More than the Ear can Hear (Open)

[Devin]

There's something about the winter blanket of pristine white snow with the sun reflecting off its surface and making the world look like a bright, happy place that makes me want to vomit. It's this feeling in the pit of my stomach, a rock that sits firmly in the center of me, aching for the days that we hardly remember ever existed because they were too long ago and so much brighter than the days in which we live.

During the summer, I can make the most of things. In the summer, i can convince myself, even if only for a few minutes, that the world is right and that it's worth keeping myself alive. But it's in the winter that I learn the most, I've found. Winter puts many others at a disadvantage, the way that sound carries over snow. You can give your position away by the sounds you make, and when it carries right on over the fluffy white stuff, you're a goner. And you could say that I'm at a disadvantage because I can't hear my enemies coming up upon me when everyone else can hear every sound I make. But I'm quiet, and I don't speak. I've learned to move swiftly and quietly though, mainly out of necessity. When you're at a disadvantage you have to learn to make up for your disability.

You can hear me, but can you smell me? Because I'll know you're there before you can hear or see me, and I'll always be prepared for you. Always. Even in this winter world of snow and sludge, I'm better prepared than you are. I can just about guarantee you that I could lay out out dead before you even knew I was present. And I intend to use that to my advantage, should my name come up in the reaping. My eyes, my sense of smell, my tactile sense is so much stronger than anything a hearing person possesses that I may be less disabled than you think. Someone once told me that a deaf person can do anything except hear. I believe that wholeheartedly.

I don't miss it.

Right now what I miss is the summer, the feeling peace I get when the sun is out and the air is warm. I'm not sure whether or not I'll see the next summer in district six, and I've been trying hard not to think about the possibility of death. My whole world has been focused on getting into college, and if I'm smart enough or good enough, I'll make it there when I'm done with my Capitol education this year. Then my real life starts, thank goodness.

Do I believe in goodness any more? I'm not sure, but I know that if there is any goodness at all, it's my mother. She's the best thing I've ever had in my life and I'm so blessed to have her, even though I know that I have to give her all of myself. She deserves it. I have to make it through this reaping and through the next games. But I've spent too much time focusing on the skills I need for survival. Now is the time to focus on the skills that I'll need for the rest of my life. I live in District Six. Survival isn't a life skill; it's a skill of childhood. I'll make it through. I have no doubt that if I'm reaped, I'll come out the victor. It doesn't bother me any more. My chances are higher, but the pool is bigger. In the end, I'll make it through. I always do.

The air is cold and I wrap my poncho more tightly around me as I make my way from the school building to the small building that my mother rents to do her inventing. She's been working on a special project lately, and I want to see what she's been putting together. I'm shivering, teeth chattering so hard that I swear I can hear them, but I know that's just an illusion of the sensation. I taste cold, and I think for a moment that it's blood until I pick up on the fact that it's probably just the icy air that has that metallic taste to it this time of year. My lips are chapped, but I don't have the thought to stop and put something on them to soothe them. Instead, I simply go on intently walking in the direction of the shop, hoping that I won't be interrupting her this time, but eager to find out what the project is and if there is anything that I can do to help.

[killz4food]

Tesla Antiony of District 6 [/color] [/font] [/i]

Effing winter.

Tesla was waiting for school to end. Tired of the capitols lie. Being brainwashed to believe that the games are good. That the peace keepers are here to help us. All this crap that isn't true. But it was how it worked. Some people fell into the lies, some people stayed strong for their morals and what the believed in. But that was few. Tesla squeezed the jacket around himself when the breeze hit the window and blew into the classroom.

After class was over Tesla hurried out, ready to get out and home. But he had to head to the factory, which was exactly what he did. He had the blueprints layed out for a project.

[Devin]

Arsenic Levine, District 6

The wind is too cold, and I tuck the hood of my coat up over my ears, which I swear are frozen like ice. My hand brushes against one and it's as though I've touched metal that has been left out in the snow for too long. My teeth are chattering, and though I cannot hear the sound that they make, I know that the shivering is absurd, and that this time I'm showing a bit of a weakness. I'm so focused on the sensation of cold as I reach for the door to the workshop that I almost don't notice the movement behind me. It's a rare thing that I am so absorbed in what I'm doing that I don't notice the unfamiliar motions and scents around me, and the moment I catch a whiff of male, my head jerks up and I spin around, meeting the eyes of the boy, my hands out of my pockets instantly. I have to force them to unfurl from the fists that they formed instantly in self defense.

