secrets & lies [chloe and violet]

[florentine, d4b ❁]

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Violet Sage Etherage | District Eight | Seventeen

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The window is cold and hard against my pale cheek, and outside it's still a'rainin' like it's never rained before. For your information, it has rained before. It's always rainin' here, and I'm always sittin' by the window and watchin' the sky empty itself on the street, wishin' I could go out and be free to dance in the rain. People use the term 'to wash away ones sorrows' and I'm sittin' here and wonderin' if I could go out in this hammerin' rain my sorrows would all end up in the puddles on the streets, not clingin' to me like they can't let go. I doubt it, though. They all seem pretty stuck to me. While I'm watchin' the rain, I'm rememberin' a happier time, a time when I thought I was sad but in reality I was a lot more free than I am now, because for now I'm all trapped in this prison and then I was slightly less trapped. That's the thing with Panem. You're born trapped and you grow up trapped, and then your sister goes and gets herself killed and you end up even more trapped, trapped in your head as well as your bedroom and District. I guess I'm kind of ramblin' here, but these are the kinds of things I think of when I stare at the rain. Rememberin'. Wonderin'. Not dreamin'. Gave up dreamin' when she died, because that was when I was a murder and murderers don't deserve to have dreams or a future.

And then I'm seeing myself playin' in the rain with perfect Elsie, feeling the droplets thunderin' down on my cheeks as though I'm maybe crying, but I'm not, I'm laughin' and dancin' and shiverin' and enjoyin' myself, only a wee one at the time. It's not just a picture in my head, it's a memory, something I really did when I was about nine years old, playin' on the street with my sister. It's no innocent, so happy a scene, just us dancin' in the rain, our hair hangin' and straggly all around our faces. No raincoat, barefoot. If you where to capture that moment, it you'd never notice the distance between the two sisters, the looks they where givin' one another. You wouldn't see the shadowy shape of the father watchin' from the window, waitin' to catch them and tell them off when they finally came inside for tea. You could never know that the mama was quietly cookin' away, hopin' that what she was makin' would be to her husbands taste, because if it wern't she wouldn't be so happy later on. She's worryin', to, for her innocent children, because she sees the difference between perfect, pretty Elsie and ugly, useless little Violet. Maybe she's wishin' Violet was never born. The girls are still happily playin', but the smallest is beginnin' to worry. She's thinkin' that maybe if Elsie is reaped when she turns twelve then she will never be able to play in the rain again, because she's only allowed to do things when Elsie is doing them to. Sometimes not even then. So she plays, trying to capture the moment because she's not often this happy. And then the hands come out to push her down and she tumbles into the mud, scrapin' her knee and beginnin' to cry. She pouts up from the ground at her sister, who saunters away from her, still dancin' happily.

Papa is watchin' his daughters from the window, but when they come inside he doesn't tell of Elsie for pushin' her little sister down. He hits little Violet for gettin' her dress muddy, and then hits her harder when she tries to say it was her big sister who sent her tumblin' down. The happy image is shattered, and the little one is sent to bed without dinner. Dinner itself isn't pleasin' Papa, and Mama gets in trouble too and only Elsie goes to bed happy.

Now I'm sittin' here and it feels like the same rain, and it feels like I'm all muddy and cryin' still, and Elsie is still alive smilin' at me gleefully. I miss those days, because although I didn't think I was happy, I was happier than I am now. Then I was innocent, not a murderer. Then I was free enough and not trapped in my own room. I never dare to go out, never dare to undo the latch and let the cold air come inside because I know that if Papa found out he would hit me again, and it would hurt so and I would have to do all I could not to cry and cry and cry. So I'll just sit here, blinkin' out at the rain with my cheek pressed up against the cold, cold glass not dreamin', because murderers don't deserve to dream.

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tagging danny, violet sage. counted at 849 words. muse rain.wearing clothes. lots of clothes.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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[{danny}]

Walking is a fun thing, even if it is so simple. It lets you see everyone, everything, and it gives you excessive to. I walk because it's not like District Eight has a lot of cars, and walking is fun. So I walk around and I walk up one street and down another. I walk passed a big building and passed a small one, until I can't walk anymore. I stop and sit by the curb, next to a house, where I see a girl looking out the window. She's probably wondering why I'm out in the rain. "HI! CAN YOU HEAR ME?" Chloe shouts, trying to get the girl's attention.

ooc; BLITZ AHOY!

