~*Just Like a Tattoo*~ [OPEN]
Jun 28, 2011 22:48:24 GMT -5
Post by footie13 on Jun 28, 2011 22:48:24 GMT -5
-Sienna Emerson-
I sat in the dense forest around me, completely alone. Everything was silent except for the distant sound of a tree falling over and crashing to the ground. The sound filled me with pain and bitter memories. Go farther. I commanded myself, and with my old knives secured in my belt, I ran farther into the woods until the crashing of the trees was no more than a mere thud, a small as the sound my footsteps made. But changing something in any way doesn't make it different than what it really is, and I knew this. I couldn't keep running from reality forever. One day I would have to face the fact that my mother was dead, and there was no way I could live without that thought in my mind. It was pressed in my mind, unchanging, like one of those crazy tattoos all the capital people sported on their bodies. It was a part of me, whether I wanted it or not.
Even with the truth right in front of me, I kept running. There was no sound now. I was far into Capital territory now. If anyone found me, I'd be dead. Or worse, an Avox. Nah... death would be worse. Or... maybe... I stretched out the thought as long as I could, for it kept me from thinking of anything else. The mind can think of only one thing at a time. But I knew the answer... if I had to choose, I'd choose death. I'd get away from this insane life in District 7. I'd get away from the faux beauty, copies, and cruelty of the Capital. I wouldn’t be so depressed because of my lack of friends. And, most important, I'd never be a part of their Hunger Games, nor would I have to see someone I love go into them. This brought the thought of my five-year-old brother being reaped for the Hunger Games... that alone was enough to think of death as a sweet escape. Death seemed better than life itself. Sienna! What are you thinking! I yelled at myself. First, you were thinking of your mother. Now you're thinking of suicide. I was right. I need not think anymore... just feel. Feel the earth beneath my toes, feel the wind toss my hair.
I was just walking, when I abruptly stopped. Go back. My conscience warned me quietly, giving me that queasy feeling in my stomach. I shrugged it off. It came again, louder, GO BACK. With a groan, I turned around and headed back the way I came. The thud of falling trees became audible again, and I could make out the smoke from the factories where they made the wooden products. "Happy?" I said out loud, to my conscience. So lame, your only friend is yourself. I thought grimly, pulling a rusted knife out of its sheath, and continuing to walk along.
I stopped in the middle of a clearing. It was a small, circular clearing with soft grass and a patch of vibrant yellow wild flowers. My knife was clenched in my right hand as I carefully took out a long piece of chalk. Chalk is the best for marking trees with. I sloppily drew a life-sized person on the tree, making a small mark at the critical points I would hit when attacking a person. Then, I drew more on the other trees until six poorly drawn people surrounded me. My eyes narrowed on the person right in front of me, and in a split second, I sent my knife flying forward and into the tree trunk.
It hit with enough force to stick deep into the tree trunk. I didn't take time to check where I hit the person as I pulled out two more knives, one in each hand, and whipped around to face another person. I threw one at him, then turned one person to the left and threw another while simultaneously grabbing another knife.
I stood there, fists clenched, when the last of my six knives soared through the air and into the tree. Then I raced to collect my knives. I walked to the first one I threw. Right in the chest at the heart mark. I grinned and pulled it out. The next, right in the neck. The third, barely above the heart. That'd still count as a fatal shot... I thought as I pried it out of the tree trunk. The fourth was lodged right in the person's neck, the fifth in the person's stomach, and the sixth missed the mark entirely. I was aiming for the stomach, but instead, it hit his left thigh. "How did this happen?" I asked in awe, tugging the sixth knife lose and securing it on my belt. I mean, I've missed marks before, but not at this magnitude. I knew the answer... and I knew that I knew it. It was simple. My mother was on my mind. I was thinking of how much I missed her. But I was trying to remove my tattoo. I had no time to think about it, nor did I want to. But tattoos are permanent. "Shut up!" I yelled. At times like this, I hate my common sense.
I had nothing to do back at District 7. No job to report to... no friends to hang out with. So I stayed and practiced for longer. My aim became progressively worse and worse, and I decided to call it quits after the seventh round when a shot meant for the heart hit the person's forehead. What is UP with you today, Sienna? I asked myself. Where is your focus? I was tracing the rough texture of the bark with my pointer finger, slowly making my way down the trunk. Then a feeling surged through me... a feeling of anger and failure. The feeling overwhelmed me so much, before I even knew what I was doing, I unsheathed a knife and brought my right arm forward with all the force contained in my tiny body to stab it into the tree.
Searing pain ripped through my body as I heard a sickening crunch. Trees don't make that sound. I looked down and my amber eyes widened in horror. I had lodged the knife right in my left hand. It had gone halfway through at least, and blood was seeping out of the wound, but the knife stopped most of the bleeding. Shock took over and numbed the pain as I stared at my hand. I didn't know what to do. Do I pull it out, or leave it in? Where do I go? Suddenly, my thoughts became blurred and run-together. I couldn't remember why I was here, or where my home was. Then the pain kicked in.
The pain was agonizing. "Agggggggggggh!" I screamed. It was a pain I have never felt before. My body reacted to the pain faster than the brain did, and before I could logically think of what to do about the knife, my hand yanked it out. My body knew it was the cause of all the pain I was feeling. Pulling out the knife was a reflex to protect itself. When the blood began to drizzle out, and then flow out like a river, I knew that I had chosen the wrong course of action. My free hand clutched the wounded one so tightly it cut off the circulation. I couldn't think straight. If I wasn't freaking out, I could've remembered to tear of some cloth and do my best to bandage the wound. But my only thought was this; the agony I was going through.
