talia ames. district two

I kick off and roll: wheels scraping and rattling on the ground as I ride the concrete waves of the pavement. Long coat, hair tied up, a stolen pack of cigarettes in my front pocket and a shit ton of delinquency in my back.

Kids stare at me. Adults frown upon me.

It's like people know me. They see Ames and think it's an invitation to talk to me — as if my family's public dysfunction is an adequate topic of conversation for a petty stranger who just wants to feel good about themselves for wishing me well. Yeah — I can't say I'm happy about the attention Adder has brought to our family; the shit I do isn't supposed to be anyone else's business but my own. I mean, fucking honestly, the bullshit as a result of her playing soldier only gets worse, man.

Two fingers broken by a peacekeeper. I didn't even deserve that, actually, those supplies were left unattended and as far as I'm concerned, unattended means they are free game. If you aren't watching your shit then that shit is clearly not that important to you. Am I a klepto? Probably, but I don't really see it as stealing anyway, it's more a case of redistribution — nobody should be hoarding, especially when people are struggling. There's people out there living their fucking nightmares, man, and I think two broken fingers isn't that much of a price to pay to keep someone alive.

Preferably I'd pay fuck all, though. Some days, giving people my time feels like a chore. I'm just trying to make it any way that I can and dedicating my time to anyone else is a big fucking ask — even Violet pisses me off because of how forgiving she is. Too slow and too forgiving for her own good, if you ask me, because she'd stare danger in the eye and still think about welcoming it into our home. Nah, not me. Swing first, ask questions later. I've got a short fuse and increasingly dwindling patience when it comes to dealing with grown men and women — especially the ones I'm related to.

Everyone just needs to sit down, have a cigarette and enjoy the little good things we still have. Take a leaf out of my book and find some art to stare at for a few hours or something, though, yeah... that'd probably require taking a chapter full of trauma with that leaf. Eh. I don't see myself as any worse off for seeing the shit I've seen; am I fucked up? Obviously, man, but so is everyone else and my sister's short-lived warrior era being publicised isn't enough to make me special.

A cigarette, a skateboard and a few spray paint cans, however, and yeah, I'm pretty fucking special. I don't have the commitment to do what Adder does nor the incompetence to do whatever Violet does. The days come and go: winter, summer, winter again, whatever — I just do what I need to do to get by. I wreck the havoc I want to wreck, I shout the swears I want to shout, I paint the world I want to paint. 

So, stare all you want — I'd stare at me too.