D6 // FINN A. [DONE]

[cass]

Name: Finn A.
Age: 16
Gender: Male
District/Area: District 6
Appearance:

Personality:

Finn is a child at heart, and so he is treated like one. He’s always off to his ‘adventures’ (the nurses call it ‘schizophrenia’ but he does his very best to ignore the fact that he’s sick), always gone by midday to melt off to another world of his own. That’s what his mother always told him, to never stay in just one place. “Try and search for new things, Finn.” It’s like a vow he keeps, a vow he constantly keeps feeding and doing it will stay alive – quite unlike his mother who became an actual sacrificing hero instead of the ones in flying capes by protecting little Finn from the blows of men who replace the shape embedded on his mother’s bed, but never once tried to be the father Finn never had. Finn’s been to many, many worlds that you might think he’d grow tired of seeing new things, but there’s the gnawing feeling that Mama may be out there, in another world, and maybe – just maybe – a man named father may be there too.

[/size][/blockquote]History:

""We have left the Dark Days behind us for good. Those days of endless fear, of shotgun lullabies and blood running out of our veins like water. With the Treaty of Treason, we hope to face a future of harmony, of balance, of justice to serve the crimes of the past."

The hypocrisy is met with increasing resentment as more and more Games lead to adolescent deaths, but the government has more tricks up its sleeve in terrorizing its own citizens. In the same time of the declaration of the treaty, confidential folders were passed on to selected hands and years later, graphical records will show the slow yet steady advancement of the Capitol’s new medicines. The cause will result an outrage, but they know the greatest trick of them all: to successfully hide something is to place it right under their noses.

The Home used to be one of the most efficient hospitals in Six – used to be. Now all that’s left are peeling paint and cracks in the walls, hospital staff that have been working for all their life in the same place every single day, and the same set of patients it has become a makeshift orphanage – and somehow it’s become exactly like that, except no one ever seems to be going out.

You have been put here for a reason. You are too fragile for the outside, but in here you will be safe.

A hospital. An orphanage. A prison. Welcome Home." <-- Written by Tattle ^.^

[/size]
[/blockquote]Codeword: OH HAI DAIR
Comments/Other:

OF THE SEA

KINGDOM COME

[cass]

[bg=143D2C][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] schiz•o•phre•ni•a /ˌskitsəˈfrēnēə/ 1 a long-term mental disorder of a type involving a breakdown in the relation between thought, emotion, and behavior, leading to faulty perception, inappropriate actions and feelings, withdrawal from reality and personal relationships into fantasy and delusion, and a sense of mental fragmentation 2 (in general use) A mentality or approach characterized by inconsistent or contradictory elements Run, run, run away Buy yourself another day A cold wind's whispering secrets in your ear So low and only you can hear Run, run, run and hide

[/color][/right]

Mama use to tell me a lot of stories. They were always the best kind of stories, and Mama was the best at telling them. She would sit on the tip, top of my bed, her legs folded beneath her small frame, her eyes wide and as vivid as the way she read. The words would leap from her lips and sometimes I could pretend (I could pretend with my eyes, wide, wide open, the way the doctors say isn't real, because you don't dream awake. You can't dream with your eyes open, dreams aren't real that way. You dream when you sleep) that every little word she said was happening. As though those very scenes that she spoke could spring to life as a flower can jump into existence within a few short moments. Galloping horses would race away from the very words that made them them, a prince would stand tall and proud, a gleaming sword strapped to his waist. Dragons could roar and if you leaned forwards and listened closely enough you could hear the wind as it whispered, cheering the heroes onwards. They would dance around her fiery hair, leaping images that collided and crashed together and formed the words of a story I would never tire from hearing. They echo in my head, her soft words, her brilliant words and the times in which she would shout them out as though she was that king she was their queen as well[/s][/color], that mighty warrior calling on her people, asking them to fight for her and fight they would. I would stand beside her as she ruffled my hair, telling me that I was a brave, brave knight.

