Marina Seaton D4 - Done!
Apr 12, 2015 15:17:11 GMT -5
Post by Hearts on Apr 12, 2015 15:17:11 GMT -5
Water understands everyone while people don't...
For those of you who don't know, my name is Marina Seaton. I am a resident of district four in the country of Panem. I am eligible to enter the hunger games at age 12 ,and I am out of the running after age 18. Currently, I am 17 years of age. Even though I haven't found the right person to spend the rest of my life with, at the moment I still consider myself heterosexual. Oh, if you didn't catch I was female from the name "Marina", I am. Supposedly I am required to say ODAIR somewhere in this thing.
Do you see what I see?
There are two reasons someone calls another person pretty. One is the genuine kind, where the certain someone actually means it. Although it happens in fairly tales and folk lore, in real life the odds of the first reason happening is about a million to one. The second reason, which is much more frequently meant, is when the person is just trying to console the other person about their hideousness. I hear that I am "pretty" a lot. Because I am not Cinderella, the latter reason must be true.
Of course there are many features about myself that the critic might not see, and many more I know they do. Even though my hair is stringy and paper thin, it is the signature platinum blonde of the area. The strands stretch to around my shoulder, and then they abruptly stop. My eyes are the color of the sea, which is to say they are a deep blue. Although they are bland, my eyes are one of the features I like about my self. Not enough for me to say the "p" word though.
For those of you who don't know, my name is Marina Seaton. I am a resident of district four in the country of Panem. I am eligible to enter the hunger games at age 12 ,and I am out of the running after age 18. Currently, I am 17 years of age. Even though I haven't found the right person to spend the rest of my life with, at the moment I still consider myself heterosexual. Oh, if you didn't catch I was female from the name "Marina", I am. Supposedly I am required to say ODAIR somewhere in this thing.
Do you see what I see?
There are two reasons someone calls another person pretty. One is the genuine kind, where the certain someone actually means it. Although it happens in fairly tales and folk lore, in real life the odds of the first reason happening is about a million to one. The second reason, which is much more frequently meant, is when the person is just trying to console the other person about their hideousness. I hear that I am "pretty" a lot. Because I am not Cinderella, the latter reason must be true.
Of course there are many features about myself that the critic might not see, and many more I know they do. Even though my hair is stringy and paper thin, it is the signature platinum blonde of the area. The strands stretch to around my shoulder, and then they abruptly stop. My eyes are the color of the sea, which is to say they are a deep blue. Although they are bland, my eyes are one of the features I like about my self. Not enough for me to say the "p" word though.
While most people in the district are super skinny, I realize I am not. Some people may call me anorexic for this fact because they claim to not see it; they do. The local doctor told me my figure was "perfect" at 105lbs at 5'5 height. Did I forget to tell you "perfect" is another "p" word? Well, it is. Also, do you know a non child predator guy who wants a short girl? That's right, you don't.
Usually, I dress in clothes that wouldn't conform with the public. Although the majority of people where simple, fitness and tight garb in everyday life; my clothes are patterned, loose, and flows. I am different, but I never want to be their trendsetter. If they think I am so bad, why should I even want to fit in?
Do you know what I know?
If you went over to the district four department of crazies, there would most likely be a folder with my name on it. In it there would be about three pages on how depressed, anorexic, and moody I am. All of those things in my opinion, of course, are lies. These are the same people who called me "pretty" and "perfect" just ten seconds before; I'm the one who has mood swings. Also, the only reason I'm self critical is because of them. Do I sincerely make them go behind my back and say horrible things? Obviously not, but they still make me stay in a squeaky clean prison cell because of it. To be frank, the anorexic part has got to be a joke; I mean just look at me.
In the same file, it would list all of my positive attributes. Of course, the list wouldn't go into much detail, with it ending up about one page in length. They would note my protectiveness to my family and to my cheese puffs. Next on the list would probably be my obedience, but it wouldn't be there if they knew what I was truly thinking. Following rules comes easily for me. That's the main rule in life, follow the rules because people can judge you for breaking them. Finally, they would state I am highly intelligent, genius material actually. There really isn't any use for a brain in a mental hospital though. Eat. Treatment. Sleep. Repeat over and over again.
My brain supposedly works differently than all of yours, but I have fears, hopes, and dreams like every normal human being. Under my shell I want to have a normal life like everyone else. While I know people do judge me, I detest the thought of it. People want to find a cure for me, yet if they just treated me like a human their work would be done. What have I done to scare them away?
Do you hear what I hear?
My body has been shut off from the outside world for what feels like an eternity. Even though it hasn't been a thousand years, it doesn't make my imprisonment any less horrific. In actuality I have resided at District Four's local asylum for the last seven years because of my supposed "mental capacity". The doctors say I'm a typical crazy, and there is nothing unusual or unique about my being. To most people, conforming is a goal; to me it's the hell of my most treacherous nightmares, and to fit in among the insane is jumping into the blazing inferno.
Although most of my "cell-mates" have a horror story to go along with their status, mine is of a simpler sort. My parents are both alive, well, and at least moderately happy in their current positions while I can't exactly say the same about myself. When they saw the issues I had with my existence, they send me to the hellhole of a asylum. Of course, it was in their supposed best interest; it just seemed like they were a bit too excited to let me go.
On the outside of my window, there is a little pool of water. It isn't as expansive as the sea on the border of the district. It isn't even half the size although the small pond is worth the world to me. Other than my parents and doctors, my cell doesn't usually receive any visitors, yet the water treats everyone equally. If you surf on a wild wave, it will make you harshly wipeout no matter how everyone treats you. People think I'm as crazy as an axe maniac; the water doesn't care. I'm stuck in a trance, and I'm the only one who can wake me up.
