At least not yet.) They practically never see sunlight, so I often find myself feeling bad for them while I am off at school and they’re out there chopping away at the coal endlessly for about ten hours a day.
I remember as a little kid a boy once had a crush on me. Back then we were still into the whole cooties thing, so I was kind of confused as to what he meant when he said he liked me. But now that I look back on it, I understand what he meant. I mean we don’t choose who we like after all. He used to say he loved my smile, and that whenever I smiled it made him smile. I don’t remember his words exactly, though he was very wise for his age. He said my lips were as red as roses, and that they were the prettiest lips he had ever seen. It kind of creeps me out, but in a sweet way if that makes sense. I respect him for saying, because it’s not like people ever complement me on things often, normally they just stare at me and wonder what a blondie like me is doing in the seams. I try to ignore it though, because all in all...
I’m proud of the way I look.
Personality: Being in the seam can affect ones personality greatly. You learn to keep your head down and try not to question what people are saying too often. This can become a hassle for someone who is asking questions, though. My father always tells me to stay quiet when I’m out in public, for drawing attention in such a damn poor- er, an economically challenged place can be dangerous, especially for one such as myself. So I try to not stick out, for in the end I respect my father’s word and what he says go, but that doesn’t mean I’m perfect. I’m not a machine and I need to have my freedoms at the end of the day, so it kind of confuses me about what is right and what is wrong sometimes.
If god made us the way we are, why do people expect us to change? I can’t change for anyone, as hard as I may try. I so desperately want to be the good girl that the peacekeepers think nothing of, but it’s hard to do that when I can’t even walk around my house without feeling the eyes of peacekeepers staring down my throat. whether they are actually there or not differs on the day, but it’s the feeling that really chokes me up. What if they are there? What if they kill me right then and there? Even if it was for absolutely nothing, no one would think twice of it. I’m just another girl. Just another person in the seam, waiting to die of starvation or be sent off into the coal mines to get the capitol its precious resource, and that’s why we have no hope, for there is none to take.
Sometimes, I’ll sit up in bed and just think about life’s wonders. How can so many people obliviously think that something like the Hunger Games is okay? Are the Hunger Games okay? I mean, I understand that our lives here in the District are insignificant to those in the capitol, (so long as we still maintain an avid workforce,) but to that extent? Really? Even just thinking about the fact that these are the people we work for makes me sick.
I always wonder what it would be like to live outside of the world I know, outside of the hardships of District Twelve. Is it beautiful out there, compared to the damp and dark housing of that I know? What would it be look to go explore such a world, if anything at all? One day, I want to go out there and explore it all. I want to jump off of a waterfall, slide down a snow-covered mountain, and race through the thick forests with my brother and father. So yeah, you could say I was adventurous, but it was one of few qualities of mine I actually loved.
If god made us the way we are, why do people expect us to change? I can’t change for anyone, as hard as I may try. I so desperately want to be the good girl that the peacekeepers think nothing of, but it’s hard to do that when I can’t even walk around my house without feeling the eyes of peacekeepers staring down my throat. whether they are actually there or not differs on the day, but it’s the feeling that really chokes me up. What if they are there? What if they kill me right then and there? Even if it was for absolutely nothing, no one would think twice of it. I’m just another girl. Just another person in the seam, waiting to die of starvation or be sent off into the coal mines to get the capitol its precious resource, and that’s why we have no hope, for there is none to take.
Sometimes, I’ll sit up in bed and just think about life’s wonders. How can so many people obliviously think that something like the Hunger Games is okay? Are the Hunger Games okay? I mean, I understand that our lives here in the District are insignificant to those in the capitol, (so long as we still maintain an avid workforce,) but to that extent? Really? Even just thinking about the fact that these are the people we work for makes me sick.
I always wonder what it would be like to live outside of the world I know, outside of the hardships of District Twelve. Is it beautiful out there, compared to the damp and dark housing of that I know? What would it be look to go explore such a world, if anything at all? One day, I want to go out there and explore it all. I want to jump off of a waterfall, slide down a snow-covered mountain, and race through the thick forests with my brother and father. So yeah, you could say I was adventurous, but it was one of few qualities of mine I actually loved.
