Riddle Presidio {D1}

Name: Riddle Presidio
Age: Eighteen
District: One
Gender: Male

Sometimes there’s no taming the overwhelming emotions that take control. No matter how much you strive to settle the negativity flooding your head, it’s an impossible task. Perhaps it’s even this struggle that enhances it to become worse. A swelling consumes your fragile heart that’s broken far too easily once again. Tears burn your eyes, despite the desperation to conceal them. Breathing through your nose becomes difficult as well. And the most unbearable part about it all is the lack of maintaining this while so many eyes are glued upon you.

“Riddle’s a cry baby!” One taunts repeatedly, and soon enough more are joining in. Now your blood is rushing for power, but the only thing you can do is react harsher. More salty droplets stream down your face, yet there’s no budging from this cruel spotlight. Sensitivity erupted due to them mocking one of your little sisters, and if you fled to isolation the attention will surely return back to her. So you endure it.

Immediately you search for the comfort of Mother the second you enter your home. Unfortunately though, Father’s already by her side in the living room. You know he’ll be displeased with the news you wanted to share, and you suck up the last of your sniffles. But he spots the redness in your eyes from across the room, instantly growing irritated. You barely just turned seven, but as the oldest you’re expected to be tougher than steel. When he questions what happens, you’re unable to lie. And this leads to more then just disappointment on Father’s end.

“If you want to cry like your sisters, I’ll give you something to cry about!” He does more then just threatens. Only takes you a couple of years to learn this lesson, and rid of the sensitivities that cursed you as a child. Over time it becomes slightly comical how the physical pain he provides hardly promotes you to cry compared to seeing another in any sort of torment. It’s manageable to ignore the harm presented your way; but you can’t entirely protect the innocent ones around you from not receiving it as well, which is the only thing that troubles you still.

---

Seconds before my Father’s knuckles make contact with my skin I’m thankfully awakened. It’s been far over five years since he’s placed a finger on me, yet his brutality still haunts me. Now he’s hardly involved with the family, which I’m grateful for. He’s a horrid role model for my younger siblings. And if he’s confidant that I can solely raise them, so am I. Sadly it’s not his punishments that I’d rather avoid though, but his disapproval. He must be proud of me if he believes I can watch over the family…or perhaps he never cared about any of us in the first place.

This is my family now, not his.

Luckily at the age of eighteen I’m much stronger then over a decade ago. Emotions don’t overpower me as they used to. My interior has hardened and developed just as my body has. The kids that used to tease me until I was sobbing are now intimidated by me, even if I’m not as bulky and buff as the majority of them. I have purpose behind my clenched attacking fists, loved ones to guard with my life, which is a lot more then most can say.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not the saint my feelings make me out to be. Plenty of unnecessary brawls are presented my way, and I don’t always step down when I should. My muscles aren’t nearly as defined as other Careers within District One, no matter how much or hard I train. Yet when it comes to altercations, I find a need to prove myself anyways. I’m no longer that little boy who will cry due to a few words. I’m a man that’s capable of defending his family.

This man that I speak of stands at a generous six feet exactly, unlike the short disposition I held when I was younger. My features aren’t as delicate and soft as they were back then either. Usually a stern expression follows me wherever I go now, with determination to seal all the emotions I couldn’t control in the past. Any concern that may mark me is reserved for the ones I need to take care of. My own priorities come last.

Dark golden locks smoothly stick up past my cold face, standing as the last resemblance to the Father this house once had. My eyes mirror Mother’s, but even she has stepped down from her role as a parent. There’s only one person left to guide their children, and regretfully I’m comparable to Father far more then I’d appreciate. Of course I’d never even consider being violent towards the ones I have to protect, as he has, but I’m as comforting as he was. Visible sympathy simply doesn’t dominate me as it used to. If it did, there would be no predicting when I’d lose control over it all again.

There’s no completely despising the parents that did indeed produce us. Sure they’re uninvolved enough to practically declare us as Orphans, but they do provide us with the basic necessities. And surprisingly, despite being quite wealthy, they don’t spoil us rotten. My younger sister Sloan in particular abhors this, but I see it as the one thing they did right by us. And with that sturdy platform, I can hopefully guide the children they failed to raise.

Code: O'Dair