caitlin samuels d6 | fin
Oct 28, 2016 19:37:17 GMT -5
Post by Lyn𝛿is on Oct 28, 2016 19:37:17 GMT -5
[googlefont="Indie Flower:400"]
mandatory (adj.) authoritatively ordered; obligatory; compulsory
Look at me, Mrs. Garcia, my teacher, says. Her hand reaches for my chin, and I flinch away. I hate it when people just walk up and decide to touch me. I want you to look at my eyes when I'm talking to you, do you understand?
I nod and lift my head up, since I know that when a teacher says she wants me to do something what it really means is that I have to do it.
Caitlin, I wish you would talk to me. I'm just trying to help.
If she were really trying to help then she would go away and stop asking me how I feel, because that would be much better. If she were really trying to help there are lots of things she could do besides saying useless words. Mother says that when people step away from me that means I'm getting in their personal space, but every time I step away from Mrs. Garcia she takes a big step forward and then she's all up close again. So I guess that means talking to her is mandatory.
Watching the Games is mandatory, too. When I come home from school, the TV is on and Mother is cooking dinner. It's illegal to not watch, which means if a Peacekeeper comes over they can arrest you for it.
I wonder if Peacekeepers will come to our house and arrest me, because yesterday instead of watching the Bloodbath I hid in Jackson's room and buried my head and shoulders under his mattress until everything was nice and warm and dark. And then Mother ran around the house looking for me, and she didn't say anything about me breaking the law but she told me that the Bloodbath was over and my brother was still alive so I needed to quit being so dramatic.
I don't get it, because my dictionary tells me that dramatic means something vivid or high-contrast, and being in Jackson's room feels the exact opposite. His room is more like my brother than the person on the screen is. All I can see on the TV is his face and his body but in his room everything still looks like him and feels like him and smells like him.
But Mother slammed the door and pushed me out, and now I can't go in there anymore.
texture (n.) the visual and especially tactile quality of a surface
Instead, I curl up in that little cove there is between the right side of my bed and the dresser and the back wall of the house, and wrap myself in my favorite purple flowery fleece jacket. I've had it for years and there are almost holes in the elbows but it's so much softer than the itchy stuff Mother wants me to wear. Every time she sees it though she says I should get rid of it or it'll make Father look bad, and then I have to hide it until she forgets. I don't get how what I wear can make Father look any different, and anyways he never looks bad the few times we see him. She also said it makes me not look my age, and I told her it's okay because I don't always act my age either, except that made her yell at me about talking back to adults.
If you don't say anything to Mother and keep your room clean and don't track snow into the house, though, then she usually doesn't do much yelling. Sometimes I curl up here to hide from her, and I'm glad I'm shorter and smaller so I still fit, because once she has one person to start yelling at she'll get louder and louder when she sees any of the five of us. Once she gets loud enough to hurt my ears then she starts hitting, too.
Anyways, here is where I keep my sketchbook, behind the dresser, and whenever I have a bit of time I sit here and draw. I think today I will draw the bird we found making a nest on top of the classroom lights last week. I remember all the details, its tufted furry head and the feathers sticking out from one of its wings and the piece of straw in its needle-like beak.
I remember all sorts of things around District Six, and my sketchbook is filled with them, animals and landscapes and buildings. The only exception is the unfinished picture from when I tried to draw my own face. The hair was easy to draw, I started with a round, almost circular oval and added strands of wavy gold and brown until it had a nice and silky texture. Then I drew the lips smiling since smiling is supposed to mean happy, even though some people smile when they're being mean too. But it's unfinished because I messed up the eyes and when I tried to erase it, it left a big hazel-colored smudge on the paper and then it was all ruined.
People say eyes are the windows to the soul, but we learned about eyes in science class and they aren't windows at all, they're more like a camera. My science teacher told me it's just a metaphor, which means they're not really windows but they're like windows because you can see through them and find out how someone's really feeling.