History: Why of all places was I born in the seam? Why couldn’t I have been born somewhere else? God, I would even love to have been born in the capitol, as crazy as they are. At least there they aren’t starving, no of course not. Their biggest worries probably include what they should wear to the party they’re going tomorrow and what time they should show up. Like I said, they’re completely oblivious to their surroundings. To them, the Hunger Games is just a TV show. To us, it is literally life or death.
I was born to a family of three, (though including me it was now a family of four,) in the outskirts of District Twelve. We were a part of the poorest batch of people located in our District, (even though just about everyone was poor,) so I faced many hardships when growing up. Often the whole family would go to bed with empty stomachs, or what little we ate was vomited up by some cold we were fighting that we lacked the antibiotics to cure. In the end, it was basically just one problem after the next, but I guess that’s the definition of life for the average Panem citizen: one problem after the next.
I was four when it happened. My mother was accused of murdering a peacekeeper, and so she was taken off to the Capitol, most likely to be executed, though one thing was for sure: I would never see her again, at least not in this lifetime. I was too young back then to really understand how this could affect me at all, but at my current age I’ll sometimes just climb up on top of my roof and stare up at the stars, as I think about her, and how her life was taken from her for something she didn’t even do. The stars would really end up distracting me, with each twinkle reminding me of her gorgeous eyes. It was in fact the only thing I remembered her about her, her gorgeous eyes. You could stare into them all day and never get tired of seeing such a wondrous sight to behold.
Eventually, my brother and I had to sign up for tesserae, and while at first Mark, (my older brother,) was hesitant about me signing up, he eventually had no choice when he turned 19 and was taken out of the reaping bowl. As hard working as my father and brother may be, he was still jobless, and my father could only work so much in the mines. I had no choice but to sign up for tesserae.
Eventually, my brother was able to score a spot as a miner, and every day he would get up with my father and I as I got ready for school and they got ready to go to the mines. It was the same routine everyday, over and over again to be honest, but I kind of liked it in a weird way. Since both of them were working I didn’t have to sign up for tessera as much, and we got a steady income. Well, I wouldn’t say steady, but enough to keep us going.
It’s been the same routine for years, though my father is getting old. I’m afraid one day he is going to give out, and then my brother and I will have to be the main supporters of the family. I lack the confidence in myself to be able to be one of the main incomes in the family, but I suppose I will have to manage if I want to keep living the hard and tragic life that I am currently living.
I guess I just gotta have some hope.
I was born to a family of three, (though including me it was now a family of four,) in the outskirts of District Twelve. We were a part of the poorest batch of people located in our District, (even though just about everyone was poor,) so I faced many hardships when growing up. Often the whole family would go to bed with empty stomachs, or what little we ate was vomited up by some cold we were fighting that we lacked the antibiotics to cure. In the end, it was basically just one problem after the next, but I guess that’s the definition of life for the average Panem citizen: one problem after the next.
I was four when it happened. My mother was accused of murdering a peacekeeper, and so she was taken off to the Capitol, most likely to be executed, though one thing was for sure: I would never see her again, at least not in this lifetime. I was too young back then to really understand how this could affect me at all, but at my current age I’ll sometimes just climb up on top of my roof and stare up at the stars, as I think about her, and how her life was taken from her for something she didn’t even do. The stars would really end up distracting me, with each twinkle reminding me of her gorgeous eyes. It was in fact the only thing I remembered her about her, her gorgeous eyes. You could stare into them all day and never get tired of seeing such a wondrous sight to behold.
Eventually, my brother and I had to sign up for tesserae, and while at first Mark, (my older brother,) was hesitant about me signing up, he eventually had no choice when he turned 19 and was taken out of the reaping bowl. As hard working as my father and brother may be, he was still jobless, and my father could only work so much in the mines. I had no choice but to sign up for tesserae.
Eventually, my brother was able to score a spot as a miner, and every day he would get up with my father and I as I got ready for school and they got ready to go to the mines. It was the same routine everyday, over and over again to be honest, but I kind of liked it in a weird way. Since both of them were working I didn’t have to sign up for tessera as much, and we got a steady income. Well, I wouldn’t say steady, but enough to keep us going.
It’s been the same routine for years, though my father is getting old. I’m afraid one day he is going to give out, and then my brother and I will have to be the main supporters of the family. I lack the confidence in myself to be able to be one of the main incomes in the family, but I suppose I will have to manage if I want to keep living the hard and tragic life that I am currently living.
I guess I just gotta have some hope.
oDair
OOC:
FC: Alexandria Deberry
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