Controlled Chaos [Thundy]

[shrimp]

jean miles[/size] (shall soon have appropriate color schemes)[/font][/size]
~Oh, you want my bio now? Fine, here~

The streets are silent on this fall evening. Everybody's gone home early - some mourning the loss of their children. It's been a hard week for D10; both kids are already dead. Sure, the same has just happened for 11, but we're supposed to be more tight-knit. Like a family almost. But we all know that stuff like that only happens in those Capitol movies.

Here, you've got to watch out for all of the cheapstakes who want to grab hold of you when nobody's able to stop them. And then, you'll end up like me. Scarred for the rest of her fricking life. My hand gingerly touches the deep, ugly scar that surrounds my neck. I can still feel the cold blade of the man's knife break the blood vessels surrounding my neck. Sometimes, I can even smell the scent that I've come to associate with the man - beer and mothballs.

My footsteps stop echoing against the pavement as my feet hit the slightly rugged terrain that the people of District 10 have come to call a trail. There's a slight bit of grass on the sides of the so-called-pathway, but mostly it's dirt and pebbles.

I try to shake the thoughts from my head, but they just won't go away.

The screaming, the pleading to a man who just wanted to have "a little fun". The agonizing moment when I realized that there was no escape from this man. The helpless struggling. The blood.

There was so much blood, pouring down from my neck like a broken barrel of wine. It just flowed, and flowed... until my head hit the ground, and everything went silent.

I know why I've come here. In my hand I hold a small bouquet of flowers. For the baby. She didn't deserve to go out like that. A stillborn. She could have been something in this world. It's been a year since the passing, but the pain resonates through my every being. Every movement I make, I think of her.

She could have done this. She could have gotten an A. She could have talked to her friends.

But no, her cold body just had to be ripped away from her mother's hands, and shoved into a make-shift grave just out of the main part of the District. I guess they didn't want the baby to "contaminate" the morals of the town or something. As if. A baby can't do anything of the sort. My parents probably just want to forget about the whole ordeal, thus making sure that the grave was as far away as possible.

But I know where it is. I breathe a sigh of relief that the tombstone hasn't been broken up into pieces by vengeful travelers or anything like that. I look at the grave, the etching on the stone making it clear who lies there.

RIP
Nadia Miles
Born and died October 12^th

A silent tear rolls down my eyes as I stand on top of the sacred ground that holds my baby. And then, my hair stands up on end.

Was that a noise? I look around, but I can't hear anything. I'm positive that something's here though. I reach for the small dagger that hangs on my belt. If I'm going to be attacked, I'm not going down without a fight.

I look around, my eyes wild with a slight panic that threatens to overwhelm me. My pulse quickens, adrenaline flows through my veins like morphine.

"Who the FUCK is there, huh? Get the hell out into the open, where I can see you."

And I raise my dagger, prepared to swipe at whomever comes into view.

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

I wonder what it's like to have a normal life. I mean, yeah- normal is a stereotype that doesn't exist, because apparently everyone is different and no one can be "normal"- but I don't quite agree with that last idea. Everywhere I go it seems that people are the same. Sure, they don't live in the Capitol and they're not rolling around in riches, but the District people, a lot of them have families. No matter how difficult things get at day, they can still go home from work with the idea that they have a loving family and a meager meal to go back to. People to talk to, someone to hug, maybe a close friend to share their deepest sorrows with.

But then again, I'm not one for sharing my deepest sorrows, am I?

See, the thing is, I'm not all that great at handling change. I like sameness, I like repeating the same tasks every day and being sure what will happen to me when I wake up in the morning. It hasn't really been like that lately. Not at all.

Staring languidly out at the wide expanse of darkness and shadows, my footsteps are silent as I trudge through the expanse of forest, stepping over fallen branches and avoiding any dry foliage that had drifted down from the enduring trees above. I realize that I envy these trees as I pick my head up and gaze at them by the dull moonlight. Day after day they stand there, proud and strong, glaring ominously down at the forest as if challenging every living being among it, almost as if begging the question, "How dare you walk upon my forest floor and exist on the same planet?" They're so strong and resilient and powerful, I wish I was one of them. To stand tall and proud and to never be afraid of what might come, to be sure that with every passing year what will happen in the next, for what do trees have to do other than grow stronger and taller?

What am I even doing? It takes me a moment to snap out of my stupor to realize that I had almost drifted into one of the District fences. I don't hear the sharp buzz of electricity (do I ever hear it?) but I'm just lucky that I didn't smack right into the thing. I pause abruptly and look the fence left to right to find an opening somewhere, but there are none that I can find. It's not a necessity to go into the reaches of whatever this District is.. in fact, it's technically a bad idea. I shouldn't be here, in the woods. I should be in no other District than 12, but that rule was broken a long time ago.

Do I even care anymore, if they catch me and kill me?

But that's a stupid question. I really shouldn't be thinking about dying. That would imply that I'm weak, and I really don't want to be weak. Haven't I always been the strong one, the reliable one? Just like one of those trees, I used to be. I want to be again. Strong and proud, that's how I want to be.

And not just pretending to be.

I can't help but glare at the fence angrily. There isn't any opening anywhere near here that I can squeeze through, so I have to walk. It all looks so familiar; I'm sure that I've been here before. District 9? District 10 maybe? I'm not sure, but there has to be a way in. There is always a way into the Districts even though there shouldn't be.

It takes me a while to find, but eventually I come across an opening large enough that I can fit through. I have to dig some of the earth away from beneath it so that I can get through all of the way, but in minutes I'm able to wiggle through the fence and into the District.

It doesn't matter how I look, nor would it matter if I was in broad daylight. I always look the same, I guess. Messy brown hair, unclean face, worn clothing. Just me, but I like being this way. It feels more natural when I'm looking like this. I've been dressed up before, sometimes by my sister, sometimes as a disguise.. but it never felt right. I feel stronger this way, not caring what anyone thinks of how I look.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the sudden surroundings, but from what I can tell I'm nowhere of any importance. Just the outside of the District; a random place where no one will see me.

A voice ringing clearly through the crisp night air proves me wrong.

"Who the FUCK is there, huh? Get the hell out into the open, where I can see you."

A mixture of emotions slams into my brain, the majority of which was probably surprise. I didn't expect anyone else to be out in the middle of the night, especially not this late. Surprise then turns to fear, but almost instantaneously fear turned to utter hatred.

I could die because of this bitch.

And then I know that I don't want to die. I am never going to want to die, I am never going to be able to willingly go down without going through hell first. And haven't I already been through hell and back again? But here I am. Knife gripped tightly in my right hand, poised to throw at any moment because my life is being threatened. I don't know what I should do, but someone knows that I am here. I can't just pretend that I don't exist.

