Avani Turner ~ D6~ FIN
Nov 16, 2015 21:08:38 GMT -5
Post by logic on Nov 16, 2015 21:08:38 GMT -5
Gender: Female
District: 6
Age: 16
FC: Emma Bell
What does it mean to talk in tounges? I’ve never exactly mastered the talking thing in general, they say that I spring from topic to topic like a frog on a leaf or is it a stone what exactly is it that frogs hop upon? The whitecoats say that I’ll never be healed from whatever illness I have, but Mother says that I’m perfect just the way I am, at least to my face, behind her back she cries when she thinks about the mess her little girl has become after the boys behind the house beyond the road between the rivers decided to hurt me.
Three, four? years ago it was that they wanted to play a game, and being the me that I used to be I loved games of all kinds my favorite was hopscotch but as soon as this game started I knew that it wasn't anything like hopscotch or even jump rope. I remember how kind their faces looked, and how rough their hands were on me when they grabbed me and hit me over the head with a stone. I was told that they played lots of games with me, when I was asleep in the fields behind the house beyond the road between the rivers. I slept there for a few days before they found me and woke me up and took me somewhere nicer to sleep.
I woke up again in a nice clean bed, nicer than the one that my daddy bought for me when we went to the market, and they were on sale, completely unused and clean. These were even better than the one that my daddy bought me, but don’t tell him, he might get upset. I felt that my hair was gone in the back of my head, where it used to be long and blonde, but then it was short and… well I could exactly see the color without a mirror, but I wasn’t extremely concerned with it. Mother and Father were next to my bed, asleep as could be, and I didn’t want to wake them up, so I tried to quietly get out of my new bed and find the kitchen in my new home, since my stomach was growling and I was hungry as could be, but then the restraints pulled at my skin, and the alarms went off around me, and the next thing I knew I was waking up again in a different room.
The whitecoats loved to play games with me, but not like the games that the boys played with me in my sleep. I have to be completely awake for these games, otherwise how would I be able to tell them which color was what, and what I saw in the picture with the blobs (it was usually a tree). They loved the games as much as I did, and the more I played with them, the happier they got, and the more that they wrote on their little clipboards, but I never understood quite what all the lines meant.
Suddenly, the whitecoats stopped coming to my room to pick me up for my games, and they took me back to my old house, where it looked like nothing had changed, except the snow on the roof. Mother and Father were waiting for me in the front step, even though it was cold outside, and I told them all about all of the games that we played, and every game that we played, and my favorite game that they played with me, and Mother kept saying “that’s nice dear,” and talked to the whitecoats some more. Suddenly I got very angry and I don’t know what I did but Mother started crying and y throat hurt and the next thing I knew the whitecoats were taking me away again.
In and out of the two houses I have been for the past three, four, five? years. Every time I’m at my old house for a few months, and then soothing happens and Mother cries and Father shakes his head and put me in my room for the whitecoats to come and get me and take me to my other room, where we used to play games, but we don’t anymore.
One time one of the boys came back to my house, to apologize for what had happened, but I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, so I bit him on the nose and the whitecoats told me that it was a very bad thing and that I would have to stay with them for an even longer time, without any games at all, no matter how many times I asked.
And I asked, and I asked, and I still ask, because I love to play all kinds of games, except the games that the boys played with me in my sleep. Those are the bad kind of games. I know that if I had never decided to play with those bad boys that I would be different, i'm not so sure how, but different in some way. I remember how clear things were, before a started seeing the whitecoats, and I remember that nothing in my mind was filmy or gray. Now everything is filmy and gray, and people look at me funny when I talk. They look at me funny because I sound funny to their ears, well you know what maybe they sound funny to my ears! But I don't look at people funny just because there's something wrong with them! I don't look at someone funny because he only has one leg! How is being a slow thinker any different?
I used to cry into the pillow that the whitecoats gave me when I was just getting used to my new head. I would cry for so long that I would forget what I was crying about, which would then make me cry some more until they gave me some medicine and I fell asleep. Things are different in here, simpler, and if I can remember what I used to know, they don't hurt near as much. Sometimes they call me a dog, say that I think like an animal, but I don't see what's so bad about that. Wild animals are some of the smartest creatures I've ever seen, they always manage to find a way out of traps or hunter's bags. To be compared to a wild animal is a compliment in my opinion.
They tried to explain to me what happened to me, why I was different than the other people around me, and why I used to be just like everybody else. The whitecoats told my mother that I would never be "completely brought back", but I'm not really sure what they're talking about, because I was standing right in front of them. I know that my mind is different than theirs, so I've given up trying to understand what they tell me and the people around me. All I know is that I am special, like a diamond in the dirt, as my father says. I also know that those boys who like to play games with girls in their sleep are in jail and won't ever hurt me or any of the other girls ever again.
They say I talk funny. Simple. Dumb. Slow. That I'm different and won't ever be able to live by myself. But the only thing that I can't do by myself is braid my hair! Every morning I sit in front of my mother's bedroom mirror and look into my own hazel eyes and practice my talking while my mother works intricate designs in my hair. I'll have conversations with myself for hours on end in front of that mirror, to try to make myself better at talking, so that maybe one day people won't notice that I talk different.
For now I'm okay with being different I'm okay with not being like everybody around me because I know that they still love me and that they always will, no matter how fast or how slow I talk or if I can understand what they're saying to me. For now I'm okay with letting my mother listen to me practicing my talking when she does my hair, and my father rub my back when I have one of my "scenes" as Mother calls them. Some day I won't have to practice in front of the mirror, and my father won't have to hold my arms down to keep from hitting myself and I can just be normal normal normal and maybe I don't want to be like them after all but I certainly don't want to be known as the girl who talks funny. I'm more than just the girl who talks funny.
Does: 957D93
Thinks: A9A7C1
Says: DBCEFB
Code Word: Odair
Code Word: Odair
