Canvas Caldwell [D1] WIP
Jan 7, 2015 22:42:57 GMT -5
Post by Double M on Jan 7, 2015 22:42:57 GMT -5
I'm a ghost, you're an angel one in the same, just remains of an age district one | canvas caldwell | seventeen | male | odair People in District One are such a bore, so insignificant and frivolous. Sure, I've been surrounded by the finer things in life since birth, silks, gems, anything expensive could be afforded by my family. But is that suppose to bring me joy? Is that what I'm meant to find comfort in at night? Mother spending her days as a hair stylist, and father managing a gem cutting business - rarely did I ever see their faces. It was so rare that the image of them was distorted. When I gathered at the dinner table, I sat alone - after waking from a nightmare, I had nothing but a stuffed bear to fill my arms. I hated them, with every fiber of myself, I swear I did. However, they don't even begin to scratch to surface of my disdain towards this district.Every conversation only seemed to exist to promote a latest fashion trend or to sing praises of the capitol. They think we're but a suburb of the great nation that rules over us - what a laughable thought that is. I feel alienated from the people that I'm meant to call my own. Every word spoken with my so-called peers, only further bored me into sedation. Often I think about the Hunger Games, like so many of us do, but Id not viewed it in the same way as the others. Those in district one believe that being crowned victor, was an honor and a privilege to our nation. But I saw it for what it really was. It was violent and brutal, but most of all - genuine and real. It was like watching an artist at work, painting the world with shades of red. Lifting the veil and revealing our true nature. In this world so fake and manipulated, tuning into the games was a sort of comfort - I found. We are groomed from a young age to partake in these games, filled with such promises of glory and fame, if we're victorious - of course. The dead being regarded as failures, a shame to our district. Mostly I just saw them as weak - unable to unleash their true selves. We all have a kind of beast living inside us, whether it be trapped under the fur and glitter, or the false sense of morality those in the - lesser districts feel. In school we're taught and told of the triumphant capitol, and how the work we do here - is presented as gifts to them, to show our appreciation. I use to believe all that, just like the rest of the mindless drones that occupy this wasteland. Despite my copious wealth and material goods, I'm left feeling empty. Like a ghost trapped, roaming a world he wan never meant to inhabit. So stupid they all are, they look at me and see the only heir to a wealthy family. Standing tall at just shy of six feet, classically handsome and physically capable. All of these things are true, but hardly do they paint the real picture beneath it. Nobody has taken the time to realize I'm not what I appear. Even my own parents are blind to their only sons desires. While everyone else gossips and gawks over themselves, I find the most riveting activities come from the livestock. It started when I was a child, passing by the butchers shop in the sqaure. I could see his reflection through the glass, chopping away at what would soon fill our plates. Watching the life drain out of their eyes, it was so compelling, like watching a story unfold. It was the same look those in the games had, just as one of the other tributes had slit their throat. It's delicate but savage all at the same time. The most irrefutable signs of life seemed to come from death. You've only ever truly lived, once you've died. Just like my name, my life was a blank canvas. Waiting silently, vying to find purpose and meaning in a world that had none. But I had plans, oh boy did I have plans! One day, when the time was just right, Canvas Caldwell would paint this world red. It was my prophecy, my book of revelations. I am a god among men, forever immortal I'll be. |