And right now, I think I'm too pissed to care.

"Go to hell, bitch."

[/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[shrimp]

jean miles

There are plenty of ways you can hurt a man
And bring him to the ground

[/center]

The worst part about the whole ordeal was the fact that I was carrying his devil spawn. At the very least, I used to call it devil spawn. Bu that was before I realized that this may have been a blessing in disguise.

You see, I knew that I'd never amount to be anything in life. I was one of those bitches in high school who frolicked with the glamorous rich kids who went to the shops, the cafés, the works. They only accepted me because I was the one who was most likely to swipe a chocolate bar for them. But still, I belonged in that clique. Until the pregnancy that is.

Immediately, I became shunned by my classmates. Kids that used to talk to me every day refused to even acknowledge me. It wasn't my fault that I was pregnant. They didn't have to act like I was a tramp. But I became labeled. A whore, a bad influence, the one who's knocked-up. That's me, Jean Miles.

It's so nice to meet you too.

You can beat him
You can cheat him
You can treat him bad and leave him
When he's down

I was shunned. It's blatantly obvious that I gracefully fell to the bottom of the social ladder, forced to endure endless insults and painful jokes every freaking day. Gone were the happy-go-lucky times when I flew to the candy shoppe with my richer "friends". Instead, there stood a hollow girl, with plenty of love and friendship to give out, but nobody to receive it.

I don't even think the teachers liked me. In their eyes I saw utter disgust. It's like they blamed me. I don't really see why anyone did that, especially since it wasn't my fucking fault, but people have their prejudices, and they like acting upon them too.

Teachers outright ignored the relentless bullying. In fact, they even helped increase the material that was usable for the class. I'd be hit with put-downs every single day. It was intolerable. I couldn't bear to walk into that classroom.

So for a while, I dropped out. Well, I didn't actually drop out, I just stopped going. But that's all it took for my peers to assume the worst - that's I'd end up desolate and poor for the rest of my life.

But they were going to be wrong, oh so wrong.

But I'm ready, yes I'm ready for you
I'm standing on my own two feet

Sure, I'd be working my butt off once this baby was born. We all would - my parents and siblings would no doubt have to chip in to take care of this baby. But I'd make up for it. This baby boy, or girl, would become successful. I'd train them in the art of self-defense. They'd be smart, outgoing, all of the quality traits that are needed in order to get a good job.

A good education would be at the top of the list. No matter how hard they'd scream and shout, I'd make them go to that school. I'd make them deal with the pain of having a raped girl for their mother. They'd be able to handle it, wouldn't they?

And so I carried that baby with pride, knowing that they would be the salvation to our family. No longer would we have to put up with the decrepit dwellings in which we lived in. No longer would we be the runt of jokes, the family of the poor. No, we would thrive. We would become the best, I was One-Hundred Percent sure.

Out of the doorway the bullets rip
repeating the sound of the beat

And then one day, it was time. I had been in the District Square actually, right after the Reapings. Somebody had pushed me. I had been caught in between everyone who was attempting to flee the cramped, hot square. And then it happened. A release of water. Screams from all around me.

"Oh my god, she's in labor!"

"Somebody get her to the fricking doctor!"

It was dreadful. I'm never, ever having another kid again if the pain is as acute as it had been that day. I screamed and kicked, yelling at the baby to get the hell out of me. But that came at a price. The baby came out, but there was no crying. The doctor shook her a little, tapped her on the head, trying to wake her up.

It didn't work.

A stillborn. She was a stillborn. All of those hopes and dreams, all of that was for nothing? Why? Why did this happen to me? Did I really deserve it? Sure, I stole some candy once in a while, but that was in the past. But it must have been my doing.

I was to blame.

And I stopped trying to be kind and caring. What's the use, when you know that you caused your own child's death? I began to simply get stronger. I ran more, worked in the ship-yards. Instead of being known as pregnant-lady, I was renowned as "that gal". Yep, I was one of the only girls there, and the tallest one to boot.

But I was cold, my heart frozen solid. And that's the way it's gonna stay.

Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust
And another one gone, and another one gone
Another one bites the dust

[/i]
And now I stand before her grave, watching for the presence that I had felt. And then I spot her. She looks like she's just entered the gate. But for what reason? Well, they don't always need a reason, but there's no way in hell that I'm going to just walk on by and let her do her thing. She's gotta get my respect first.
[/color]

"Go to hell, bitch."

Nope, there's no way I'm giving respect to that witch. But is that... The girl's got a knife. What, does she expect to throw it through my head like some corny fighting movie? Not happening bitch.

Not happening.

I glance behind me. The grave is so small, what if it gets trampled on? I've got to make sure that we don't go near there. At the very least, it'll still be preserved if I die from this fight. Then nobody can deny her existence, even if I'm the only one who outright accepts it.

But that had better not happen. I'm only 18. I'm too young to die. I've got so much... Actually I don't have a hell lot of stuff going for me, but I don't want to die. Dying is most certainly not on Jean Miles' to-do-list. Perfecting my childhood dream is. Getting my family out of poverty is on my to-do-list. Protecting my sister from the dangers of men is on m to-do-list.

There's no room for death here.

Hey, I'm gonna get you too
Another one bites the dust

[/center][/color]

Now you'd better run bitch, you'd better run. 'Cause I'm gonna cut you up.

I grip my dagger so there's a secure hold, and dash towards the girl, my arm swooping downwards towards her body. I'm not aiming to kill just yet, but you never know.

This bitch might infuriate me to no end, and then I'll aim for her fricking heart.

[/blockquote][/size][/color]

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

Under skin, I've got a heart made out of
Chrome and ice
Light dissolved before your eyes
But I'll breathe till the end of time

Gawd, why did I even come here? I don't belong here, in whatever District this actually happens to be.. 10? It might be. I've only been here once before in my life, but at that time I was with Noelia. Noe..

Absolutely not. I shut that thought out of my head immediately and try to rid my mind of the idea's existence, but I know that it's too late. You can't just forget something like that so easily. I especially cannot forget. I should go back to thinking about trees or something.

Or the situation in front of me. That might also be important to think about.

The moonlight above is dim and hardly helpful, but I can vaguely discern the girl several yards away. Minute details are lost in the darkness, but I can tell that she's tall. Freakishly tall, or at least taller than me, and I'm of average height. I'm not all that strong-looking minus the knife, but she looks like a freaking monster. As if one swing of her arm could kill me instantly, which is ridiculous. She's tall, but is she strong? I can't tell, but so what? Most people leave me alone. I would expect that she would do the same.