But words are like wind. Words are not a promise, say it once you can pretend it never happened. So if you want to make it real you have to believe in it. So I say my words over and over and over again. I repeat them like a song, like a chant, where they embed themselves in to my mind. A million ears have heard them and so I cannot break my promise to Mama and everyone knows so. Words can be real- those people always remind me that they aren't. They are just stories, so they tell me they aren't true. 'Tis all in my head. Just like they tell me Mama was not a hero. And those memories are as thin and flimsy as the dreams that I desperately cling to. It is like a vow, a pray and a promise to Mama. I said I'd find her, she told me to never ever stop looking and I won't. As long as I remember her and as long as I keep searching for her, slipping into those dreams that give me the joy that nothing else does, I know I will find her. From my very first memory of this place I can remember saying the very same words. Repeating them over and over and over again, like a sweet little chant. The doctors told me to stop, but I couldn't. So I repeated the words exactly how the fairies did it, exactly how the princess sung when they waited for their prince charming and I would breathe those words beneath where no one could hear them. They were the only promise I could keep to her, the only way I could tell my little shattered heart that I would see her again and that maybe beside my Mama there would be her very own prince. The knight that could save her when I could not.

he•ro
/ˈhi(ə)rō/
¹ a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities.
² a person noted for feats of courage or nobility of purpose, especially one who has risked or sacrificed his or her life.

Somewhere no one else can find
Tall trees bend their leaves pointing where to go
Where you will still be all alone
Don't you fret, my dear
It'll all be over soon

[/color][/right]

A great deal of my day is spent moving. I barely linger within the confines of a single area of more then a few moments. Slipping past space after space, leaving behind nothing, but an invisible trail of dreams, encrusted with hope and shattered when I realise that that area is not where I will find her. Then after hours upon hours of moving –searching, I would settle down, in a corner of the orphanage, away from prying eyes and ears, where no one could see me and where I would be safe to be myself and to be alone. Where when I closed my eyes it did not matter that I was a pathetic little boy with no family and no one. I could be a hero, I could change the small twig limbs into strong, muscular arms, a broad chest and I would be tall, a towering giant that was formidable and unable to be struck down. He was the hero that was not scared of all the other kids, he was not weak, he was never hit or punched or teased. Most of all he didn’t flip (There were no doctors there to restrain, no children their to make him switch and rage or cry and sob). He didn’t go from being a pleasant little boy to a crazy idiot who could hurt people and lash out unprovoked. When I dreamed I was the perfect person, the kind that everyone loved. No one feared me, but no one hated me and most of all people looked at me with awe, not disgust. I was important not forgotten. And one day Mama would be there too. I just had to keep searching.

A number of times during the day I would move past the windows that border the house is astonishing. I believe that some part of me thinks that maybe once when I glance towards them I will not see that thin boy, with hands that shake when people speak to him, with legs thin and wavering and eyes field with joy and sadness, but ready and able to change within an instant. No matter how many times I change my body and my appearance I have never changed my hair. I love the fiery red hair that spills from my head. The colour of wildfire, when it blazes hot and burns at a touch. It is a brilliant colour, just as mothers was. Hers was the kind of orange that fell all the way down to the centre of her back like lava, mine is short and tamed, but still just as wild. Then sometimes when I dream there is just me. The thin boy that can’t hold his own, but he can. He can stand up to everyone around him. His hands don’t shake, but hold firm and his legs don’t waver and when he runs he can run so very fast and he can lift the heaviest of things and he saves people’s lives. But then I wake up. All dreams shatter and draw to an end, mine more so than others, they are quick fleeting little things, but I have many of them, I have sometimes two, three or even six little fantasies a day. Each more glorious and more filled to the brim with hope and castles built upon wish and wish that I know those foundations will not shatter quickly.

vil•lain
/ˈvilən/
¹ a person guilty or capable of a crime or wickedness.
² the person or thing responsible for specified trouble, harm, or damage.

