Aome Clifton D4 ~Finished~

[Emma]

Name: Aome Clifton
Age: 16
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 4
Appearance:

AMAZING!

Personality:

History:

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Comments/Other:

faceclaim: Julija Steponaviciute

[Emma]

A o m e C l i f t o n

the seaweed is always greener
in somebody else's lake
you dream about going up there
But that is a big mistake

~Apple Of My Eye~
~Sixteen~
~4th District~
~Female~
~Heterosexual~

Aome. My name. It's kinda cheesy, don't cha think? Aome. It's pronounced like Naomi, without the N part. My mother, the crazy woman, got it from the saying "Apple Of My Eye." She took the first letter of each word, and turned it into some sort of child's name. I personally think it's ridiculous. But not near as bad as my sister's, which is Ily, "I love you." Or my brother, Mhas, which isn't even a name, " My Heart And Soul." Us poor, poor children, burdened to walk around with names like that.
"It's unique!" she would say. Always had to be different. We stand out in our own certain way, but we slip into the crowd too.

I am a fishermen's child, born to the sea. I belong there, my gills don't breath this sea air, I belong in the water. We are the fish. I, with my fins flapping, as I awkwardly struggle to get back to the ocean. The sea breeze blowing my hair. My hair, it's undecided colour. Like the ocean, it is different colours at different times. It can't decide if it's dirty blonde, or light brown. Sometimes it has a twinge of red. But it lies straight, despite the humidity of my home. I wear it long, and down, as it shelters me from the sun. The sun, the thing that threatens to dry out my scales. My scales. My skin. It's the color of ivory. A stone, one color. I doesn't burn. Nor does it tan. It doesn't freckle. It only dries. Into flakes. It becomes cracked and brittle. As if you could, let's say, stick a knife in it, cut it off my body, and make a leather jacket out of it. It covers my fish bones, hollow and light. Weightless. In the water you are weightless. As you swim, you glide threw the magical substance. I swim easily. Always have. Since the moment I touched the waves of the sea here in 4, my body longed for more.

The waves, crashing on our home. We live by the sea, with most of the other fisherman's families. Salty steaming fish and seaweed aromas wafting out of each ocean-stripped home. Each home here has no paint, but nobody is poor. No one bothers to paint their home anymore. The salty air peels and destroys the colors after a few years, so its no use. Our home is like the average. 3 small sized bedrooms. One for my parents, one for my brother, and one for my sister and I. It isn't a lot, but its comfortable, and its home. Best of all, its next to the sea. I fall asleep to the lullaby of the waves crashing on the shores, seagulls screeching, and the blowing of the ocean trees. I awake to the same sound. Paradise.

just look at the world around you
right here on the ocean floor
such wonderful things surround you
what more is you lookin' for

My Papa works in the boats. He rows out there with a few of his friends. They drop their nets, and wait. They just sit there. I think they talk. Maybe they sit in silence and enjoying the quiet and beauty of the sea. Then they pull up their nets, and drop them again. They do this all day. They eat while they wait. Papa says its a good time to nap. Then, when the day is spent, and the sun is dipping back into the ocean to sleep, they row back, and go to the market. They sell the fish they don't take to their families and then walk back home, smelly fishy and looking scruffy. I love it when he comes home. Every week he brings me a seashell from the beach. The prettiest one he can find. One day, when I was about 7 or 8, he didn't come home till late in the night. Mama was angry with him, she thought he was being bad. But he was on the beach, alone, looking for the perfect seashell for me. It was grand. The outside was stark-white and rippled, and the inside, the most innocent and beautiful pink. It is my most favourite shell, from my extensive collection.

I have no worries in the world. People call me careless. But I simply am laid-back. Nothing troubles me. A body without stress is a body without problems. "Don't worry, bout a thing, cause every little thing, is gonna be alright." It was a song Mama used to know. But she forgets it. It was a lullaby, from long before Panem, before the wars, disasters and clashes that ruined the society it fit into. Mama. She forgets it. She is forgetting everything that doesn't happen everyday. The songs she knew, the names of her extended family, and the generations before her. And much more. Gone, all gone. When I mention a girl up the road, for the 5th time in our conversation, she will ask who we are talking about. She is loosing it. Its devastating, but we are trying to get by. We are still happy and humble, and it isn't that severe. Yet. Quinn and May Clifton. Married 23 years. 3 children. My family is like every other in this district.