It occurs to me that nighttime is a horrible time to have a confrontation like this. I can barely see the the features of her face, let alone any sign about what she is thinking about doing. If I'm lucky, maybe she'll just ignore me and walk away.

Something about me always makes people want to attack. Awesome.

Because the next thing I know, she's closer and I can see the anger upon her face, her dark hair and dark eyes and dark intentions now clearly visible now that she's closer.

I can also see that she has a knife in hand.

Amazing. Just wonderful.

What have I gotten myself into this time? But god, this isn't my fault. She confronted me, not the other way around. Hell, confronting people is always the last thing upon my mind. They go after me, attack me, and what am I to do to other than reciprocate? I can't very well sit here and pretend like nothing is happening.

Whenever I see a threat, I pull out my knives. I despise the idea that I have to do so, that this world is so cruel and horrible that I can't walk anywhere without my life being threatened, but that's just how it goes. It's kill or be killed, and I don't plan upon dying any time soon.

Or maybe that depends on how long I'm able to stay sane. Though obviously I'm a bit more sane than this girl in front of me. Her dark brown eyes are absolutely wild, and I can't help but wonder what made her this way. Everyone has a story, except now is not the time for jolly chit chat. I can see the knife clearly grasped in her right hand, poised and ready to tear into my flesh to kill me.

All because I've stepped inside of her territory and I've said a few meanie words to her. She must be sensitive.

Though that would make me a hypocrite, wouldn't it?

It's all happening so fast, and I hate to even think it, but I haven't slept in days. I'm tired and hungry and all I really need right now is to sit back and eat a nice meal and go to sleep in a comfy bed, but I don't have that normal life and right now this bitch is going to attack me with her dagger. This girl has a home, she probably has a family, and here she is acting bitter and mean. I don't know her story, nor do I want to, but she's an ungrateful witch. She should run along home and eat a warm meal and sleep in a comfy bed and hell, she should leave me alone.

But no, I'm never that lucky.

I'm exhausted and hungry and I want so badly to run away, but I have no choice. She'll keep attacking me and I'll be left here in the cold October night to become even colder and quieter than I am now, and my life will not have mattered.

They never tell you the real difficulties that come with being a runaway. A renegade. A wanderer. Whatever you want to call it, it's lonely. You fight for your life and try desperately to sleep on a hundred frigid nights like this one and food is rare and what do I have to show for it? Have I grown as a person? Am I strong and beautiful and better for having toughed it out?

No. I am not.

Because the truth is, if I die, no one will care. There will be no funeral and I won't have any family standing by my grave with flowers and tears. There will be no memories of me, no smiles in reminiscing about me. I will simply have lived and died as if I never even existed in the first place. I'm a shadow and I'm invisible and my words are only whispers, because who is ever going to remember me? No one.

I'm lost in my thoughts when the girl first strikes with her dagger. This bitch... this ungrateful bitch. I bet she'll be remembered when she dies. Hell, I hope she dies tonight.

My eyes have adjusted fairly well and the sharpness of her knife jumps out at me. The edge is so smooth and perfect and it's cutting open the back of my hand..

I don't like to look weak, but I can't help the cry of pain that erupts from me as the knife slices through the back of my left hand. I've fought many times before this and I've been injured too many times to count, but I've always healed up fairly easily. Not without some scars to remind me.. but this will be the first scar that rests on the back of my hand. If I'm still alive after this, that is. But I will be. I haven't died yet and I don't plan upon it.

Nor did I plan upon speaking, but my voice rings out loud and clear towards her. "Why don't you run along home and leave me be? Go sleep in your warm comfy bed and kiss your mother and hug your father and I'll just leave. What reason do you have to hurt me?" My voice has a caustic tone to it but at the same time I want to know the answer. Why is it that everyone and their best friend wants me to die?

I hope to keep her talking in order to refrain from being attacked, so I keep my knife gripped tightly in my right hand. I'm not one to back out from a fight, but I really can't tolerate this right now.

Not that I usually tolerate anyone, but.. whatever.

[/justify]

Try to kill me now
(you're chasing?)
Closer now
But now I fear I hate this life
I can't replace this time I've wasted
Try to kill me now

[/right][/i]


[/color][/size]

[shrimp]

jean miles

The ground feels hard and bumpy as I sail towards the intruder. The flat, worn out shoes on my feet clap against the ground in a loud fashion. I really don't give a damn about my shoes, but it doesn't help if you're noisy when you go out and decide to attack somebody. It becomes much easier for them to hear you. They'll be able to sense you by the dust that gets pelted at their body, the sounds that careen towards their eardrums, and from the lumbering shadow of a six-foot girl chasing after them. You would think that some people would get the sense to get out of the way, but a lot of people just stand there when somebody goes and attacks them. Idiots.

Don't they know that if they don't move, they die?

Then again, I'm normally not the one completing tasks like this. I do have morals and such you know. In fact, I dislike blood, hate it actually. If I saw a stream of blood gushing out of my side like a fountain, I would most definitely throw up. Which is why I don't run around like a vigilante every night and attempt to murder the man who did this to me. Plus, bright colored tights and long capes are not the appropriate getup when you're doing something like that.

But who really needs disguises when you get the job done right? But at this rate, I don't even know what I'm rambling about. I'd attribute this to the time of day - it's rather late after all. But the night is so young. After all, I just got out of work, so it's around 7? 8? One of those hours, I'm not too sure which one though. It takes a while to trek up to this graveyard.

The face becomes much more visible as I run up to the female. Brown hair, brown eyes, her hand still holding the throwing knife. But all of that just disappears from my mind as the dagger swipes through her hand. The blood comes seeping out of the wound, and I back up, throat closing up. I can't believe I just did that... It's a first actually, making a cut on somebody. I don't necessarily like it, but it's something that's going to have to be done sooner or later if I want to survive in this dog-eat-dog world.

But then I hear her voice. The words ring loud and clear in my brain, and force me to stop and simply glare at her in an angry passion. But I ponder her words, and realize:

Why am I attacking her? Because she has no business being here? Hell, lots of people have no business being in many places. From President Snow, to gang members. But that doesn't mean that everybody goes and smacks them silly. In fact, they avoid them like the plague, hoping to soar through live unnoticed, so they won't get hurt.

But seriously now, why am I attacking her? To protect the grave? I'll still remember where it is. Besides, if the tombstone is ruined, I'll know where the spot is, and I'll make the stone myself, using my bare hands to chisel the rock if I have to. So I eliminate that from my list.

But now I'm left with nothing. Is there really no reason as to why I attacked he- oh. That's it. Survival. I attacked her to survive. It's a rather pointless thing to do. If anything, it gets you into even more trouble than before. But stuff like that occurs frequently. "Survival of the fittest" they say. They're right though. The proof is (normally) shown in the Hunger Games, where most of the victors were from the Career Districts. They're better fed, and have more experience in massacring others and such.

