Panem Post (97th Games ed.)

97th Hunger Games:
The Reaping has happened! Check out your 97th tributes!

Your Newest Victor
Congratulations to Panem's 96th Hunger Games Victor: Lionel Estrada of District Five - authored by Kiah!

96th MVP
Give it up for Sucy, our 96th Games OOC MVP!

Retro Games: 10th Quell
Congratulations to Kasia Karataeva from District 3, played by Jorg, who outran the other tributes to escape the Capitol Sewers and secure her victory!

D6 Staff Strike
Sign up your characters to be involved in the District Six hospital staff strike. It's inevitable that any form of protest in Panem will surely spiral out of control. Which side of the picket line are you on?

D9 Bake-Off
Want to get on TV but don't feel like killing kids in order to do so? Audition for the District Nine Bake-Off!

Canon Directory

Marjorie Devereaux / District 8 [WIP]

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Deleted 0 POSTS last seen Jul 7, 2024 5:51:53 GMT -5	Marjorie Devereaux / District 8 [WIP] Feb 19, 2016 23:13:27 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Deleted on Feb 19, 2016 23:13:27 GMT -5 Name: Marjorie Delilah Devereaux District: Eight Age: Seventeen Nicknames: - Marj - Jorie - Maggie - Mj (Rare) Scheme: Narrative (#9c3030) Speech (#865151) Thoughts (555555)
	Last Edit: Feb 27, 2016 9:58:49 GMT -5 by Deleted

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last seen Jul 7, 2024 5:51:53 GMT -5

Marjorie Devereaux / District 8 [WIP] Feb 20, 2016 16:07:03 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Feb 20, 2016 16:07:03 GMT -5

Daddy would always tell me when I was young that this was only a dream. That this life of misery was only a fabrication of my witless and youthful mind, that I would one night close my eyes and open them to find a world of bliss. My father also told me that mother was in that world. Thing is, father is very stupid. Mother was gone and dead for all eternity. I was there when the sickly and frail woman took her last breath. The only world that I knew where my mother was, was at the bottom of a 6 foot pit, locked in a beaten black coffin, and suffocated under countless pounds of dirt. Father would only take me out to the place where mother lay, under the canopy of the large oak tree on the edge of the district, in the middle of winter. And he would turn towards me with the typical gray somber look across his dead face and say she was in a better place now. To which I would reply, “No daddy, she’s right here, at the bottom of this pit. Right here, under this mound of snow. I know because I saw them put her there.” Father would then begin to sob, the spicy tears flowing in rivulets down his rosy cheeks, yet I didn't understand why he was crying. He cradled her when she died, he was there when they lowered her into that grave, he saw them kick the dirt on top of her coffin. But again, Daddy is stupid and the whole nation of Panem is too.

I don't play these games anymore.

I remember the day she died. She writhed in pain as the suffering from her undiagnosed illness consumed her whole. I could see the pain of her crystal eyes be washed away by serenity and all life was gone. She fell limp in my father's grasp that one day in winter. That day was not only the day my mother died, both of my parents died that day. One would lay in a grave forever and the other would linger the dying earth like a ghost. I was alone on this earth from when I was four years old, and I forever will be.

Still today when I brush my golden hair in the vanity that was once my mother's. He would glide behind me and place his thin and icy lips on my cheek and say I look exactly like her. My hair falls to my petite shoulders in flaxen waves streaked with a light brown and changes with the seasons. Flaxen to a honey and from honey to brunette.