helene ☼ district seven ☼ fin (cb)

I believe in the philosophy that people, bad or good, deserve the greatest treatment. Why shouldn't they? The years of disobedience and rebellion that I've whipped onto my parents makes it easy to believe so. Loss after loss, beating after beating; after you grow used to failure, you begin to value what it's like to win. The flower on my arm represents the life that I've won and the ones that I have lost. Simple. People come and go all the time; they're like the seasons. The winters, more specifically, which seem to come back with a harder chomp each time they appear.

Odd how I still have the urge to trust a face that shows a smile. If they provide a handshake, a smile or a nod of their head in my direction to show welcoming, I welcome them. No, not like some slow-motion jumping into each others arms type thing. Just open arms to join my into my life. With hope that they'll not leave me like the ones in the past.

as if, I sigh, looking down at the graves with my parents names' labeled onto them. no wonder rebellion is the source of the worlds' problems.

I place another flower onto the pile that I've formed in the middle of their graves and take my leave.

Hopefully they've forgiven me for the hell that I gave them, and the life that I caused them.