So that's why. But there was no provocation. The cursing shouldn't have counted as a cause to this effect. Now there will be a freaking scar there, and she'll want my blood or something. Great, just great. I knew that I should have just gone straight home like any normal person would.

But when she mentions my family, my eyes grow tried and cold. They didn't love me after they found out what happened. They blamed me too you know. Nowadays they still look at me with that irritating expression. Pity. I don't need their stinking pity. I'm taking care of them, and taking care of myself while I'm at it. I'm a provider, a survivor. I don't need their sorrow. But yet, I still get it.

It's rather annoying.

"Shut up. You don't know nothing about me. And I don't know anything about you. Which leads me to ask you, why the hell are you here?"

[/color]

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

I try to get over my fear of falling
And calm the rage inside
Medicate my nerves so I can't feel this
I was lost but I was only human
I'm alright

Focus, focus..

I can't help that my mind is being clouded so easily. God, why can't I concentrate at all? And it's not just now- I always get distracted by my thoughts even in times when that's the worst possible thing to do. I mean, dammit! What's wrong with me nowadays? I have all goddamn day to sit back and think, but when I do have the time my mind goes blank. But now? When my life is in danger? I'm standing here and having a grand old time thinking about anything else other than what's happening right now.

Focus, dammit Myla, focus..

I suppose that I should be used to such conditions by now. The October night air is frigid and horribly cold, and paired with a chilling breeze I'm barely able to keep from shivering at this moment. I've been walking for hours on end, I should not feel this cold. I've been awake for goodness knows how long as well, and right now I can barely keep my eyes open, let alone wield a knife and throw it with accuracy. This is my life, being cold and hungry and weak. It's been my life for a long while now, it should not put me into jeopardy as it is. But I suppose I wasn't made for these conditions, as much as I'd like to think that I am. No.. I am. I love being in the woods, I love the silence. I take that back.

But dammit, whatever happened to strong Myla? The me who could power through anything (well, almost anything, I've never been invincible) and could do everything with a smirk on my face?

Or have I never been that person? Maybe I'm wrong.

Have I really never been as strong as I perceive myself to be? I'm not the strongest of people in the world, but I've faced some difficult times and gotten through them (somehow). My arms are slim and weak and if I were to set my hands upon my hips I could clearly feel my ribs, but I'm quick on my feet and I can throw a knife well enough. I've learned with other weapons too, and I can sort of handle them.. but what am I kidding? I've never been calm and controlled in times of trouble. But I guess I try to act like it..

And I finally understand. It's a simple epiphany, but for once (can it be?) I've actually figured out one of my problems. I act tough, but I'm really not. Or is that a good thing? God, everything is always so confusing. Someone once told me that 90% of solving a problem is realizing that there is one.. but I might be wrong. I honestly hadn't paid much attention when I was given that fact.

Kind of like how I'm not paying attention right now, but judging by my attacker's stance, she isn't going to attack me again.. yet..

But it's unsafe to judge people like that. I've learned enough lessons while being out in the open that it's not smart to trust someone's actions so quickly. Not that I trust this girl- because come on.. she's attacking me- but only a fool would make assumptions so quickly. I should know better than anyone else that you can never really assume anything about anyone. Making judgments like that is a risky business, and I really hate taking chances like that. People are flakes. They're evil and they'll use you and they're unreliable and everything they do cannot be trusted.

I look down at my injured hand and realize that I'm shaking uncontrollably. Whether this is from the cold or fear I'm not sure, but I can't become stable for anything. The gash on my hand isn't deep, but my blood is trickling onto the ground slowly and it's actually creating a very small pond because I haven't moved yet. The wound stings even worse with the cold air surrounding me and it doesn't help concentrate at all. I may as well add "bleeding" to my list of complaints..

I don't have a headache in the slightest, but when I hear the girl's words her voice is painful to hear. I wish that she would just leave. Or even better, I wish that I could just shut her up for good so that I can have some time to think.

"Shut up. You don't know nothing about me. And I don't know anything about you. Which leads me to ask you, why the hell are you here?"

Honesty is death in a world like this. She doesn't know me or my name, and I don't plan upon changing that fact. I don't take threats to my life lightly, but I'm so tired right now..

Anger is my driving force, my lifeline right now. I want to curl up in a ball and sleep, but the mixture of fear and anger fills my veins with adrenaline and I'm just barely able to deal with this right now because of it. The sudden burst of energy and awareness is almost scary, for one moment ago I was tired and sullen but now I'm awake, if not simply able to keep my eyes open.

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, but when they do another fresh wave of anger and adrenaline hits me like a brick in the face and now I'm able to focus. Anger might make me reckless, but hell, right now I don't think I care.

I don't really care what my excuse is, so when I open my mouth to speak I'm firing into the unknown with what is probably the lamest excuse imaginable.

"I happen to be allergic to the sun, so I like to walk around at night."

Oh, bad excuse.. Okay, time to stop talking, time to stop talking..

Lucky for me, though, the options are limited right now. I can't run, because she'll surely chase me down. I can't talk, because I'll end up saying something stupid, as usual.. So what does that leave me?

Attack.

Quickly and spontaneously I adjust the grip on my knife and and in one swift motion I swing my arm around and let loose of my careful grip, angling my knife just enough so that it might just pierce through her heart and shut her up for good in one throw.

When my knife releases from my fingertips, I cannot help but smile.

[/justify]

Now I can't feel a thing
Only fear in life is living
A heart made of chrome and ice
I can't feel this plastic life

[/right][/i]


[/color][/size]

[shrimp]

<jean miles>

Have I ever told you how much I hate people sometimes? Well, here we go. People, for the most part, can be cruel, horrible, unethical monsters that creep towards you when you're most vulnerable. They proceed to come at you, ripping apart everything that you've ever held dear to your heart - making you feel like nothing. Then, they grab the shattered remains, and clumsily piece them together to recreate you, only it's not you. It's merely a poor replica of what you once were.And that replica - it's just horribly created that it simply makes a new you. A new you that has felt more pain than one would ever wish upon an enemy. It recreates you in a light that you'd rather prefer to be a different hue, or brightness. You might become colder, harsher, less willing to compromise. Or it might change you in a different way entirely.

But that didn't happen to me. I was unfortunate enough to be pelted with enough insults and injuries to last for such a long time. Yes, I have become a completely different person. But there's no going back to the chipper girl who frolicked among the streets. I have too many scars to walk without grasping onto my dagger in self-defense, to walk among the idiotic group without scowling at them. No, it's too late for me.

