{Kylie Amethyst Neil} {District 1} {FIN}
Dec 22, 2014 19:11:57 GMT -5
Post by flyss on Dec 22, 2014 19:11:57 GMT -5
✥K y l i e✥
✥A m e t h y s t✥
✥N e i l✥
✥D i s t r i c t 1 ✥
✥1 4 ✥ F e m a l e✥
✥C i a r a B r a v o✥
✥T h e m e s o n g✥
You aren't one to speak much. Talking never really was your forte, and for all you care, it never will be. Of course, with all the education you've received, eloquence is of second nature to you, but why would you wish to do something that everyone can do? Why not dance, or draw, or write? Why not fight, kill, and thrive? Is it because you're so quiet that you're seen without talent? That you're pictured as nothing more than a pretty face? That you are quieted even when you do not speak and that you are paralyzed when you've not even moved? You've put yourself to sleep on many nights wondering how you will continue on with your studies when you don't enjoy the lecturing of your professors and instead wish to be dueling on the mats of the district training center. You've put yourself to sleep with nil idea of what you will do in the morning when the sun calls for you to wake and you do not wish to do anything but lay in your self-pity and void of speech.
It doesn't help that you rest well very rarely, either. Choked yawns fight their way out of your neglected throat like lions feasting on their prey every moment allowed. Sometimes you amuse yourself with the notion that you've been cursed with no sleep so you can suffer in the silence you live in on a daily. How hilarious to think that an external force would do such to a poor little girl. The excess time is fantastic with your tight schedule, though, for you have very little free time when it comes to studying at the academy and sneaking off to train, one of which isn't to your parents' knowledge. Wouldn't it be nice, though, to forget your troubles for eight hours a day?
How selfish of you to even ponder such a thought. People live in poverty and simply wish for food and here you are living in luxary and vying for escape. Why would you want escape when you can have anything you could ever wish for.*
*- On the terms that it complies with your facade and gives you no depth in personality.
Tch. What ignorance you showcase when merely thinking of such things. When you were five, you dreamt of having a pearl necklace like the princesses from long ago. When you were eight, you dreamt of training with the other children your age. When you were ten, you dreamt of quitting the academy and running away to hide in the slums. When you were twelve, you dreamt that you could volunteer for the games like the other kids. When you turned thirteen, you stopped dreaming. You stopped trying. You stopped believing. That's where you made your mistake.
Sometimes you wish that you could have been born unto a different family, one that saw you as more than eye-candy, as more than a pair of breasts and a pretty face. You wished to be seen as strong, as the girl who had toned arms and legs while still having gorgeous brown lockes and deep chocolate eyes. The young woman who had a jaw so set and sharp that she could kill her victims with simply a look, that could break somebody's neck with her bare hands. The beautiful lady who was thin and short, but muscular and deadly. What you would do to be seen as that girl, if only she weren't a fantasy. Fantasy should always be kept apart from reality, your mother had told you when you first preached to her about your visions of future and vivid wishes for the years to come. Now, looking back upon her words, they should've stung like poision, they should've said to you that you are nothing more than a dumb little girl. How could you have let them not affect you?
Despite the flawless surface of your skin- that was, if you excluded the dimple in your chin and the thin lips that were crutially criticized by your father- it was always a little thick. While you knew not of connecting syllables to form coherent strings of speech, everyone around you did, and they were fantastic at it. They whispered to you words of freedom and words of restraint, words of loss and words of love, words of depression and words of enlightenment. You heard thousands of words uttered to you while you were stood on display for all to see and speak to freely. What a pretty young girl. I bet she's just a shell, though, no heart and no brain. The phrases you heard were far worse than any child your age should have heard, but you didn't know that. They were normal for you.
Your father was the worst of the evils you faced. You saw him the most out of everyone and he made a point to make you feel as lifeless as possible. You were one of his pawns and he was going to use you until you had lost your value. He used your beauty to receive a raise from his boss, he used your academics to impress a woman he met at the local tavern. Infidelity was his weakness, but your mother didn't care as long as they looked like a functional family to the public. She would cry and you would comfort her until it was time for you to return to your room and the man who caused it all returned home from his "extended shift at work."
Perhaps if she had left him when she was given the chance, you could be more than just looks and solemnity- your family could be more than just looks and solemnity. You weren't proud of your status but you certainly weren't interested in changing it; changing it would mean risk and you've had more than enough of that to last a life time. Change was the one thing your father feared. He feared it for its beauty, for its spontaneous nature, for its solution. Change could make the line between stupidity and knowledge defined and that's what he feared.
