malina sophia visco && D6

Death was the best escape from life and its terrors. It was truly the only way to let go of your woes and let your history flow down the drain. People were not in the world to be perfect; they were here to be real. So why was Lina here? She was an abomination, as plastic as the fools that lived in the Capitol. Her pale skin was cold and bruised at the slightest touch. Her pale, chapped lips were always pressed into a thin, curvy line. Her hazel eyes were always emotionless, and no matter what expression her heart-shaped face twisted itself into - well, you get the picture.

She wanted to die. She wanted to be swallowed by the darkness and never return. Her numb fingers just grazed the wire of the electrical fence, and she allowed the hot sparks to shoot up her arm with such violence. It hurt, but Lina didn't care. The sooner her life ended, the better. There was a fire blazing inside of her, eating her inside out and slowly killing her. When the static on the television finally cleared, there would sometimes be commercials about something called depression. They would talk about how everything hurt, how sorrow overtook lives. Lina never understood the commercials, even when people tried to explain it to her. She didn't seem to grasp the purpose of anything in the world; especially never anything the Capitol talked about.

"Capitol". That was just code for "society of fickle people". They shaped a new dystopia, a dysfunction world where your life was constantly in danger and the government wasted their days away partying. It was like a masquerade of sorts, with people always wearing a different mask and leading others on. And then there were the Hunger Games; what was there to say about the game?

It was feared by most, hated by all. Your fate was hanging on a string, and it seemed like rules didn't apply. There would always be a favorite, and there would always be someone who was better than the rest. Fighting in a televised pageant seemed like the best way to go. Maybe a knife in your back, a spear between the eyes. Better yet, you were tortured and torn limb from limb. The more pain you went through, it seemed, the more relieved you were when the pain ebbed away.

Still, Lina had mixed feelings about the Games. The savageness of the Games had turned her twin, Garrett, victim. He was not a tribute, but still a participant. Everyone participated in the Games, whether they actually set foot on that pedestal or not. They all suffered through the heartstopping countdown, the flashing lights of the interviews, and the horror of the bloodbath. Everyone was an accomplice to the murders of the innocent and the evil; everyone assisted in the theft of lives.

Lina brushed her dark hair over her shoulder, digging her dirty, bloodcaked fingernails into her bare legs. She shivered in her underclothes, eyes wild. She began dragging her long nails along her arm, letting the skin tear and letting the blood fall down. A strong hand gripped her arm, squeezing all feeling out of it. She began to scream, flailing in her captor's grasp. "Shh, Lina," Garrett whispered in her ear, grazing her lips with his. Lina knew her twin brother had feelings for her, and she did not feel the same. However, she let him kiss her and adorn her anyway. She allowed him to do whatever he wanted; no matter how violated she felt or how wrong it was. She really didn't give a damn; her parents even confused her with Hillary and Corrinne. She was always compared to Ingrid.

Lina allowed Garrett to sweep her off her feet and carry her home, attracting a plethora of watchers. The minute she was left alone in her room, she picked up an quill and dipped it in the inkwell. She then began to scribble meaningless words on her arm. Hope. Love. Serenity. Freeedom. On the wall behind her was a jumble of words, some overlapping each other as the years passed. They were her secrets, thoughts, and ideas. They were wild and criss-crossed, some making no sense at all. Overall, it just looked like splotches of black. A pile of rocks was hidden under her bed, along with some other useless junk. Clothes were strewn out all over the floor, and there was a bloodied kitchen fork in the corner.

Illuminated by the dim light of her room, there were pale scars etched in Lina's arms, and one on her ankle. Her newest wound had been patched with gause, where the blood soaked through and got on her fingers. She had suffered so much misery over the years; watching her friend be arrested, and dealing with bullies for as long as she could remember. What was the use in being happy? What was the meaning of happiness?

Malina Sophia Visco would always be confused. She would always be afraid. She would always be upset. And most of all, Lina would always await her demise.