But as I open my mouth and let the words flow out, I know that I may have simply sealed my fate. The girl may be a Capitol spy, or a scheming murderess. She could possibly kill me in an instant, or send me off to the Capitol with my tongue cut off, being forced to work in the sewers for all eternity, or waiting on tributes every single year, and watching them leave but never return. And this is not on my to-do list. In fact, getting caught by the Capitol is high on my don't do list.

However, now is not the time to dwindle on the past. It's her move. It's similar to that old game, you know... Chess? So there are these two teams, and there are like, sixteen pieces per team, and each piece has a specifi- okay why am I explaining this game? Oh wait, I know. The point is to get a "checkmate" or basically make your opponent surrender.

This is basically chess. And now, it's her move. I can only hope that she doesn't somehow use her knowledge to get a checkmate. But what she does is just... odd. There is no way that she's allergic to... light? That's just ridiculous. Her skin does not look pale white, wouldn't that be a trait of people who are allergic to the sun? Or is it just her genetics that create more melanin, causing the skin to become dar-

ACK!

The bitch fucking stabbed me! She stabbed me! I simply gawk at my shoulder, the knife lodged right into the muscles under the bone itself. At least it's the right shoulder, it's nowhere near the hear-

Oh my god it hurts! It fucking hurts goddamit! My teeth grit in pain as I grab the hilt of the throwing blade. I have to get it out. But won't that just make the blood flow even more? Naah, whatever, people don't tend to die from shoulder wounds, right? Well, it looks like I'm going to find out either way. The blade slowly slides out of the wound, making me make sound that I would only be able to describe as a combination between a scream and a quack.

I do probably deserve it. After all, I was the first one to attack. But... this kind of precision... This isn't an ordinary wanderer I'm dealing with. She's a pro. A goddamn pro. Now that's just wonderful. Now I'm going to be gravely injured from this fricking battle with a fricking girl who I know no fricking thing about!

Oh, she's going to pay alright, if it costs me a freaking arm, or even another deep scar on my neck. It's my fucking shoulder for crying out loud! Who goes and hits the shoulder!?

Well, this girl does I guess. But is she weaponless now? I prefer fair fights - winning a battle by cheating is worse than losing. So I chuck the knife back at her, aiming for a part - just any part of her, simply to set the bar even higher than before.

Who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and decapitate her.

[/size][/blockquote]

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

Her voice cuts through the walls
Rings through everything that's hollow
These bitter words recall
All that's left and hard to swallow

The realization that my excuse was probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said in my life makes me blush a bit. Allergic to the sunlight? I can’t be convincing worth crap. It’s dark, yeah, but it’s obvious that I’ve spent the majority of my life out in the sun judging by my darkened skin color. In fact, I hate being inside at all. People are usually in buildings, and God knows how people so often don’t want me around. And then there is just.. something about buildings. Something that makes me feel restricted. Half of the time I don’t even feel as if I’m human, but buildings make this fact all too clear for me. I’m not some wild animal who can roam about without consequence. When I’m inside a building I have to pertain to the rules of other people, and this kills me. I can’t even walk into a pharmacy or a store without sticking out like a sore thumb. Me, a filthy grimy mess. I don’t even have to say anything and people immediately know that I’m an outsider. My sister was correct in this way when she used to tell me to dress up and be clean, but it’s such a hassle for me.

Then there’s the fact that I don’t really like to behave. Most of the time I say and do things without thinking, and this tends to seal my fate just a bit. I am an outsider to everyone, and the moment I say a word (albeit a usually unkind word) it gives them good reason to hate me. They say that you shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover, but people do it anyways. People judge me before they know me, but I guess I’m not all that great of a person to know even once they do learn who I truly am. So I guess they’re smart to judge me by my appearance- I look just as horrible as I am.

I close my eyes for a second even though I’m sure that it could be the death of me. It’s an involuntary action; I almost always close my eyes when I think this way. My eyes remain shut for the better part of 5 seconds, and those 5 seconds are completely unbearable. I can’t help but beat myself up a lot of the time. It’s a wonder that I have any pride left to be defensive sometimes. I’m a horrible person, I know it, and people never hesitate to let me know.

God, just kill me now.

Apparently God felt like answering this silent plea of mine, because the next thing I know, my own knife is piercing my left arm. My dark eyes pop open once again, though this time without a glimmer of anger within them. A year ago I would have fought to the death, I would have given everything that I have, but now.. Now all of my fight is gone. It’s eerie how easily I am willing to give up. What has happened to me? Just a moment ago I was ready to challenge everyone and everything that dared to hurt me, but now, just because of one simply embarrassment, I am ready to give up.

I used to be strong. I used to be like one of those proud trees, tall and strong and at least a little daring. I used to be me. Am I even myself anymore? Am I a completely different person? It seems like it. Only a moment ago I was angry at this bitch, but now I’m angry at myself. I am surely weaker than I once was.

But then again, I’ve known this all along.

I glance down at my left arm and a shiver runs down my spine at how dangerously close I was to being stabbed right through the heart. The next thing that I realize is that this is way more painful than the gash on my hand, though my mind is too numb to register this and the only thing that escapes me is a barely audible squeak of pain. It’s small and harmless, but it reminds me of the noise that a small, vulnerable animal makes right as my own knife pierces its body. So this is how it feels to be the prey.

I can’t operate and I can’t focus anymore. Whatever burst of energy that miraculously powered me a moment ago is gone, but a sliver of anger has replaced it. It’s barely enough, but it keeps me from dropping to my knees and curling up in a ball to die.

All hope, gone. All power, gone. I’m tired and I’m hungry and I can’t even keep my eyes open long enough to stay awake, and I think the pain is about to make me pass out. Even my ironic fear of death doesn’t drive me now. The only thing left is anger. All that is left of me is anger. I need more of it, I need to be awake..

It’s at this point that I truly don’t understand what is going on. I have absolutely no control over myself or my actions, let alone a steady enough hand to throw my knife. A picture of a salesman in a store comes to mind, and I’m frightened by how clear his words come to me even in my dazed state.

”Get the hell out of here, girl, you don’t belong here.”

I don’t realize it when I fall to my knees and crumple to the ground. I don’t curl up into a ball, but instead I look up at the girl with wide eyes and a hurt expression.

”What else is wrong with me?”

[/justify]

She was always good for nothing when the good broke bad
All she's got to lose is everything she never has
(Every back turned to her)

[/right][/i]

[[OOC: I don’t even know what just happened. Dx Myla was all “I’ma kill you!” but then she.. just.. *Flails* Ah well.]]