[florentine, d4b ❁]

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Violet Sage Etherage | District Eight | Seventeen

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It's rainin' and it's pourin' and I'm still just sittin' here. I'd run and run and run, but I wouldn't know where to go, and besides I wouldn't survive out in the wilderness for even a minute, not without knowin' what to eat and what to drink and how to stay safe. So I'm trapped, still, trapped in my mind and my heart and my house and the District and Panem, with no where to go and no way of gettin' there. I'm practically rottin' away here, with only momma combin' my hair and tryn' to force a litte food into me where she can. I try to stay out of the way of papa, because I only make him angry, what with me bein' so ungly and worthless and stupid. I don't blame him, I guess. If I had a perfect daughter and a careless one who would never amount to nothin', and the perfect one died, wouldn't you wish the other had gone? I know I wish I had died and my sister had lived, because her life was so much better than mine. She wouldn't have allowed herself to become a'trapped here, and moulder away in mommas prison. She thinks she's doin' me good, does momma. Thinks she's keepin' me safe and well, however she's not, she's killin' me real slowly, as I sit and watch the rain fall and wish it could wash away my sorrows the way it washes the grime from the pavements.

As I think, another memory comes to me, clearer than the first and filled with so much more emotion the memory where I fell into the mud in the rain. This memory is much more terrible, one I truly do not wish to see again. But it plays like a broken record over and over again in my heart and I can't seem to make it stop.

It starts like it always does. I'm sittin' there, at my desk, completely able to go where I please and be where I want about the District. But I'm not playin', not today, I'm thinkin' of an invention, like I often used to when I was younger. I'd invent all sorts of things, really, learn the ways of mechanics and machines and electricity. I understand how all of that works, and I did that day to. Elsie was workin' the next mornin', down at the factory, the factory that no longer stands, because it burned to the ground only a month after Elsie died. So, anyway, I was sittin' there at the desk and I was plannin', really, somethin' to scare her with the next day. I was thinkin', maybe, if I could get the machine to start spinnin' faster it might teach her a big of a lesson, show her that she's not so invincible and perfect. I thought I might get her into trouble with her boss and she might be taken down a few pegs, for she really looked up to that man. So I was sittin' there, I remember, drawin' the sketch for what I needed to do, and how I would do it. I can almost feel the hard wood of the chair beneath me, the warmth of the fire behind me. The smokey, cosy smell in the air. I remember licking my lips and tasting blood, but ignorin' it, for I often bite my lip when I'm a thinkin' real hard. So I ignore the blood and keep on goin', then blow out my candle and fall asleep in my bed. Next mornin' comes fast and cold, and I wrap up real warm to keep from dyin' of frostbite or somethin' else. And then I set out across the District, wishin' I had a train or a car or somethin' to make it quicker. Anyway, I didn't, so I walked for hours and hours in the snow, tryin' to get to the factory where she made the clothes. And I found it, and I climbed right up to the floor and spent a little time sittin' there and fiddlin' about with the machine before the factory opened, and then I left, went back out onto the streets and all the way home. I passed my sister on the way, headin' out there, and I smiled at her, and she scowled at me and we went on our ways. I thought, maybe she'll be a better person when I next see her. I never saw her again, not even at her funeral. I cried at her funeral, like all good sisters should. But the tears where wrong. I was a'cryin' for me, and not for her. For what I had done and who I had become. I'm a monster. When did this happen?

Now I am awoken from my dreams with a tap tap tappin' on my window, and a voice callin' up to me from the street outside. She's drippin' wet from the pourin' rain, but she's yellin' to me. I don't yell back, no no, I put my finger to my lips to shush her and open the latch carefully, prisin' it open and letting the raindrops splatter in my face. Free. Alone. The girl is lookin' up at me, and I look down at her.

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tagging danny, violet sage. counted at 849 words. muse rain.wearing clothes. lots of clothes.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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