April Rhodes - D9 (finished)

APRIL RHODES
EIGHTEEN - DISTRICT 9

They say I was born in a fresh spring morning, in the most blossoming and gorgeous part of the month of April. I was born after this, according to my mother stunningly beautiful part of the year. They say that I was the most innocent, beautiful baby that god has ever created. They say that my blonde locks and stunning baby-blue eyes could even fool the devil. If I was such a god beloved child, why is all that ever surrounds me a pure taste of the devil? 

As I grew up, my beautiful blonde locks died into straight among with the innocent glitter in my baby-blue eyes. My puffy cheeks and the baby fat was replaced by nothing, leaving my body thin and boney. The people around me accuse me of looking serious and scared, which doesn’t seem to unlikely, since I am. My innocence as a child is now a pure illusion of what was to become of me. Sometimes people tell me that I would look really beautiful with a smile on my face. I don’t see why I should bother, since there is nothing in this world to be smiling about.

My childhood happiness got stolen from me, just after I turned 7 years of age. I remember being on my way home from school with my two siblings. We were playing as we were walking, something with dragons, I don’t remember the details. As we opened the door and yelled for our mother, there was no answer. At this point, I already knew something was wrong. A big knot started knitting itself in my tummy. We kept screaming for her, but there was still no answer. It seemed suspicious to us, since she always was home at this hour. Me and my oldest little sister joined hands, as we began to search the house for our lost mother. No child should have to see what we saw when we entered our parents room. Her body was lying on the floor, as if she had tried to escape something. Her face was pale, almost yellow as only a corps skin tone would look like. I still remembered how surprised I was about the fact that she looked so dead. I never quite understood the meaning of death, lifelessness up until that point. She had been stabbed several times in the back, and the wounds were still wide open. She bleed to death, there was no question about it.

What we found out later, no child should have to find out. None of us has quite been the same since that day. I remember sitting in a high, uncomfortable white share with my youngest sister in my lap. We were all holding hands. People around us were crying, but none of us did. We just stared into the wall, since our innocent minds couldn’t quite understand what had just happened. An old woman I never seen before entered the room. She had a long blue dress that I for some reason remember really clearly. She sat down at a chair next to us. This woman was meant to tell us something nobody wants to tell three innocent girls. She cried, even though she didn’t know our father. I know now that she cried for us. The woman in the blue dress told us that our father had killed our mother. That he had tried to run away, but was caught by the capitol. Today, our father is an avox in the capitol. 

After this specific event, none of us sisters said a word for four years. We gave up on life, and we never came to play again. We were put in an orphanage, me and my sister. We sat there, in the window and stared all day. The ones taking care of us never understood why we did this, and at that point I didn’t either. I know now that my sisters needed me to mourn so they could. We did mourn, together. After that point, the ones working at the orphanage did the most pure evil thing imaginable according to me. They separated us, they sent my sister to two different families. I remained in my window, without a family and without any love. I think we needed each other, even when they separated us. They thought that my sister was looking to me for advice, that they felt they had to limit their selves to fit my pain. I know that wasn’t the case. They needed to mourn as much as I did. We needed each other to ever find peace. They crushed that possibility, and up until this day, my peace still isn’t found. 

I grew up to be a serious person. I barely ever talk, and when I do I say something extremely necessary. I never joke around, because I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to socialize, because I never did. I am terrified of getting to know somebody, of letting somebody in. I am terrified that if I do, they will be ripped from me like every love I ever knew. My wounds from my mothers death, from my fathers betrayal and from what I consider to be my sisters kidnappings are still wide open. I still bleed every day, and I don’t see myself being patched up anytime soon. I am the most broken soul imaginable. 

Practically the only thing I am proud of is that I am more or less an copy of my mother. I keep an old photograph of her hidden in my madras. She has the same long, blonde hair as I do. We share our skinny chicken-legs, the serious blue eyes and our narrow faces. She was my hero and my only comfort. I still dream of meeting her again, of hearing her voice and feeling her warm embrace. I miss her so much, I miss my childhood and I miss my innocence. 

I am very sentimental. I refuse to forget the few happy memories I have. With my own fear of love, it’s not very likely that I will make any new happy memories any time soon. I don’t forgive easily. Actually, I don’t forgive at all. I will never forgive the ones who decided to separate me and my sisters. I will never forgive my father. I will never forgive myself for letting all of this happen. 

I got adopted by a lovely couple. They got three adoptive children and a wonderful house. I prefer not to speak to them though, I mostly keep to myself. My sisters were put in two different families and homeschooled for years, they weren't supposed to see each other, or me. I wasn't even allowed to see the only family I've got. Nowadays, I seem them at times. They are 16 and 14 years old by now. We don't speak to each other, and I don't know if they even recognize me, or remember our shared passed. Maybe they have oppressed it, and maybe it's best that way. I haven't talked to them because I don't want to remind them. I could never forget their faces though, and I will never stop loving them.