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[shrimp]

The same tricks that once fooled me
They won't get you anywhere
I'm not the same kid from your memory
Now I can fend for myself

It was a rather dainty looking thing. The knife that I threw had a delicate curved handle. Even though it was pretty dark out, it was easy to describe the handle as a smooth mahogany. There's no doubt that it was created by a skilled artisan, working endlessly to perfect the handle itself. It's so strange how one might not notice these things just because they're so worked up with anger and adrenaline, that they don't stop to think of what they're actually attacking with.

The blade itself was also curved, more so than the handle. It was a rather odd shape as well - there was a hole in the blade, most likely for decoration purposes. Also, it was elegant-like. It was like different strokes made up that knife, combining it into one deadly, yet beautiful weapon. I wonder how she was able to get her hands on such a beautiful weapon anyways. Perhaps she used to live in a well-to-do district? But there would be no reason to escape then. Maybe she stole them, or made these knives herself.

When the knife was released from my grasp, it seemed to twirl through the air in a dream-like state. Slowly, it danced towards the girl, whose eyes seem to be closed. Big mistake. The first rule in combat; never distract yourself from your opponent. Because the one time you're caught off-guard may be your last moment on earth, period. I even feel a slight sense of pity for the girl as the knife heads towards her body - she's about my age, and it's possible that I might severely hurt her.

The slight guilt is escalated by the look in her eyes as the knife plunges into her left arm, dangerously near her heart. I could have killed the girl. Sure, that was my main go-

Crud. I tried to flipping kill the girl! What's wrong with me!? Am I so hell-bent on extracting revenge or something that I forgot that murder was a criminal offense that could be condemned by death, or becoming an avox, or something so horrible that I can't even fathom it? My anger... It went out of control, warped by my maternal instinct I guess. After all, nobody really wants anything to happen to their child, even after they're long gone.

I was always told that I have to calm down. When I was younger, I used to yell at Mindy for just about anything. But I did it to teach her something I guess. I will admit that at times, my anger got out of hand. But that happened to people - sometimes humans just get so worked up over things that they forget that everybody makes mistakes. However, my anger issues were more prominent than others I guess.

Climbing up the social ladder was much easier when you had a merciless personality. Those socialite girls were impressed by my surly attitude and easily sparked fuse. They started to hang out with me more, acting all nice just so I could fulfill their needs. For a while, I truly believed that they were actually my friends. I ran around with them after school, listening to them gossip about just about everything. People feared me, for not only would crossing me give them a bloody nose, but a horrible reputation to boot. In a sense, being manipulated by those bitches had some positives. It showed that I would never be looked down upon by others, well except for the girls themselves.

They used me. I was constantly sent into the candy shoppe, with the others of course, and charged with a ridiculous task. When I had first heard the demands, my eyes had widened, and I had immediately shook my head. Stealing from that old woman was wrong, so wrong. But they insisted that I simply had to do it, for they were craving those little sweets so much, and they had no money for the week. So I did. Slowly, her stock began to dwindle by a few hand-fills each week. I felt awful about it. Sure, she didn't notice, but each day I thought that I would die from the guilt alone. But I had to keep doing it - being popular had its side effects after all. But each day, I became more and more angry at the world. Why was I supposed to steal from that lady, who smiled at me whenever I walked into the door? It just wasn't right.

At least my pregnancy got me out of something. Now I was free to walk into that store and smile back at the lady without feeling a pit of despair being created in my stomach.

I simply watch as she falls to the ground, pain etched into her emotions. My heart feels wrought with too many complicated emotions. Why am I feeling guilty? She attacked me as well! It's only right that I should retaliate. But instead of fighting back this time, she falls to the ground.

”What else is wrong with me?”

I'm taken aback for a second. What's going on? Is she having a mental breakdown or something? I'm sure that she's been events like this before - battling some other person in a bloody rage. But now... she's just upset I guess. It's strange, that's for sure. But...

What if she's just playing me? What if she wants me to just console her, and then murder me on the spot? No, that's not happening. But I don't know what to do, so I find myself just standing there, watching her, a slightly guilty look in my eye. But..

I just don't know.

I find myself reaching into my bag, pulling out some bandages. Why I have the bandages is a simple reason - you don't want Jean Miles' blood spilling out into the streets like last time, do you? But I slowly walk over to the girl.

"Well, besides the fact that you collapsed during a fight? Not much. Here."

I toss the bandages at the girl. Maybe she has enough sports prowess to catch the roll of cloth. But at this point, she's just rather confusing.

Don't wanna hear your sad songs
I don't wanna feel your pain
When you swear it's all my fault
Cause you know we're not the same
Oh we're not the same

[/right]

[I'm sorry, the whole thing just... collapsed at the end Dx][/blockquote][/size]

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

We put her down in a shallow grave
She wears a dress like a body bag every day
And this way she won't have to run away
And she can keep her regrets at bay every day

Lack of energy and conflicting emotions drive me to stare down towards the ground in front of me. I try to raise my tired eyes even a fraction of an inch to see more clearly, but everything is blurred and unreal. My eyelids are like gigantic weights above my bloodshot brown eyes, and when I try to force them open they decide to fall of their own free will rather than cooperating. The last shred of moonlight that reaches my eyes is burned uncomfortably clear into my sight, and the image won’t leave. I lift my unbloodied hand to my face to wipe away the image, but that only brings more confusion to the front of my mind and I stop myself. The light of the moon is still reflecting at me, bright and clear and mocking me just as the trees did.

It is the only thing that makes sense.

I don’t hesitate to keep my eyes closed as I kneel there. My mind is a mess of thoughts and words and the only thing that makes sense behind it is the feeling of fatigue. I try to recall how long it’s been since I’ve slept properly, but the number escapes me. My head begins to tilt to rest on my right shoulder and the entire side of my body begins to droop to the right, though I don’t notice it until I’ve fully collapsed in the damp dirt. I know that I’ve fallen because I can feel the course coldness of the earth below me, and I don’t even make an attempt to move so that my face might be in a more comfortable position on the grimy surface. I am dreaming, I must be dreaming, and the mud is like a soft pillow. Even if I wanted to, I still probably wouldn’t be able to lift my head.

Instead, I am at least able to open my eyes a sliver of an inch. The world several feet in front of my face is almost comforting. Tiny blades of grass catch my eye, the green hue only vaguely visible in the darkness. My eyes flicker closed for a moment, but I force them open to view the soft grass resting by the fallen strands of my hair.

”Hello, grass. How are you today? Oh, that’s good. I’m okay too. At least I think I am. Are you as tired as I am? That’s a shame, you seem so lively in the daytime. You’re so wonderful in the sunlight. You know, my sister and I used to lay in the grass when we were younger. We would find a large field and we would just lay there for hours, talking. You remind me of her. She was pretty, and gentle too. Just like you, but you didn’t know her. I think that you might have liked to know her. She was beautiful, did I tell you that? Bright and happy and wonderful, just like you.”