Whatever I'd been expecting, this wasn't it, and I instantly drop my hands. He seems determined, as though he has somewhere to go, and I have no way of asking him what's on his mind. My own hands are shaking, and I turn to look over my shoulder toward the workshop and my mother, then take a deep breath. My hand gestures will mean nothing to him, and I push back the instinct to use to ask him what he's doing here and who he is. How would he tell me his name anyway? I would see his mouth move, but that means nothing. I will know him by scent from this moment on anyway.

Taking a deep breath, I tuck my hair behind my ears inside my hood and tug it sharply up over my head as I watch him for a moment, then hold a hand up to get his attention. How is it that he didn't hear me here? Surely there had to have been signs. Snow must have a sound, mustn't it? But I don't know; I've been deaf from birth. After a moment, I reach my hand out and put it on his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

[killz4food]

Tesla Antiony of District 6 [/color] [/font] [/i]

Tesla smiled. The girl seemed scared, most likely traumatized. He didn't know what to say so he just waved at her and mouthed the word "hi" and reached out his hand. Of course his own hands were cold and he didn't have anything to warm them with except his own body heat, but the bitter cold wasn't keeping him very warm either. So there was only the thin winter coat he had.

[Devin]

Arsenic Levine, District 6

I shiver, but not only from the cold that seems to permeate my body right through my coat. The winter has gone on for long enough, and I am tired of being cold all the time, but when the boy puts his hand out for mine, I take it and give it a firm shake before pulling my own back and putting my hands back into my pockets for warmth and for comfort. The sky is open, the sun shining down, but it is cold and the snow isn't melting. My feet feel frozen inside my shoes, and I ignore the discomfort for a moment while I ponder where he could be going, and what he's doing so close to my mother's workshop.

But it doesn't bear dwelling on. There are people everywhere, all the time. It doesn't matter whether or not he's nearby. I am only worried about how I can get to where I'm going, and by "where" I mean much more than just my physical location. If he can help me get there, then I'll be happy enough to let him in. I flash a grin at him, then nod my head, wishing momentarily that I could speak. I once thought about carrying a bag with my namesake inside of it so that I could show it to people who then would have no doubt about my identity.

I am Arsenic, and I am just as deadly. The thought makes me smiled without thinking about it, and I give him a nod. Although I know that he won't know what the gesture means, I show him my name, thinking again about the white powder that might be a better explanation, unless he chose to taste it. That though, too, is humorous to me, and I laugh out loud, then shake my head and give a small wave.

[bookie]

I lift my hand, pushing my oversized glasses up a little bit. They slip down too much; I make a mental note to replace them sometime. But for now, I must, for the sake of my own health, come into the main District - much as I hate the idea. Truly repulsive, to know that the laughing faces of the regular folk will be there to greet you, to say happy things in those cheerful tones that make me wish I could be back in my brightly lit laboratory, working on my newest breakthrough. I know I am close to what I'm looking for, I just know it!... even if I don't quite know what I am trying to achieve.

The snow crunches under my feet as I trudge along the icy streets, keeping my eyes fixed firmly ahead, not looking anybody in the eye. Pausing to push up my glasses once again, I hurry forwards, staring at my boots as I run, not wanting to look at anybody, and not wanting anybody to look at me.

I head towards the factory, seeking to buy some new materials that I can experiment with in my spare time. My numb, freezing fingers close around the small gun in my pocket that I came up with one day, just to satisfy my biting paranoia. It is quite harmless, really; its only purpose is to intimidate and give people who come too close an electric shock. But the little gun was my last invention, and I am fresh out of materials.

In my other pocket is a whole wad of money. Money, I find, will usually get you what you desire - and how much money I possess at the current moment is enough to get me quite a lot of materials, more than enough.

Nobody notices me as I hunch down into my thick winter coat, shivering a little bit. Goodness knows I'm short enough anyway, so all the other eleven-going-on-twelve-year-olds are far taller than I am. But I am far more capable; I believe that evens it out.