I screamed and screamed, the blood oozing and my mind whirring. Soon, the blackness crept up on me like a panther stalking its prey, and with one, short leap, the blackness engulfed me.
I sat in the dense forest around me, completely alone. Everything was silent except for the distant sound of a tree falling over and crashing to the ground. The sound filled me with pain and bitter memories. Go farther. I commanded myself, and with my old knives secured in my belt, I ran farther into the woods until the crashing of the trees was no more than a mere thud, a small as the sound my footsteps made. But changing something in any way doesn't make it different than what it really is, and I knew this. I couldn't keep running from reality forever. One day I would have to face the fact that my mother was dead, and there was no way I could live without that thought in my mind. It was pressed in my mind, unchanging, like one of those crazy tattoos all the capital people sported on their bodies. It was a part of me, whether I wanted it or not.
Even with the truth right in front of me, I kept running. There was no sound now. I was far into Capital territory now. If anyone found me, I'd be dead. Or worse, an Avox. Nah... death would be worse. Or... maybe... I stretched out the thought as long as I could, for it kept me from thinking of anything else. The mind can think of only one thing at a time. But I knew the answer... if I had to choose, I'd choose death. I'd get away from this insane life in District 7. I'd get away from the faux beauty, copies, and cruelty of the Capital. I wouldn’t be so depressed because of my lack of friends. And, most important, I'd never be a part of their Hunger Games, nor would I have to see someone I love go into them. This brought the thought of my five-year-old brother being reaped for the Hunger Games... that alone was enough to think of death as a sweet escape. Death seemed better than life itself. Sienna! What are you thinking! I yelled at myself. First, you were thinking of your mother. Now you're thinking of suicide. I was right. I need not think anymore... just feel. Feel the earth beneath my toes, feel the wind toss my hair.
I was just walking, when I abruptly stopped. Go back. My conscience warned me quietly, giving me that queasy feeling in my stomach. I shrugged it off. It came again, louder, GO BACK. With a groan, I turned around and headed back the way I came. The thud of falling trees became audible again, and I could make out the smoke from the factories where they made the wooden products. "Happy?" I said out loud, to my conscience. So lame, your only friend is yourself. I thought grimly, pulling a rusted knife out of its sheath, and continuing to walk along.
I stopped in the middle of a clearing. It was a small, circular clearing with soft grass and a patch of vibrant yellow wild flowers. My knife was clenched in my right hand as I carefully took out a long piece of chalk. Chalk is the best for marking trees with. I sloppily drew a life-sized person on the tree, making a small mark at the critical points I would hit when attacking a person. Then, I drew more on the other trees until six poorly drawn people surrounded me. My eyes narrowed on the person right in front of me, and in a split second, I sent my knife flying forward and into the tree trunk.
It hit with enough force to stick deep into the tree trunk. I didn't take time to check where I hit the person as I pulled out two more knives, one in each hand, and whipped around to face another person. I threw one at him, then turned one person to the left and threw another while simultaneously grabbing another knife.
I stood there, fists clenched, when the last of my six knives soared through the air and into the tree. Then I raced to collect my knives. I walked to the first one I threw. Right in the chest at the heart mark. I grinned and pulled it out. The next, right in the neck. The third, barely above the heart. That'd still count as a fatal shot... I thought as I pried it out of the tree trunk. The fourth was lodged right in the person's neck, the fifth in the person's stomach, and the sixth missed the mark entirely. I was aiming for the stomach, but instead, it hit his left thigh. "How did this happen?" I asked in awe, tugging the sixth knife lose and securing it on my belt. I mean, I've missed marks before, but not at this magnitude. I knew the answer... and I knew that I knew it. It was simple. My mother was on my mind. I was thinking of how much I missed her. But I was trying to remove my tattoo. I had no time to think about it, nor did I want to. But tattoos are permanent. "Shut up!" I yelled. At times like this, I hate my common sense.
I had nothing to do back at District 7. No job to report to... no friends to hang out with. So I stayed and practiced for longer. My aim became progressively worse and worse, and I decided to call it quits after the seventh round when a shot meant for the heart hit the person's forehead. What is UP with you today, Sienna? I asked myself. Where is your focus? I was tracing the rough texture of the bark with my pointer finger, slowly making my way down the trunk. Then a feeling surged through me... a feeling of anger and failure. The feeling overwhelmed me so much, before I even knew what I was doing, I unsheathed a knife and brought my right arm forward with all the force contained in my tiny body to stab it into the tree.
Searing pain ripped through my body as I heard a sickening crunch. Trees don't make that sound. I looked down and my amber eyes widened in horror. I had lodged the knife right in my left hand. It had gone halfway through at least, and blood was seeping out of the wound, but the knife stopped most of the bleeding. Shock took over and numbed the pain as I stared at my hand. I didn't know what to do. Do I pull it out, or leave it in? Where do I go? Suddenly, my thoughts became blurred and run-together. I couldn't remember why I was here, or where my home was. Then the pain kicked in.
The pain was agonizing. "Agggggggggggh!" I screamed. It was a pain I have never felt before. My body reacted to the pain faster than the brain did, and before I could logically think of what to do about the knife, my hand yanked it out. My body knew it was the cause of all the pain I was feeling. Pulling out the knife was a reflex to protect itself. When the blood began to drizzle out, and then flow out like a river, I knew that I had chosen the wrong course of action. My free hand clutched the wounded one so tightly it cut off the circulation. I couldn't think straight. If I wasn't freaking out, I could've remembered to tear of some cloth and do my best to bandage the wound. But my only thought was this; the agony I was going through.
I screamed and screamed, the blood oozing and my mind whirring. Soon, the blackness crept up on me like a panther stalking its prey, and with one, short leap, the blackness engulfed me.