One of my arms is crumpled beneath me where I fell, but my bleeding arm is still free. I don’t know how I’m able to do it, but I reach out and touch the pretty green blades with my hand. I run my fingers through each gentle strand of grass, and I think that I’m smiling. Maybe I’m not. Just like everything else, the detail is meaningless. Or are the little details important? All that I know is I’m one of those little details. I may be important and I may not be, but no matter what, I am me. I am a person. I enjoy blades of grass. I have dark hair and brown eyes, and I am me. I hate people and yet I love them, and right now nothing makes sense.

I am me.

Whoever that is.

Distant mumblings reach my ears, but none of it makes sense. "Well, besides the fact that you collapsed during a fight? Not much. Here." For a moment I think that the grass is talking to me. Gentle, wonderful grass. It gifted me with bandages to heal my wound. I love you, grass.. How do blades of grass throw something? Their aim is hardly prize-worthy, because the bandages collide softly with my face before they roll a few inches beside my bloodied left hand. I slowly reach for my gift and grasp it in my fingers, but I don’t want to move. I want to sleep.

Thank you, grass..

I close my eyes again and the enduring image of the moon beneath my eyelids disappears.

[/justify]

Her blood runs hot to cold
Always breaking while she borrows
Her favors bought and sold
She is like she's dead tomorrow

[/right][/i]

[[OOC: Yeah.. she’s tired and that’s why she’s loopy. She passed out at the end, if you didn’t catch that. And she actually had her little conversation with the grass out loud. I apologize that this gives you very little to work off of, but yeah..]]

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[shrimp]

{{:Jean

THINKING/LIVING - 5A5768
SPEAKING - 474D63
FLASHBACK - 7B6A84

---

As the bandages are released from my hand, I have a moment of panic. What if she decides to attack again? What if I've caused my own sense of doom to fall upon me by giving her freaking bandages? This isn't very good at all, is it... Meanwhile, the girl's already collapsed, so I actually can probably remove the "OMFR she's gonna choke a hoe!" possibility from my list. The girl's eyes close, then open again, as she starts...

The only thing I can do is stare and gape as she starts babbling to grass. Is this girl crazy or something? I mean really. Who in their right mind talks to grass, for ripred's sake? It's simply ridiculous, you know? I mean, sure. Some people are a bit tipsy when it comes to their sanity, but this girl seemed relatively sane. Okay, maybe she doesn't shine in the sunlight, but still. I have absolutely no idea as to what's going on here, and I really don't like it. But then she starts to talk about her sister.

Instantly, the image of Melina pops up in my head. Sweet, oblivious, kind Melinda. In a way, I guess her sister was comparable to mine. Bright, beautiful, all-around wonderful. Yes, exactly like Melinda. So... Does this mean that this girl's similar to me? We both have decent fighting skills I guess, but is that the only similarities that we actually share? I honestly don't really know, and I'm not quite sure if it's really my place to find out more about her.

Perhaps I would be in a similar situation if Melinda were the one dead. I mean, I don't have much to really live for in 10. There's work, and there's Melinda. I happen to hate work, so Melinda's really the only thing keeping me here. If she were to just... die... Perhaps I would have left my district as well. Then maybe I'd be in this exact same situation, only on the opposite side of the spectrum.

Her hands close around the bandages, and the girl collapses. Great. Putting pressure on my own would, I bend down, and kick her lightly, just to see if she's awake. Clearly, she's not. Wonderful. I don't really want her to die or anything though - she really could be just like me. Bending down, I see my hand grabbing the bandages, and unwrapping it. The blood loss is making it harder to really function, but I have enough strength to really know what I'm doing.

The hands move swiftly as they wrap around the hand, and then the arm, tightening the bandage so it doesn't bleed into the open. Groaning, I apply a bandage to my own wound before I just can't really move anymore. Damn it, I think, as I find myself crawling towards a tree, in hopes of stability. Maybe I'll have enough energy to rest a bit... I don't really know.

But I find my eyes slowly closing, and I know that my hopes have been dashed. I'm not coming around until a few minutes at the very least.

Great. Just wonderful. They better not steal my fricking pay...check...

My eyes close, and I'm out like a light.

[/color]

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

The first real thing that I see when I lift my eyelids is the obnoxiously bright light from the sun. I only have to open my eyes a tiny part of an inch, but I know that it is daytime. Something seems odd, but I can't quite put my finger on it. It's calm and quiet here in the woods, as it usually is. Minus the birds chirping and the occasional sound of wind rustling through the leaves of a hundred trees, everything is peaceful. But no, all of that is missing. No birds singing their song to me as I wake, no gentle breeze calling to me through the trees. Something is different.

It takes me a moment to realize that my minuscule tent is missing, or rather that I'm sleeping in the mud and not in the rough protection of a sleeping bag and tent on the painful yet comforting forest floor.

"Ugh.." I say as I open my eyes wider this time.

Oh my god..

It makes sense now, why my supplies are missing.

I'm in a District.

I'm not sure which I experience first; extreme panic or mild confusion. Knowing me, it's probably an insane mash-up of the two that leaves my mind spiraling. What is going on? Where is my backpack? Why am I even here?

Lifting my head out of the mud, I'm sure that the entire right side of my face is caked with it. The angry sun is relentless in it's full light, but it doesn't bring any warmth to my tired limbs. My limbs..

My right arm rests languidly in a small patch of grass in front of me, and I automatically slide it along the soft texture of the blades out of habit. Dew drops still rest on the individual pieces of grass, and when I pull my arm away from the ground it comes to me damp and colder than it had originally been.

My vision is still slightly fuzzy, and I'm wondering if I hit my head on something just as I feel something unusual on my arm and hand. At first I think that I'm bound by some kind of restrictive cloth, and immediately the struggle begins. Writhing wildly in the mud, I only end up dirtying myself more than I already am, which is to say that my entire body is pretty much covered with the soaked dirt. My panic multiplies as I am able to see clearly and I find the true source of my tight limb.

Somebody has put bandages on my arm.

The fact that I'm not being chained up by peacekeepers lightens my mood ever-so-slightly, but it doesn't help my confusion at all. I go to push myself off of the ground to look around, but I only crumple back down as a stabbing pain shoots through my injured arm.

Which sort of explains why I'm wearing bandages.

