Hedge Seren D12 :: Done

[Emma]

Name: Hedge Seren
Age: 16
Gender: Male
District/Area: District 12
Appearance:

Personality:

History:

Codeword: odair
Comments/Other:

Faceclaim - Sylvester Ulv

[Emma]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=8D9E90] you're the northern wind sending shivers down my spine you're like fallen leaves in an autumn night

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Full Name: Hedge Bain Seren
Age: Sixteen
District: Twelve
Gender: Male
Sexuality: heterosexual

{ a p p e a r a n c e }

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I am not attractive. I can tell you that. Never would you see me waving my pretty little hand as I smiled, wearing a sash reading "Beauty Contest Winner." I have what I call "liver lips" where your lips look like hanging goose liver. They are too big, and oddly shaped, and just wrong, all wrong. I also have a long, crooked nose. It's crooked cause I broke it, my father hit me, when I was young, and it never really went back. I like to wear a bull-ring to hide it. It makes me feel headstrong, like I'm not. It makes me feel fierce, and give me my false confidence. It quite thick too, too big at the bridge, making my eyes look smaller than they are. My eyes are ugly I think. They are a dull blue, and they always look tired, and sad. If only they could be some of those eyes that look happy.

I grew up starving. It is a fact that I can't avoid. It's an environment that can effect your final physical outcome. For me, puberty was short. I never really grew. I have never weighed more than 120 pounds. I'm a bag of bones. A short bag of bones. I'm probably only about 5 and half feet tall, give or take a few inches. My spindly spine shows threw my sickly white skin like paper tissue. My elbows stick out of my arms like a skeleton, and my hollow face looks unbalanced on my neck. On my left collar bone I have 3 tattoos. One is a anchor, the other a heart, and the last a cross. It isn't a tattoo. It's a list. A list of things I need to find. The anchor, something to hold onto, to keep me from spinning out of control, or turning to the noose. The heart, something to love, or someone, to be mine, and keep me whole and pure. And finally, the cross, something to pray too. I believe in God, but he isn't enough. I need something to hold my faith together and keep me going.

My hair is the topping on the messy cake. It has a sloppy colour of dark coffee. Not the rich stuff you buy from the store, but the strong, musty-tasting stuff you get from those terrible corner stores, or automatic dispensers that only require a few coins. It hangs messy, all over the place, the thick strands refusing to take orders. My scrawny legs and feet are covered in scabs and cuts. They are from running, fleeing the house when Father is angry. They are from running down the sharp gravel roads without shoes. there is nontime for shoes when he is mad. Everything about the way I look is wrong, and the scary part is that I look like my father.[/color]

{ p e r s o n a l i t y }

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Never have I been sure. I can't make decisions. It's impossible. When I'm faced with the options, I over-think every possible outcome of choosing the thing. It hold me back. I over asses people too. I look them up to down. I make sure they won't hurt me. The whole world is out to get me, so I need to make sure that I avoid the most dangerous specimens. I like to think of myself as a deer. Scared of everything, with a disposition to stare, and always doing things to put me in harms way. I think about it long and hard, and say, "why did you not do this, now you're lying in a ditch, and the truck continues to drive. You're nothing, and he still has everything. Why did you choose then, why not now. You're stupid Hedge, good thing your almost dead." Then my own words begin to push me to the edge. The edge of what is a mystery. Suicide, drugs, insanity maybe. All I know is that I make myself so unbearably tired. Tired of everything. The feeling of not wanting to get out of bed, because you're scared of what lies outside, and out of the covers. So tired of everything that I want to take a bath, and then take the TV with me. So tired that I want to go to a frozen pond, and stay there in the water forever. So unbearably tired, that I feel no emotion but pain. Pain is an emotion you know, a state of mind, not an expression or sense.

I don't like this world. It hates me and I hate it. It has been bad to me, treated me wrong. It isn't fair to me, so I refuse to be fair to it. People call me selfish, even egocentric, like I'm too important to come down off of my scrawny high-horse and talk to the peasants. It's not like I'm any richer than them, we are all in the starving boat, but since I don't talk to them, share with them, and look them up and down, that I feel I am too important for them. In all reality, I view myself, not as conceited, but too delicate to risk their interaction. They always hurt me, so when something hurts you tend to avoid it. Unless you're crazy. But I don't even want to get into that subject. Pfft, I'm not crazy, no, I'm just too mentally aware. It gets to me, whispers in my head and the ongoing challenge to remain civil. The voices tell me things, lies, orders, and push me to the edge, of doing things dangerous, and things insane. Sanity is meaningless to me, although I do fear it. As much as than doesn't make sense, it really does, see. I don't think it matters, but to loose mine would be devastating. I wish I was insane from birth, so I didn't know the pain of loosing what you are. I wish I was insane, but I don't want to go insane.

