Template Reference

[florentine, district four ❁]

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tagging tag. counted at 000 words. muse whatcha listening to? wearing clothes go here. lyrics from secret by maroon five! credit r a w r it's e m m a ! of caution. notes notes!

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[florentine, district four ❁]

[img*]A PRETTY BANNER HERE OR TWO TWO HUNDRED BY THREE HUNDRED GRAPHICS

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LYRICS LYRICS LYRICS LYRICS LYRICS
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WORDS COUNT how many words, yo? minus coding.
STATUS finished? unfinished?
OUTFIT polvore link here
NOTES anything else really?
MUSIC music used for inspiration or what you are rocking out to.
CREDIT MADE BY CC! OF CAUTION 2.0.

[florentine, district four ❁]

200 X 300 picture

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'' take your past and burn it up and let
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'' words like this ''
thoughts like this

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tagged: tagged for !
word count: spell it out !
notes: rawr !
outfit: click !
lyrics: ...to be loved - papa roach !
credit:NOTHING_PERSONAL @ CAUTION !

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[florentine, district four ❁]

IMAGE!! Works best if it's 200x400

TYPE HURRR. Talking is usually in bold.

ATTIRE

[/color] what are you wearing?? CREDIT SAM !? of Confronting the Faceless. Don't remove the credit or I will find you. LYRICS brick by boring brick - paramore NOTES notes here WORD COUNT how many words?? [/center][/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[florentine, district four ❁]

YOU CAN FEEL THE POUNDING WRAPPED AROUND YOUR CHEST
FIRSTNAMELASTNAME

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NOTHING'S TOO EXCESSIVE WHEN YOU'VE GOT NOTHING LEFT
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"Dialogue!"

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'Thoughts!'[/color]
Regular descriptionness?![/size][/font]

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WE'RE ALL HERE CAUSE WE LOST CONTROL WE'RE ALL HERE CAUSE
WELOSTCONTROL

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WE'RE ALL HERE CAUSE WE LOST CONTROL WE'RE ALL HERE CAUSE[/center]

•tags• Tags here!
•status• Status here
•comments• write the comments here
•word count• how many words?!
•lyrics• DIE TONIGHT, LIVE FOREVER by InnerPartySystem
•credit• AMANDA THE PIRATE * @ CAUTION !

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[florentine, district four ❁]

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LEAVEMYDOOROPENJUSTACRACK
((T A K E M E A W A Y F R O M H E R E))!!!

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Comments││
Outfit││
Lyrics││ Fireflies by Owl City
Word Count││
Status││
Credit││ Goes to caitlin_express@CAUTION 2.0<3

[florentine, district four ❁]

PICTURE ONE

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TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT TEXT
WORDS WORDS WORDS WORDS
THINKING THINKING THINKING

`tagged;; person you've tagged
`notes;; any notes?
`words;; how many?.
`listening to;; whatever song
`lyrics used;; use somebody - kings of leon
`graphics by;; rora @ hos
`credit to;; rora @ hos[/font][/size][/center]

[florentine, district four ❁]

YOU CAN FEEL THE POUNDING WRAPPED AROUND YOUR CHEST
(NAMELESS)DEMPSEY

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NOTHING'S TOO EXCESSIVE WHEN YOU'VE GOT NOTHING LEFT
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"Dialogue."

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'Thoughts.'[/color]
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My footsteps are the only sound I hear. Steady, rhythmic, comforting. The only thing that is always the same in my life. They are the one thing I can always rely on being there – consistent, paced, in my control. That a lesson I learnt very early on in life – the only one you can truly rely on is you. This especially applies when the only family member you have left has hated you almost as much as you hate him since before you where born. I am walking down the hall, but my mind is not noting the screams and cries of my peers, not seeing the freak-show before me. I am far away, feeling the rain on my cheeks and breathing in the damp smell of soil and tears. They are, of course, not my tears. I don’t cry, although I have every reason to. My face is stony and emotionless as it was all those years ago, on the day I am remembering so clearly. So clearly it is almost as if I where still there, shuddering in the freezing wind and wondering if the black dress I am wearing will ever be quite the same again. It wasn’t, by the way. The water that soaked it’s heavy netting right through ruined it forever, but after that day I never really cared in quite the same way about such things. I was only tiny then – my exact age I don’t know – but I still remember every detail, every smoky taste and vividly horrifying site as if I where still standing in the rain. In a way, I am. Every day I live it over and over again, bitterly wondering if I could have done something different. Even then my footsteps where steady below me, carrying my tiny, white-faced body over to the funeral ensemble to wait. The smell of tears in the air lingered until long after everybody else had gone. At the time, I thought it my business to be there with my father, but now I realize that I should have left long before nightfall.

