Yanika Cage // D2

Yanika Cage // D2 Oct 24, 2014 19:00:56 GMT -5

Quote

Post by florentine, d4b ❁ on Oct 24, 2014 19:00:56 GMT -5

[presto]

yanika cage
thirteen
district two

[/presto]

"And with a broken wing, she still sings - keeps an eye on the sky, with a broken wing."

INFORMATION

NAME

Yanika Cage

AGE

Thirteen

DISTRICT

Two

OCCUPATION

Future Perfect Avox

FACECLAIM

Antonina Vasylchenko

CODEWORD

Odair

BIOGRAPHY

They can see my face. My face is round and pale, with red lips and black eyebrows. They can't see inside my face. In my head, in my thoughts. It took a long time to understand this. Because when other people think, they manage to untangle the words in their brains and weave them with their tongues. I hear them. Sometimes I don't understand, but I know they are speaking because the words are flowing from their mouths and I nod and I smile and I laugh, because it makes me happy when people speak to me. Mama told me that they don't always know what I want to say, because the words are in my head but I chase them around and around in circles until they get so tangled they don't come out of my mouth in the right way. They twist and turn and expand and shrink and people say "has the cat got your tongue" and I don't understand this because we don't have a cat.

I don't understand a lot of what happens in my house. It's a bit too busy to keep up with most of the time, so I don't really bother. It's nicer to just be, to sit in the garden or wander around looking for somebody who feels wrong. When they feel wrong I sit with them and listen and nod and hug them. They like that. I like hugs, too.

My sisters and brothers are different to me. They go to school all the time. I wait for them at home and sometimes help Mama cook or listen to what Father says without really listening because it makes me feel strange inside, like what he says is right is wrong and what he says is wrong might be right. When they get home I greet them one by one, but sometimes I get so glad to see them that Father scolds me and tells me to sit down with a glass of water. When they bring home books I pick them up and look at the pictures inside and wish they could be a bit more patient in teaching me how to read the letters. I think I could do it, too - it just takes me a bit more time than the others, like the kinds of things they would repeat twice I want to repeat twenty times, or two hundred. I don't let myself be sad.

We're supposed to be quiet and I am usually the best at that game. Father says if we don't get too used to speaking it will be easier later. I don't know what will be easier later but speaking is a lot of effort and laughing very little; laughing shows what I feel more clearly anyway. The only time I am not good at being quiet is when all of the feelings build up into a big ball inside of my chest and try to erupt out of my mouth. I try to hold them in but sometimes it is happy and I am shrill, and occasionally it is sad and I scream. Hugs aren't as nice when it's somebody else holding me. I like to be the one who makes other people better. I don't want anyone to cut out my tongue, I like the way it feels in my mouth. Like it's supposed to be there.