But what I fear above all else are ants. I hate them so incredibly much. Their whole anatomy gives me the shivers, and their little legs moving so fast. I think the reason I hate them so muc, was when I was around 3, I was sitting beneath a tree in our yard, and I felt very ichy. I looked down to find millions of red ants crawling all over my legs, and into my shirt. I had sat there for around ten minutes, watching them. Then they began to bite At that time they had entirely covered my body, biting everywhere. They were in my clothes, my hair, everywhere. The pain stung, like belly-flopping on an icy-cold body of water. All I could do was flail my limbs, slapping my skin, and scream. It seemed to last forever. I was young, but the horrifing memory is still fresh. After they had gone, I was covered in red soars, like a rash, over my entire body. To this day, I refuse to go withing 5 feet of any of those creepy insects. They remind me of people, if one attacks, there will probably be more to come. Avoidance of both species is a personal must.[/color]

{ h i s t o r y }

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Where to begin on my life is a tough question. For as long as I can remember, my father has been an angry man. My mother has always been a coward. Brace yourself, for this is another story about a horrible childhood. About a violent, terrible man, his useless wife, and his punching-bag son. I have heard stories like mine before, no, there is no shortage in this district. But we shall tell it anyways, since this is about me. I have never found out why my mother and father would ever marry. My father was a crude, temperamental coal-miner, with a bad reputation, a reputation involving spending all of his money on prostitutes, and boose. My mother was a good daughter, living in the seam, but always sharing what she had. She had fallen in love with the idea of a forbidden love, and pursued him. He had mistaken the attention for something else, and had gotten her pregnant. In order to hide his accident, he married the girl immediately, making it look like I wasn't an accident. I have always assumed he hated me so much because I took away his bachelor lifestyle, one he enjoyed. He also hates my mother, beats he about half as much as me. You might say we are a dysfunctional family.

My life has never been anything exciting, I'm an outcast at school, and everywhere else. I have had very few friends, which I enjoy. People and I have always stayed far away from each other. I spend most of my times wandering the streets, out of fear of returning home. My father cheats on my mother, with the prostitutes. He spends all the money we have on them. Either that or some drinks. When he comes home drunk, he blames the worlds problems on me. He wails on me, until I'm numb, and he continues to beat me. He beats me until I no longer feel it, and I go to a place, warm and soft, like a cloud. My mother stands and watches, her face unchanging from the hollow expression she wears while trying not to break into tears. She has never tried to stop my father. She has never said a thing, ever. She just stares at me, bleeding, while she stands at a "safe" distance. I could be inches from death, and she would only watch, her face colder and harder than stone. When he beats her, she fights back, saying things like "Not me! Beat him. I didn't do anything! It's all his fault." She blames me for everything. She blames me for falling in love with that monster, she blames me for our situation. As you may imagine, this has put quite a damper on our relationship. We haven't got along, for more than just the whole blaming reasons. We disagree on many things, like who should get more food.

Naturally, growing up in the seam with a greedy man, my life has always been hungry. Whenever we did get a crumble of food, Mother would always eat most of it, leaving very little for me. She has no mothering skills or traits. She feels no sympathy. I have always hated her for it. It seems like she has never even tried to raise me. I have always felt like a pest around home. Unwanted. Its the same every where else too I guess. Nothing has ever felt like home. Nowhere will probably. People around here say "Home is where the family is." I certainly hope not, my family hates me, spits on if they get the chance. I am actually surprised I haven't been take from that house. Everyone knows what happens in the Seren house. The screams aren't ignorable, and neither are the rumors. I try to ignore the whispers. Ever since I was young, people have been trying to give me sympathy, but being me, I had pushed them away. Now, they know their places in my books, and keep their distance. Everyone thinks I'll turn out like my Father. Never will I do that. How could anyone turn that evil. I will hang myself before I get the chance to become him. I hope that man dies. Along with my mother. My parents would do a better job parenting from the grave, if only they were their from the start.

i'm the jet black sky
that's just before the rain
like the mighty current
pullin' you under the waves

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faceclaim:: sylvester ulv
lyrics:: northern wind -- city & colour

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[Emma]

Completed c:

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[[ retro gm ] angel lí ✨]

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