Mary Ellen Goulding/Rainbow District 12 FINISHED

I stare down at the pictures that lie before me on the dirty floor of the shack that I now find myself living in. They were the only momentos of the life I used to live, the frozen captions of a life that I know longer know or care to know about. The girl that looked at me in the images was so young and innocent, so unlike the girl now...it was me. She looked happier than I do now, a little bit of a quirky smile on her face as she looked sightlessly out into a world she would never understand. Those eyes that sparkled with so much life and happiness, the grey blue in them like the ocean. I wondered how much of that had dulled since this picture was taken, if the life and happiness in my eyes was no longer existent. Not that I had much reason to be happy when the picture was taken, I suppose the only reason I was happy was because of the person that stood by my side, her arm linked in mine.

That was the only reason to be happy in those pictures, and while she, the girl in the pictures, could make me happy she couldn't dull the pain that I felt. Scooping up the pictures on the floor I got up and threw them into a hole in the wall of the shack. They were part of an old memory and an old life, they were no longer a part of me, merely a shadow of what I once was or could have been. I slump down against the wall feeling the rough would run against the cuts that run down my back, even through my shirt I could feel the pain as if my skin itself was rubbing against it. When I felt my butt hit the floor I let my head fall in between my legs. My long blonde hair hair hit the floor, but it didn't shine as it should, instead it was caked with dried mud and dirt. Large chunks of the hair hung limp and dare I say dead from lack of care, but come on, how many opportunities were there for someone in my situation to clean their hair. Personal hygene was not on the top of my to do list, maybe a shower here and there, if you could call it a shower.

My eyes stare at the dirty floor, looking around me at the living conditions we were forced to live in. By we I mean the hodge podge family that I now lived with, a group of people that were similar and yet so very different from me. So many of them had escaped the lives that they had because of abusive parents, their parents didn't want them, etc. Me though, I think I had it the worst, my mom sold me to get the money she needed to buy the drinks and drugs that kept her so isolated from the people of the district. At the time I think I was...five years old, and didn't understand what had happened. That time the Peacekeepers got involved and were able to return me home, my mom played the part of a hysterrical mother perfectly. So things carried on normally for a little while, my mom slowly losing her grip on reality until the day came when she sold me again. This time I was eight, and knew perfectly well what it meant when she did it...I wasn't wanted by her, I was simply a form of currency for her. She didn't care what happened to me, or how the men of the district, the Peacekeepers included, looked at me. As long as she got her booze and drugs she was happy...even if it meant losing me.

I fell into a depression after that, I didn't eat, I didn't do much of anything. The thin frame that people look on now is more or less a result of neglect and the inability to get anything that could help me. Seriously, I'm about as thin as one of the posts that hold up the porch of some of the delapadated houses that line the streets District 12. After I ran away from the people that had bought me from mom I would wander the streets looking for anything that might serve as food. Suffice to say I fell victim to the very things I hated my mother for falling into, drinking and drugs. I would frequent the bars and pubs and stuff getting drinks to help me through my depression. The drugs helped me feel good inside, even if it was only for an instant I wanted to feel good, like nothing was wrong with my life. It was during one such states of ecstasy that I ran into my new family. I wasn't very responsive to them, infact I remember very few details about that day other than what they've told me happened. Like how they gave me the name "Rainbow" when I couldn't even put together a proper sentence about anything accept the "pretty rainbow" I saw. They became my family though, accepting me for who I was, an addict with medical issues who probably wouldn't be on their hands for much longer.

There was one person though that made everything feel better for me, made me feel like I still had a purpose in life. The girl they called "Maybe" was like an angel, a ray of light in a world that was otherwise consumed in eternal darkness for me. She was the only one that really seemed to care about me, made any attempt to try and get me to give up the life that I was living. It was to late for me though, I was to stuck in my ways, but it was nice to know that she cared enough. I liked to spend alot of my spare time when I was actually aware of things with her, we'd spend the days, our arms linked together, trying to make the best of the days. On those cold winter nights we would sleep together to stay warm, providing warmth with the love closeness of out bodies to eachother. That's why those pictures meant so much...and yet so little to me. It was at the beginning of my time with this group, a time when I may have been consumed with the happiness of having a new family.

Now it had sunk in that I was just as alone as I had been before. I was dying...the drinking and the drugs had taken their toll on me, and I honestly have no idea how long I have left to continue on. I dont' want to tell Maybe though, it would just upset her, and I don't want to do that. So I carry on, day in and day out, making the money to get more booze and more drugs to keep me in the artificial happiness. I longed for the day when I would be granted escape from all this, given the opportunity to see the world in a different way. Who am I kidding though, seeing the world in a different way would mean living in better conditions than I live in currently. How many people do you know that can live in the conditions that I do, and actually have any semblence of happiness. I suppose it's made me bitter carrying on day in and day out the way I am. It's driven me to a life that sure isn't morally correct, and sure I'm not the model kid with my drinking and drugs.

My "family" puts up with me though, even when I bark and yell at them, or even at some points hit them with the old knuckle sandwich. Usually that only happens when I'm on the downswing of the drugs, or I have a hangover. That's when Maybe will rap her arms around me and try to comfort me and calm me down. Sometimes it works sometimes it doesn't, it largely depends on how receptive I am to her touch. During one such events where I wasn't really aware of anything I was taken to a doctor who diagnosed me with depression and some other junk. He said that I needed to wear these two bracelets, one white and one blue, and they would let everyone know what was wrong with me.

At first I was like...yeah right...like I wanted to be branded a freak anymore than I already was. For about two weeks I didn't wear them, and Maybe curse that girl, attached them to me while I was sleeping. Don't ask me how she did it, but now I'm forced to wear them around now. So yeah, I'm that freak that sits in the corner of our little shack and fiddles around with those stupid bracelets with a bottle of whatever drink is currently available. Soooooo yeah, I'm not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, I'm probably going to die any day soon. To be honest though...I don't want to die...I need to be with Maybe...and I like to think...that "maybe" she needs me.