Tuyen Septima - District 7 {FINISHED}

[googlefont="Allura:400"]•Tuyen Septima•17•Female•

Look at yourself. What do you see? Do you see the beauty on the outside or the monster within? Do you see me or do you really see me? Let's start with how most people see me.

At the top of my head, brown hair cascades down and stops with a clean cut just above my shoulders. My eyebrows are grown to their fullest. They remind me a bit of fuzzy caterpillars. I've tried plucking them but the only tweezers I own are worn and dull from my mother using them constantly. When I attempted to use them they just tugged on the hairs and ended up hurting my brow. Just below sits my eyes. Wide and almond-shaped, my deep set eyes are clear; I've never had to use anything like contacts or glasses. A soft brown with a not so noticeable hint of green describes their color. Short eyelashes protrude from the lids. My nose is… Well, it's a nose. It's neither small nor large, nor round nor pointy, nor up nor down. It's just simply, a nose. Below that are both of my lips. They are average sized, though the bottom is a bit larger than the top lip. They get dry often but I never treat them, causing them to become chapped and cracked easily. My head is round but the chin is slightly pointed, but not greatly.

From the top of my head to my feet, everything is rather squishy. I'm a little fat but this is most likely from lack of exercise. Gobbling my food doesn't help either. Though I do have a high metabolism, it has greatly dwindled over the years. I'm also not the tallest person in the world, if that makes any difference. I’m about five feet, five inches tall. In any case, I don't have a lot of curves like other girls my age. I'm more like a straight line, I think. And all of me is covered in pale, milky skin. I don't get a lot of freckles but I get acne like any other teenager.

The clothes that I wrap myself in are considerably average. They don't come in fancy colors like the rich wear. My wardrobe consists of browns, greys, dark blues, blacks, and the like. I usually wear long-sleeved shirts and jeans mostly; nothing fancy in the slightest. Just like me.



Now here’s the me people don’t see. I am shy- no, I am beyond that. I’ve gone beyond and back. Every time I go up to someone I think “What if they think I’m annoying? What if I’m bothering them? What if they don’t like me?” It’s a constant struggle that happens far too often. People so often label me as just shy but it’s more than that. I feel it. There’s something wrong but I don’t know what. I don’t know why I can’t figure it out. It hurts. When you try to explain yourself to someone and they think you’re nuts. That you’re just imagining things. I’m not though; it’s what I keep telling them. But they don’t listen, they don’t understand. That’s why I don’t talk to people as often, which wasn’t very, as I used to. In my head sometimes I’ll yell “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” But they don’t hear me. Even if I’d said it out loud, they still wouldn’t hear me.

But, I am hopeful- no,

I am happy.

I am happy because I am loved. I am loved by my mother, my father, and my brother and my sister. I am happy because I'm living and I'm going to stay that way for as long as I can. No matter what happens to me, I will fight. I'll fight all of my depression and anxiety and anger. I won't let it get to me. Because I'm happy.

So I'll keep living and painting and writing and breathing and running and loving and hating and crying and laughing because it makes me human. That's nothing anyone can take from me. That's nothing anyone or anything can change. As long as I'm happy… I'm alive.



Everyone has history, whether they like it or not. I'm not ashamed of mine. I embrace it. It's a part of me, just like my eyes, or my lips, or my feet. My father left when I was just a little baby. His name was Nash. I never really knew him but from what my mom says about him, I'm not really sure I would want to. She claims he was a vile man, only thinking about himself. He was downright greedy, even to the point of hiding food so he could eat it. Who cares about the child and wife you have to look out for. Even though I was only two and my mother was pregnant with my sister he would still beat us with his belt when we “misbehaved”.

When he finally left, my mom soon remarried to a man named Ellwood. He is a good man with a kind heart. I've always thought of him of my father even though we aren't blood related. I still call him El, though. It just seems natural to me. He really is a child at heart, always making jokes and putting smiles on everyone's faces, and I love that about him.

My sister was born two years after me. Though she was born as a boy, she always seemed like a girl. It's strange, but I respect her. She was born with the name Himmel but she changed it to Fidan. It actually fits her better. But we only call her that in the house; she's afraid of what might happen if anyone found out. I'll follow her anywhere.

The youngest of our little family is Lenox. He is my half brother but I treat him like he's my full blooded sibling. He's 13 years old but he tries to act older than that. He's very arrogant and thinks he's above everyone else. Even though that is true, he can be kind and sweet and generous. I'm pretty sure he has a split personality. One minute he’ll be insulting me and then the next he’ll be complimenting me. It's confusing and a bit irritating, but I still love him all the same.

We all live in a two room shamble of a house. I wouldn't even really call it “two” rooms as the second room, which is a bathroom, is separated by a curtain. We have three small, creaky beds and our parents selflessly sleep on the floor. One corner is for the kitchen and the other is for the living area. The kitchen doesn't have any running water but we do have a well in the back of our house where we bring water in with a bucket. And the living space is actually just a small, round table with four rickety chairs surrounding it. We have a tree in our backyard, too, where El put together two swings for us to play on. I spend most of my time out there. When I can, I buy paints with my extra change to paint the tree. There are layers and layers of paint on it but it's my little canvas.

I don't have much, and I'm not much, but life is okay. I'm alive, and I'm loved. Isn't that all anyone can ask for?



Faceclaim: Brooke Carr