Mystic Trotter :||: D9 :||: FIN

                         
                             Mystic Trotter, District Nine



     She was a one women act. Flips, aerials, contortionist, she did it all. Whatever it took to be the best, to prove she was work more than some pathetic soap maker. Sure a life of making soap will develop some clean habits, so she was fairly cleanly.  But it didn't present much "PIZAZ" as she put it. She lived for a life of luxury, a life of show business. Though her only audience was the people of district nine, and they didn't present much encouragement, giving up wouldn't prove a thing. So she stayed intent with her craft.
                                                         
                                                             You shout it out
                                                But I can't hear a word you say
                                              I'm talking loud not saying much

   "Are you off to dabble in that nonsense again?" the voice of her whiney brother echoes. Of course her skills were out of his comprehension, she would have to put an "I told you so" somewhere in her speech, when she is thanking President Snow for allowing her to perform at the victors tour. She of course was no more than mediocre considering her tools of the trade were nothing more than a ripped unitard and a set of plastic sticks used for twirling. Not to mention President Snow would never let a person of the districts perform at such an elaborate event, but she was determined to change the rules with her skills. "Yes as a matter of fact I am, and it isn't nonsense, its art". she says. 
                                                     
                                                       I'm criticized
                                           But all your bullets ricochet
                                          Shoot me down, but I get up

   "Whatever you say big sis." he says. She bolts out the door, her hands preoccupied with pulling her raven dark hair back into a tight bun, and her sapphire eyes content with the road ahead, leading to the town square. She pulls the strap of her bag over her peachy shoulder, and makes way to the towns center.  She comes to the realization that she forgot to brush her yellowish teeth, oh well looks like she will be relying on a smile consisting of only her thin tightly clamped lips. She wouldn't want to frighten her audience away with bad breath, or should I say her lack of an audience. She only gets the chance to perform twice weekly, because every other day she is crafting various scented soups with her father. 
                     
                                         I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose
                                                Fire away, fire away
                                            Ricochet, you take your aim
                                               Fire away, fire away

    She reaches the towns square and rolls out her thin matt, not that it helps much. Then she organized her unitard in the proper places and brushes off any excess dirt. Her thin physique looks so petite in such a large part of town. She takes up first position, her muscular legs turned outward, her arms rounded and her neck long. She starts to hum a tune her mother use to sing to her, and she glides to the music. She wasn't much for talent, but she at least had heart. She rarely stumbled, and always kept a keen smile. She did all kinds of movement, such as turns and leaps, she was quiet graceful, but it wasn't something most people would waste there time attending. She was mainly self taught, so her skills were drastically limited.
       
                                                     Cut me down
                                  But it's you who'll have further to fall
                                      Ghost town and haunted love

   She still believed, despite the harassment from children her age, that she would become something great. She was much like her mother in this way, always wanting to prove she was better. She was a sweet girl bright and hopeful. She didn't deserve the harassment she withstood. She was polite, kind, she seemed to always put others first, but time and time again she was beat down by people who didn't believe. Most of the time it was her family that said the cruelest of comments. I guess you could say she had a bit of an attention issue, always wanting to be noticed. But she deserved some kind of recognition, considering the amount of times she was ignored living in the shadow of her older brother.
     
                    Raise your voice, sticks and stones may break my bones
                                    I'm talking loud not saying much

    Her brother was an amazing metal smith, always boasting about how great his skills were. Both of her parents were in awe of his skill, because he was raised in a soap making household, yet he went off to be a metal worker. She was of course proud of her brother. He had a beautiful wife and daughter, and she loved the hell out of all three of them. Her niece  was gorgeous, almost reminded her of herself, as selfish as it sounded. Mystic wasn't self centered in any way, but she had a fair amount of self respect. Her fight for recognition was vast, but she somehow managed to hold on to her purity. 
                                     
                                       Stone-hard, machine gun
                                       Firing at the ones who run
                                   Stone-hard as bulletproof glass

    During her hours of street performing she often reminisces on thoughts of her family. She lived in a small home with her mother, father, and younger brother. Her older brother moved out when he turned nineteen. He was already making decent wage by that age. He makes enough o support his family, but money has been tight in Mystics household since he moved. Less monthly income, but they make due scrounging up what they need. Being the middle child of two brothers wasn't the easiest, but it had its benefits.  Her older brother was always a sort of protecter for her, that was always satisfying for her to know. And her younger brother practically worshiped her until he turned twelve and decided he was the shit. She still giggles and torments him, but he returns the favor. Their relationship is probably stronger than any of the rest.
               
                                I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose
                                       Fire away, fire away
                                 Ricochet, you take your aim
                                         Fire away, fire away

   As she gallops her way around the matt, twirling plastic rods and leaping gracefully, occasionally twisting her body in some unnatural formation. She feels at peace, she feels the freedom to express herself even with having to deal with verbal abuse, she lovingly accepts the attention of verbal hatred. For at least it is some form of attention, even if it isn't   crafted with love.

                            You shoot me down but I won't fall
                                            I am titanium