As a child, you notice the strangest of things. They stick with you forever. Things you will never forget, despite the fact that they no longer bare even a shred of relevance to your life. Meaningless things, like the footsteps, that hold you together. Memories you cling to. Flashes of hope. The images I hold from that day are strange ones for a child attending a funeral. I see bright colors, maybe flowers, maybe the sunset, and I see my own pale and wide-eyed face staring back at me from the depths of a mirror. I also cling to another face, a face so much like mine. The eyes are the same, so filled with merciless ice that it is hard to believe we do not see the world in the same way. In a way, we do. Cold hearts, pale faces. Stony and vividly emotionless murderers, each in our own right. He kills cold-bloodedly, without reason. It’s impressive, but I am the one who has killed grown women by simply existing. It’s not such a bad thing, being hated so deeply and vengefully that you sometimes feel that there is not escape. In a twisted kind of way, it snaps everything into perspective. Never yet has my dear brother attempted to kill me, but I am sure this is simply for the reason that he wishes to take his time, frighten me, torture me with the unknown. I don’t mind, really. Having somebody hate me so strongly gives me a reasonless excuse to hate him blindly back with all of my heart. And we both know it’s easier to hate than to love.

When I was born, my life was already set out for me. I lived obliviously and cheerfully until that fateful funeral, which changed my life forever. I can still feel the rain on my cheeks. It gave me a good way of hiding the fact that I wasn’t crying. Most people, at least once in their lives, do their best to conceal the fact that they are weeping. I am forced to do the opposite, if only so people do not realize the extent of my emotionlessness and cold-heartedness. It’s deep, bone deep. Running through my blood. I’m bitter and sarcastic and ice-cold and there is nothing I can do to change that. I stopped trying long ago, when my brother’s hazel eyes met mine and I knew that it was only a matter of time. A matter of time before we came face to face in a battle which can only produce one victor. I remember everything so clearly, every moment and every second since his mother died. I’m clever, yes, but sometimes I wonder if I’m clever enough. I think he’s afraid of me, to be honest. Still working out exactly how dangerous I am. I have only one answer.

Too dangerous

I began to remember more details of the funeral; our father’s drunken cries, Lilianne’s still yet weeping face. My own hair forming a shield over my face, concealing the slightest of smiles. Not a smile at the poor woman’s death. She had chosen to die, and I didn’t understand death at the time. No, I was smiling in bitter, glass-clear understanding of the world around me. Of my brother. Of my father. Of the whole of District One. Of Panem. And of how to make them hurt. That day I saw the grief in everyone’s eyes. I was old enough to put the pieces together. Death meant sadness, deep, dark sadness. The kind of sadness I felt all of the time, haunting me like a blanket of pain over my mind. If I could kill, I could share with the world how I felt, and maybe that would fix me. I didn’t have to be alone in my sadness. The world could pay for the hand fate had dealt me.

“You!” a voice rings out across the hallway, jerking me from the vivid daydream I am playing out in my head. My eyes snap alert, vulnerable for only a second before they became cold and hard as hailstones, piercing whatever comes into contact with them. My eyes meet my brother’s eyes and again the world snaps into perspective. I know who I am and I know what I want. I can feel the hate in the air, thick as morning dew. I can taste the pain and suffering on my tongue, I can smell the thirst for blood all around us. I smile cooly, waiting. ”What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, his tone familiar and deadly to anyone but me. Others would know when to cower down and back away, but I have no limits. I continue to smile, my eyes more dangerous and deadly than imaginable.

“Brother dear,” I exclaim, my tone as threatening as my gaze, ”How simply wonderful to see you!” My voice is cheery to anybody listening, but I know Kaelen can hear the bitter sarcasm behind the smile. I lock my gaze with his and consider his second question. What the hell am I doing here? Do I tell him the truth? That I needed a way out of the district, and following in his footsteps was the only way. No. I can’t admit to weakness. Not with him, not with anyone. Instead I avert my gaze and say, my voice still strong and cold, ”I live here now. It’ll be just like old times.” I let me smile dropped and looked around me. The people passing probably saw a girl reuniting with her brother and pondering on happy childhood memories of playing and fighting good-naturedly around a garden hose. Not years of bitter fury all crammed onto one moment of blind hatred. I look back at him, sure not to display a single sign of nerves. In truth, I didn’t live there at all. I has simply turned up for shock value and would be in the woods again by nightfall. Kaelen didn’t need to know that. There where many things about me my brother didn’t know, and we weren’t about to start playing happy-families now.

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WE'RE ALL HERE CAUSE WE LOST CONTROL WE'RE ALL HERE CAUSE
WELOSTCONTROL

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•tags• South
•status•
•comments•
•word count• 1,372
•lyrics• DIE TONIGHT, LIVE FOREVER by InnerPartySystem
•credit• AMANDA THE PIRATE * @ CAUTION !

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