{valentina ferrer}{D2}{fin}

[Dreams]

Name: Valentina ^{Val, Tina} Ferrer
Age: 16
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 2
Appearance:

She looks like Valencia Ferrer

Personality:

Empathetic and soft for a career

Pretty much hates herself

Woohoo

History:

She has a sister

Codeword: Odair
Comments/Other:

Dun judge yo

FC: Kira Kosarin

[Dreams]

she says they're walking in a straight line
but that's not really her style
they all got the same heartbeat
but hers is falling
behind

∆ Valentina Rosey Ferrer ∆ District Two ∆ Female ∆

( a p p e a r a n c e )

Her deep brown eyes are full of regret and budding tears, staring at the blade in her hand. She then imagines the target where the tip should contact. But instead her lacy fingers direct it towards her forearm. She tried to stop. She tried to. But trying wasn't enough. The knife broke her creamy olive skin, adding to the scars that already were drawn. The blood poured out as did her tears, because all of the pain. Physical and emotional. "I hate myself." With those simple words, she repeated, making scars deeper than her own skin. They were branded in her mind. She drew worthless words on her arm, ugly, fat, pathetic. It was horrible. It wasn't true. It was opposite of what she really was. She was skinny, almost too skinny, from starving herself. She is somewhat pretty with her wide eyes and narrow face. She just refuses to believe. But the worst thing is that no one cared or even knew. There is no one to stop her. If I disappear, no one will look for me. If I die, no one will attend my funeral.

She pulled her curly brown hair out of her face. It was matted with dried tears and tangles of sleep, falling in loose waves past her shoulders. It was usually in a silky state, but right now she didn't care for it. She gripped it with her delicate fingers and tried to think good thoughts. With her wiry frame, she was fast and swift. Everything about her was small, which made it even better. But there were a lot more negatives to look at than the positives. It was much easier. She dragged herself out of the chair she was planted in and grabbed pale gauze. Wrapping her arm, the blood spread in waves, dying the white a deep red. Her delicate shoulders heaved up and down harshly with each breath, sharply popping out with lack of fat. Her ribs were outlined with the shadows of purposeful famish. She opened her journal and her shaky fingers grabbed and uncapped her pen. And so started to write painful words. It hurt as much as cutting. And this is the reason why... was the opening line.

nothing in this world could
ever bring them down
yeah, they're invincible
and she's just in the background
and she says

( p e r s o n a l i t y )

Valentina sighed and started to write again.

And this is the reason why...

Because I'm too fat. Because I'm too ugly. Because I'm too weak and small. Because I'm not good enough. Not good enough for me. And if I'm not good enough for me, I'm not good enough for anyone. Sometimes I feel like everyone hates me. But no one knows that a lot of days when I come home, I just break down. I cut. I hate myself. No one knows and no one understands. And the worst thing as that I let them. I let them think I'm okay. I'm probably the worst person to ever live. When I'm here, people say I'm ugly and attention seeking and desperate. But when I'm gone, people'll say that I was so pretty and needed so much better than it. So I guess it's better to be dead.

Tears interrupted the words. She made a choked sound but continued writing because she was too scared to say it to anyone.

So not worthy.

It's funny. No one knows about the second me. Everyone thinks that because I'm laughing and smiling that I'm actually happy. I sometimes allow myself to believe it too. But it's never real. I'm always sad, even if I forget it a while. It's always there. But I never seem to care, as long as everyone else is happy. It's weird. I can be there when someone's hurt to dry their tears because I can't stand them being that way. But when I'm in pain, I do nothing. I could literally be outright flooding my room while I cry and still insist everything was fine. I'm crazy. I care for people more than myself. It could be a complete stranger and I would still help them.

Tears blotted the paper. But she kept going because there was no other way of getting it out.

I could never hurt anyone. Yet I'm still a career. I don't know why, I'm just to sympathetic and empathetic. I can't help it. Being pacific is just my nature. I'm nothing like what a career should be, but somehow I'm still good at being one. I'm messed up. So messed up. I'm a nice career. I'm soft and sensitive. I'm skilled but I don't want to be skilled. I'm too kind and caring. Whenever I love, I have so much to lose. I dive too deep and go too far. How does it ever work like that. Why does it.