I'll be waiting here for you
Run fast as you can
No one has to understand
Fly high across the sky from here to kingdom come
Fall back down to where you're from

[/color][/right]

It does not take long to be reminded of my old home. It takes longer to vanquish those thoughts from my mind. The only way it can be done if through the words of a story or the defeat of some ancient beast as I climb a temple, sword in hand to defeat all evil. Those games keep me alive; they keep my body moving every single day. Sometimes I have dreamed of breaking those walls that separate death from living, slipping into a dreamless slumber where no one can wake me up. It would bring so much comfort to a life so riddled with pain and despair. But I can’t, because somewhere, in one of those dreams, in one of those stories is my mother and she is standing there waiting for me to save her and hold her and protect her. So day after day I draw my feet under my body and I plod along, step after step, falling into my stories and swirling adventures whenever the pain becomes too hard. I’m a hero. No one else can see it, but I really am. Beneath this little boy, with the ginger hair, splattered face filled with freckles, and lifeless eyes, unable to focus on anything is a boy who can fight. Mama knew I could, it was why she told me to always search for new things. She knew I was a soldier, a warrior brave and strong who could defeat all and come out on top. But the doctors never see it. They get angry when I turn and spit at them as they disturb my peaceful dreams. The scowl and growl at me when I talk to them and I’m suddenly shaken into a fit where I lash out at them in rage, before slipping into a face of bright reluctance to even gaze at them.

They don’t understand me. They see a defenceless boy, lost. A boy with nothing on the outside, because all of it is on the inside. I don’t remember much of mother’s disappearance. (The doctors frown upon that word, they tell me she is dead. I always shake my head and tell them that she is not, because dead people don’t talk to you, dead people don’t slip into that veil between dreams and reality and push you onwards, whispering in your ear when times get hard to just keep going. Dead people are dead, they do nothing.) All I know is one day I will find her again.

prom•ise
/ˈpräməs/
¹ a declaration or assurance that one will do a particular thing or that guarantees that a particular thing will happen.
² a solemn promise.
³ taken unto death, to never be broken.

Don't you fret, my dear
It'll all be over soon
I'll be waiting here for you
For you, for you
Don't you fret, my dear

[/color][/right]

"Finn, you need to sit here and talk. These people will ask you some questions and you need to answer them. Do you understand?"

As always the words are tainted with that slow, rhythmic pace that is saved for a baby, a child that understands nothing. The nurse will frown, I know that much, she will nudge me and prompt me with a few more questioning answers, with a need fr me to reply. Reluctantly I say, "okay." I play along with their games when I feel like it. Sometimes I snap, and sometimes I'm too far away in my own world that they have to shake me to drag me back to reality. I don't like that. Not one little bit. Then she will leave, after getting the reply she needs. A lady walks in, a doctor, so her badge says. I've never seen her before. Instantly I want to leave, knowing, from experience that no good comes from new people, there are new questions, new things they want to know and they always, always ask about Mama. They tell me she is dead and I grab my head, closing my eyes shut and holding my hands to my ears where I can't hear those words. It isn't true, it never will be.

"Hello, I am Anita. You are, Finn?"

"Yes."

"Well Finn, I'm here today to talk about you. How does that sound?"

"I don't want to."

"But we have to, it is for your own good, Finn."

"No."

Stubbornly, I throw my lower lip forwards, pouting. I cross my arms over my chest, unwilling to give over any information. She only smiles as if she understands, as if she can see what I think and feel.

"What do you like to do, Finn?"

"I like being a hero, and standing on a hill, where Mama is waiting for me. She is alive, you know? All the other doctors say she is dead, but she isn't because dead people can't talk to you."

There are tears in my eyes, as I stare desperately at the doctor with her knowing smile and bright, superior eyes.

"And your mother talks to you, does she?"

"Yes she does, as I have told the other thousand stupid doctors who have talked to me."

I snap. Instantly I cover my mouth, eyes flickering away from the doctor and to the door. bad things happen when I snap, sometimes the doctors grab me and hold me and other times they restrain me and tie me down as they force pills that I don't want to take into my mouth. Nothing happens and my rigid posture relaxes a touch.

"But she doesn't, Finn. She is dead."

"No she isn't!"

Standing up a run from the room before the nurses can grab me and drag me out.

finn • A.
/'finn ā./
¹ a lost little boy who lives in fairy tales.
² clueless and incompetent, often found wondering aimlessly on an 'adventure'.
³ will always keep a promise.

It'll all be over soon
I'll be waiting here
Don't you fret, my dear
It'll be over soon
I'll be waiting here for you

[/color][/right]

ODAIR

[/size][/blockquote][/justify][/center][/td][/tr][/table]

[cass]

Done <3

[Tattletale]

This is so perfect :')