Things come apart so easy when they're held together by lies.
People come apart so easy when they're held together by lies.
✥A m e t h y s t✥
✥N e i l✥
✥D i s t r i c t 1 ✥
✥C i a r a B r a v o✥
✥T h e m e s o n g✥
You aren't one to speak much. Talking never really was your forte, and for all you care, it never will be. Of course, with all the education you've received, eloquence is of second nature to you, but why would you wish to do something that everyone can do? Why not dance, or draw, or write? Why not fight, kill, and thrive? Is it because you're so quiet that you're seen without talent? That you're pictured as nothing more than a pretty face? That you are quieted even when you do not speak and that you are paralyzed when you've not even moved? You've put yourself to sleep on many nights wondering how you will continue on with your studies when you don't enjoy the lecturing of your professors and instead wish to be dueling on the mats of the district training center. You've put yourself to sleep with nil idea of what you will do in the morning when the sun calls for you to wake and you do not wish to do anything but lay in your self-pity and void of speech.
It doesn't help that you rest well very rarely, either. Choked yawns fight their way out of your neglected throat like lions feasting on their prey every moment allowed. Sometimes you amuse yourself with the notion that you've been cursed with no sleep so you can suffer in the silence you live in on a daily. How hilarious to think that an external force would do such to a poor little girl. The excess time is fantastic with your tight schedule, though, for you have very little free time when it comes to studying at the academy and sneaking off to train, one of which isn't to your parents' knowledge. Wouldn't it be nice, though, to forget your troubles for eight hours a day?
How selfish of you to even ponder such a thought. People live in poverty and simply wish for food and here you are living in luxary and vying for escape. Why would you want escape when you can have anything you could ever wish for.*
*- On the terms that it complies with your facade and gives you no depth in personality.
Tch. What ignorance you showcase when merely thinking of such things. When you were five, you dreamt of having a pearl necklace like the princesses from long ago. When you were eight, you dreamt of training with the other children your age. When you were ten, you dreamt of quitting the academy and running away to hide in the slums. When you were twelve, you dreamt that you could volunteer for the games like the other kids. When you turned thirteen, you stopped dreaming. You stopped trying. You stopped believing. That's where you made your mistake.
Sometimes you wish that you could have been born unto a different family, one that saw you as more than eye-candy, as more than a pair of breasts and a pretty face. You wished to be seen as strong, as the girl who had toned arms and legs while still having gorgeous brown lockes and deep chocolate eyes. The young woman who had a jaw so set and sharp that she could kill her victims with simply a look, that could break somebody's neck with her bare hands. The beautiful lady who was thin and short, but muscular and deadly. What you would do to be seen as that girl, if only she weren't a fantasy. Fantasy should always be kept apart from reality, your mother had told you when you first preached to her about your visions of future and vivid wishes for the years to come. Now, looking back upon her words, they should've stung like poision, they should've said to you that you are nothing more than a dumb little girl. How could you have let them not affect you?
Despite the flawless surface of your skin- that was, if you excluded the dimple in your chin and the thin lips that were crutially criticized by your father- it was always a little thick. While you knew not of connecting syllables to form coherent strings of speech, everyone around you did, and they were fantastic at it. They whispered to you words of freedom and words of restraint, words of loss and words of love, words of depression and words of enlightenment. You heard thousands of words uttered to you while you were stood on display for all to see and speak to freely. What a pretty young girl. I bet she's just a shell, though, no heart and no brain. The phrases you heard were far worse than any child your age should have heard, but you didn't know that. They were normal for you.
Your father was the worst of the evils you faced. You saw him the most out of everyone and he made a point to make you feel as lifeless as possible. You were one of his pawns and he was going to use you until you had lost your value. He used your beauty to receive a raise from his boss, he used your academics to impress a woman he met at the local tavern. Infidelity was his weakness, but your mother didn't care as long as they looked like a functional family to the public. She would cry and you would comfort her until it was time for you to return to your room and the man who caused it all returned home from his "extended shift at work."
Perhaps if she had left him when she was given the chance, you could be more than just looks and solemnity- your family could be more than just looks and solemnity. You weren't proud of your status but you certainly weren't interested in changing it; changing it would mean risk and you've had more than enough of that to last a life time. Change was the one thing your father feared. He feared it for its beauty, for its spontaneous nature, for its solution. Change could make the line between stupidity and knowledge defined and that's what he feared.
Things come apart so easy when they're held together by lies.
People come apart so easy when they're held together by lies.