We aren't hungry, Papa makes good money, and Mama works as a sort of maid in the homes of the richer homes of 4 about once a week. We aren't hungry. But we aren't plump. We have enough, but nothing more. Enough to buy what we need, and enough to fill our bellies before bed. Our diets consist of salty bread, steamed seaweed and fish. It becomes bland and tasteless after a while, but sometimes if Papa has a good day on the sea, he will go to the market with the spare money and buy some fruit or a jar of jelly, or some candy from the store. Those days are rare, but it's good to have a change. We all have the same figure, us Clifton children. I am tall, about 5 10" and slim. Very slim. My salty, fat-free diet sustains me, but it means no extra weight. The same goes for my siblings. Our bones protrude in our torsos, hip-bones, ribs, and collar bones, thinking threw our skin. Our limbs are long, and just as bony. I myself appear to be all legs, and I think that since I am done growing, I will stay that way my entire life. But that's OK. No worries.

under the sea
under the sea
darling it's better
down where it's wetter

A simple life. That's what I seek. Here in the hustle and bustle of the fishing industry, you have to be able to see the opportunity and beauty in every little thing. Life is like weaving a net, you can see it more than one way. It can be boring, and repetitive. Or it can be an art, with each little knot being a feat, one step closer to catching your prize, to reaching your goal. If you slow down, and just look around, you can see the complexity of each thing, working in a simple way with the other things around it. Like the dirt, holding nutrients and water for the seed, which grows to a flower. The flower provides food for the ladybug, which has eats the pests that would kill the flower. Everything has a niche. Biology is simple. If you see it the way you want.

Love and romance is simple. It should be at least. If a boy loves the girl, and the girl loves the boy, then isn't it simple? Flirting, however, is not simple. It too, is an art. Flirting comes naturally to me, but the whole relationship thing doesn't. "Relationship" is a status. Love is a feeling. If you love someone, do you have to make it official, or can you just love them? Can you show love threw dance? Can you show love threw swimming? When I swim, it is like a dance. I move in a rhythm, flowing like the waves I conquer. Gliding threw the water like air, propelling my sleek body threw the waves, gliding over the rainbows of fish and coral. The fish are my greatest friends. But I have people friends too, and I am rather good at making them. I don't know why, but it seems to be my voice. I have never heard it, but it seems to hypnotize people, and gets them coming back. Nobody seems to interrupt me when I ramble, (which I do often) and nobody seems to get mad at me for saying something. My brother Mhas, says its like an angel voice, and I can't tell if he is joking or not.

Every since I was a child, I have always been unafraid. Perhaps it goes with my worry less side. But fear doesn't exist much in my life. The only thing that scares me in solitude. Not being alone. But solitude. Confused? Being alone is being alone. Solitude is solitude. Solitude is where you live alone, die alone. Nobody to hold you, nobody to talk to, nobody to love. I would only lower my head to solitude. Nothing else can hurt me. I would take my slender face, and look whatever threatens me right in the eyes. I would give it a glare. Narrow my eyes at it and curl my lip a little. My eyes, are a sort oaky-brown color. They differ from a greenish brown to chocolate brown. But usually they stay around the colour of almonds. When I smile with my thin, round lips, my cheeks bunch up into a sort of dimple that reaches up to my nose. My nose is "normal." Its just a nose. How could a nose be not a nose? It can't, so its just a nose. By eyebrows are dark and thick, rounded and pointed. They hang like banners saying "Eyes below."

Take it from me
up on the shore they work all day
while we devotin'
full time to floatin'

speakingtextthoughtsothers
<img src="http://i41.tinypic.com/16h2ibt.png">
Faceclaim- Julija Steponaviciute
Song: Under The Sea- The Little Mermaid - Disney

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[Emma]

Finished a Character in 2 days? Phew.

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

Accepted!

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