So if you ever find this note, say nothing, even if you care. Not like you would, anyway.

She tucked it away in a drawer and went to bed, trying to forget all the pain. But she couldn't.

i wish that i could be like the cool kids
'cause all the cool kids
they seem to fit in
i wish that i could be like the cool kids
like the cool kids

( h i s t o r y )

"Aren't you two just darlings?" I laughed as Grams pinched our cheeks. We were only six then, Valencia and I, and we took everything we had for granted. We took our loving family, our big house, our wealth, all for granted. We took our gentle mother and father and brother for granted. We all used to be happy. None of us are now. I've stayed nice. The rest turned naughty. I just wish someone could wave a wand and make everything the way it used to be.

I was only eight when Grams died. I was sad. I was scared. Because I had never seen Mother and Father cry before, and so hard. I thought they would never cry, I thought they'd stay strong, and that made me strong. But I felt weak whenever they cried. Valencia showed no emotion, but she was hurt, I could tell. The whole family died inside and really had no purpose to live. That was when, even though I was too soft, too nice to, I decided to train as a career. I knew Grams wouldn't be proud that I was training to kill, but then I was so panicked and confused and depressed I didn't think straight. But it was still horrible the day I picked up a knife.

"Wha--?"

I looked at the trainer and back at the knife. He nodded grimly, as if it were all normal. Like killing others was okay. And I believed, because at nine, I couldn't really think for myself. But I never changed. I never turned into a ruthless killer. I still have all the mercy in the world and couldn't kill anyone if I tried. But I threw knives, and I became good, quite good. I performed exceedingly in the obstacles as well. I was underestimated by everyone. But I turned out to be a skilled career. If only I wanted to use those skills. But maybe it's better if I don't harm anyone but myself.

[/i][/blockquote]

Valencia wasn't as skilled, but she had the heart and mind of a career. She hates me. She hates me because I'm better than her and I don't even try. She tries so, so hard and I do flips and hit targets with ease while she struggles. I wish it could be switched. Then I wouldn't feel so bad. Then it would all be okay. But I can't. And it's led us to many arguments.

"I hate you! You're so arrogant, such a peacock while I'm just here! How could you?" Valencia shouted. We were 13, and she was obviously having a mood swing. But I wasn't doing anything. I was just training. I was just throwing a knife, just running across the platforms. But that's enough to set her off, I suppose. "I'm sorry it's like this, Cia. I am. But I can't change, I can't get worse for you. But you can always get better. You still have five years. You'll surpass me, you have strength that I don't have." Cia didn't know what to say. She just wanted to be angry at me, and usually it only lasts a second.

I started cutting at 14. People were shocked, but no one stopped me. But Cia cared the first few nights. She got concerned. And then went back to hating me. Back to Cia.

"Tina? Tina, why? I love you." She frowned, looking at my scars, my art. I reply with two simple, empty words. "I know." Cia stared at me, trying to work out my thoughts. "Then why do you still cut?" And I look at her with pain and hurt in my eyes, looking deep into hers and she stared back. "Because you don't show it."

I have never had a conversation like that again, Cia insulted me again the next day. I guess it was too good to be true.

I live in a big house that feels so vacant. We have all the money we could ever want. But it's the loving and gentleness that has disappeared. Mother and Father have grown cold, they don't care much for us. They just feed us and shelter us. I haven't had a decent conversation with them in years.

I don't know why I'm in such pain. I don't know why I live this life. But now that I am, I might as well keep going.

[/color][/justify][/blockquote]

she says they're talking with a big smile
but they haven't got a clue
yeah, they're living the good life
can't see what she's
going through

odair
1539
oops I'm so sorry I was depressed and derp

i wish that i could be like the cool kids
'cause all the cool kids
they seem to fit in
i wish that i could be like the cool kids
like the cool kids

[/size]

[Dreams]

She's finished

[Deleted]

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