I can't, though. Maybe that's why even if the pupil and the lashes and the little red blood vessels are all in the right places I never get the entire eye to look just right.
I like drawing animals a lot more, anyway. The bird I'm drawing today is called a mockingjay, like a mockingbird and jabberjay all smushed up into one. I think they're beautiful birds.
Father said they're not supposed to exist.
alliance (n.) a friendly association, an agreement
Sometimes I wonder if I'm supposed to exist.
Whenever we're assigned to work in groups, the other kids at my table start whispering to each other and even if I say anything they pretend I'm not there. Jackson says I should ignore those kind of people and kick them out of my life, but I can't really do that because Mrs. Garcia makes us work in groups a lot when I would much rather work alone. She says I should work harder at making friends, and my siblings don't count because friends have to be people you're not related to. Mrs. Garcia doesn't count either, because she's a teacher.
I try to imagine Jackson sitting next to me right now, but I'm getting this queasy feeling in my stomach like smelling Mother's floor cleaner except ten times worse. And then I think about how if he wins and we have to move to Victor's Village then Mother would probably throw a fit trying to keep a house that big as clean as she makes us do now, and imagining that makes me laugh a little. But I remember you shouldn't laugh out of nowhere because it makes people think you're crazy, and then the queasy feeling come back.
You also shouldn't think about things that probably won't happen, since if you count a basket of eggs before they hatch you might end up dropping the eggs and then you'll get zero chickens.
But people count eggs very carefully and I've never seen Mother drop any eggs when she makes dinner. Whereas in the Hunger Games being careful doesn't mean too much about whether you'll win. People say it's mostly about alliances and how much the Capitol likes you. I know Jackson didn't make any alliances but I also know that Father talks to people from the Capitol, so I hope that they like him and will give my brother a chance.
Victors do not come from district six, I keep hearing Wyatt O'Connor's famous words, and I want to scream every time they're repeated. Even worse is when I realized it actually means they think victors can't come from district six. And that's not true, but they make it sound like it is.
I think people should only say words they actually mean. It would make understanding them so much easier.
Look at me, Mrs. Garcia, my teacher, says. Her hand reaches for my chin, and I flinch away. I hate it when people just walk up and decide to touch me. I want you to look at my eyes when I'm talking to you, do you understand?
I nod and lift my head up, since I know that when a teacher says she wants me to do something what it really means is that I have to do it.
Caitlin, I wish you would talk to me. I'm just trying to help.
If she were really trying to help then she would go away and stop asking me how I feel, because that would be much better. If she were really trying to help there are lots of things she could do besides saying useless words. Mother says that when people step away from me that means I'm getting in their personal space, but every time I step away from Mrs. Garcia she takes a big step forward and then she's all up close again. So I guess that means talking to her is mandatory.
Watching the Games is mandatory, too. When I come home from school, the TV is on and Mother is cooking dinner. It's illegal to not watch, which means if a Peacekeeper comes over they can arrest you for it.
I wonder if Peacekeepers will come to our house and arrest me, because yesterday instead of watching the Bloodbath I hid in Jackson's room and buried my head and shoulders under his mattress until everything was nice and warm and dark. And then Mother ran around the house looking for me, and she didn't say anything about me breaking the law but she told me that the Bloodbath was over and my brother was still alive so I needed to quit being so dramatic.
I don't get it, because my dictionary tells me that dramatic means something vivid or high-contrast, and being in Jackson's room feels the exact opposite. His room is more like my brother than the person on the screen is. All I can see on the TV is his face and his body but in his room everything still looks like him and feels like him and smells like him.
But Mother slammed the door and pushed me out, and now I can't go in there anymore.
texture (n.) the visual and especially tactile quality of a surface
Instead, I curl up in that little cove there is between the right side of my bed and the dresser and the back wall of the house, and wrap myself in my favorite purple flowery fleece jacket. I've had it for years and there are almost holes in the elbows but it's so much softer than the itchy stuff Mother wants me to wear. Every time she sees it though she says I should get rid of it or it'll make Father look bad, and then I have to hide it until she forgets. I don't get how what I wear can make Father look any different, and anyways he never looks bad the few times we see him. She also said it makes me not look my age, and I told her it's okay because I don't always act my age either, except that made her yell at me about talking back to adults.
If you don't say anything to Mother and keep your room clean and don't track snow into the house, though, then she usually doesn't do much yelling. Sometimes I curl up here to hide from her, and I'm glad I'm shorter and smaller so I still fit, because once she has one person to start yelling at she'll get louder and louder when she sees any of the five of us. Once she gets loud enough to hurt my ears then she starts hitting, too.
Anyways, here is where I keep my sketchbook, behind the dresser, and whenever I have a bit of time I sit here and draw. I think today I will draw the bird we found making a nest on top of the classroom lights last week. I remember all the details, its tufted furry head and the feathers sticking out from one of its wings and the piece of straw in its needle-like beak.
I remember all sorts of things around District Six, and my sketchbook is filled with them, animals and landscapes and buildings. The only exception is the unfinished picture from when I tried to draw my own face. The hair was easy to draw, I started with a round, almost circular oval and added strands of wavy gold and brown until it had a nice and silky texture. Then I drew the lips smiling since smiling is supposed to mean happy, even though some people smile when they're being mean too. But it's unfinished because I messed up the eyes and when I tried to erase it, it left a big hazel-colored smudge on the paper and then it was all ruined.
People say eyes are the windows to the soul, but we learned about eyes in science class and they aren't windows at all, they're more like a camera. My science teacher told me it's just a metaphor, which means they're not really windows but they're like windows because you can see through them and find out how someone's really feeling.
I can't, though. Maybe that's why even if the pupil and the lashes and the little red blood vessels are all in the right places I never get the entire eye to look just right.
I like drawing animals a lot more, anyway. The bird I'm drawing today is called a mockingjay, like a mockingbird and jabberjay all smushed up into one. I think they're beautiful birds.
Father said they're not supposed to exist.
alliance (n.) a friendly association, an agreement
Sometimes I wonder if I'm supposed to exist.
Whenever we're assigned to work in groups, the other kids at my table start whispering to each other and even if I say anything they pretend I'm not there. Jackson says I should ignore those kind of people and kick them out of my life, but I can't really do that because Mrs. Garcia makes us work in groups a lot when I would much rather work alone. She says I should work harder at making friends, and my siblings don't count because friends have to be people you're not related to. Mrs. Garcia doesn't count either, because she's a teacher.
I try to imagine Jackson sitting next to me right now, but I'm getting this queasy feeling in my stomach like smelling Mother's floor cleaner except ten times worse. And then I think about how if he wins and we have to move to Victor's Village then Mother would probably throw a fit trying to keep a house that big as clean as she makes us do now, and imagining that makes me laugh a little. But I remember you shouldn't laugh out of nowhere because it makes people think you're crazy, and then the queasy feeling come back.
You also shouldn't think about things that probably won't happen, since if you count a basket of eggs before they hatch you might end up dropping the eggs and then you'll get zero chickens.
But people count eggs very carefully and I've never seen Mother drop any eggs when she makes dinner. Whereas in the Hunger Games being careful doesn't mean too much about whether you'll win. People say it's mostly about alliances and how much the Capitol likes you. I know Jackson didn't make any alliances but I also know that Father talks to people from the Capitol, so I hope that they like him and will give my brother a chance.
Victors do not come from district six, I keep hearing Wyatt O'Connor's famous words, and I want to scream every time they're repeated. Even worse is when I realized it actually means they think victors can't come from district six. And that's not true, but they make it sound like it is.
I think people should only say words they actually mean. It would make understanding them so much easier.
Caitlin Samuels
thirteen. district six. female
thirteen. district six. female