Still, the obvious questions hang in the air. How did I acquire my injuries, and who on earth would think to help me enough to keep me from bleeding to death? Then again, perhaps my injuries aren't severe enough to have killed me, but my arm sure hurts. The bandages are wrapped from my upper arm to my elbow, and also around the palm and back of my left hand. I try to lift my arm slightly and I find that this isn't as painful, but I will not try to lift myself up again while putting all of my weight on it. Somehow I manage to push myself up with my right arm, but my movement is awkward and jerky and it takes me a few moments. Twisting around away from the sunlight, I gasp suddenly and unwillingly step back a step out of fright.

There is a woman leaning up against a tree, looking beaten up and completely worn out. For a moment I worry that I might have woken her up in my frightened flurry of movement, but she doesn't move. My instincts tell me to completely ignore the woman and run- what if she happens to be a peacekeeper or something?- but there is a nagging feeling gnawing at me that says that she isn't. Plus, she doesn't look like a peacekeeper. Peacekeepers are clean and.. threatening. This woman is filthy, and in her dormant state she looks weak and innocent.

But looks can be deceiving, and this fact keeps me static right where I am for a long few seconds as I consider the situation. I'm just about to turn away and look for my fallen supplies when I see a small roll of bandages that was once full several feet away from the woman. My glance vacillates wildly between the woman and the bandages, and it occurs to me that she was probably the one that patched me up.

If she was the one that bandaged me, then who attacked me in the first place?

Sheer curiosity drives me forward, though I'm not sure how to go about waking the woman up. A bucket of water would be unceremonious, and of course I don't have a bucket or water, so that idea is completely out of the question. Instead, I reach forward with my uninjured arm and poke the woman's face gently a few times and then step back quickly in case she doesn't happen to be the friendly type.

Is anyone the friendly type?

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[shrimp]

----------

J E A N E T T E - C L A R I S S A - M I L E S


THINKING/LIVING - 5A5768
SPEAKING - 474D63
FLASHBACK - 7B6A84
----------

I'm 16 years old again.

I'm...Young, cheerful, oblivious, not afraid of most things. I'm weak. Spineless. Easily distracted. I can tell that I am these things, for I'm reliving a day. That day. To some, it was obviously uneventful; just another day of being hungry and learning about math. But to me... No, I can't. I can't do it. I can't voluntarily move either. It's almost as if I'm in a dreamlike state... Perhaps I am dreaming. Yeah, maybe that's it.

I'm in my bedroom though. It looks exactly the same, but I feel like I have more energy. I feel my body spring up from the bed. I'm late. The clothes are donned, a quick breakfast is eaten, and soon I can feel my feet running along the ground, trying to reach the flock of females that are far in front of me. Eventually, I do reach them, and I recognize these females. It's those girl... That I used to be friends with. The ones who used me.

"Oh, Jean. How nice of you to show up."

"I'm sorry, I woke up late!"

"No need to get all worked up over it. Relax girl."

Suddenly, the scene changes. We've just been let out of school. We, or I for that matter, have an hour to kill before work begins. I feel my feet running again, desperately trying to reach the girls who never seem to wait for me. I wish I could run away; I don't want to be near them. But this dream sequence of sorts doesn't let me control my movements. Instead, I find us walking towards the sweet shoppe again. No. Not this, anything but this. I don't want to remember it. I don't want to remember how naive and stupid I was.

But the bell chimes, and the old woman looks up. Immediately the other girls rush into the store, talking to the woman so loudly and with such excitement that she's distracted for a few moments. I find my fingers flexing, reaching for the small round chocolates, wrapped in hard-to find, brightly colored foil. How much money it took to make these I really will never know. But they slip into my pocket, just in time to hear the conversations ending. The girls leave, and I quickly follow them, turning back once. The old lady lets out a smile, and a soft "come back tomorrow" is heard over the fading chatter of my so-called friends. The only thing that 16 year old me can do is nod slightly, and run away.

The chocolates are quickly handed out, and little thanks is given. Still, I'm repulsed to feel the sense of pride instilled into me as they comment about how quick my hands are. For the younger me, it's a compliment of sorts, but I find my blood boiling.

It's dark now. What? Why the hell is it dark out? It was just bright a second ago- No. No no no no no.... The shame I feel from stealing from that old lady is nothing compared to this. Why? Why, you stupid nightmare, why are you forcing me to relive this? I don't want to. I can't, I won't! But yet, I don't feel sleep evading me yet, so this dream must continue.

All is quiet, save for the soft tapping noise that my feet make against the ground. I have to get home - I have my paycheck, and my family needs it. Just one thought about little Mindy makes me start to make a horrible decision. The alleyway, no matter how forboding it looks, is the fastest way to get home. The light soon fades away now, and the alleyway seems to strech forever into the distance. Of course, this is just the dream working into my mind, making things that shouldn't occur seem normal. But I can't see the end to the narrow pathway. I begin to run as soon as I hear the voices - the power of movement has been given to me now.

"Hey, girl. Come 'ere."

"I said, get over here!"

I hear footsteps approaching. No! I have to get away, I have to run faster! But my steps seem as slow as molasses, and I'm not getting anywhere. A force seems to stop me from going further, and before I know it I'm pinned down by two rough hands, a blade to my throat.

"Now be quiet missy, or this little blade's going to sever your pretty little neck. And you don't want that now, do you?"

"... S-stop, please!"

The tears run down my face. The man simply smiles, and then all that I feel is pain. Make it stop. Make it stop. MAKE IT STOP. Then I see the blade, plunging towards my neck.

[/color]

N[/i][/color]O!"[/size][/blockquote]
I gasp, sitting up, the sweat on my forehead showing me that it was just a dream. The sun shines down onto my skin, making the cool day seem a tad bit warmer. I sit there for a moment, listening to my heartbeat, which is pounding so fast that I swear that it's going to burst at any given moment. But slowly, it begins to slow, and that's when I notice the girl right in front of my face. For a second, the fear envelops me again, but then I realize who this is.

Oh. She's the one who I fought and saved at the same time. Hi there. She's probably wondering why I'm still here I guess. By the looks of it, she only just woke up as well. Stifling a groan, I slowly make my way up, leaning on the tree for support. The pain is dulled a tad bit, but it sure hurts like hell. I slowly take in the sight of the blood soaked bandage before realizing that I have to get home to disinfect this. Hah, my family's going to get a laugh out of this. Or, they'll have a laugh sometime in the future. The distant future. As in centuries.

"Um... Goddamit I don't know how to word shucking stuff... You alright? The wound's patched up okay...ish? Sorry about that by the way. I'm sort of... paranoid and... overprotective... sometimes."[/center][/blockquote][/size]

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

We've learned to run from
Anything uncomfortable
We've tied our pain below
And no one ever has to know

The easiest solution to every problem is to just throw away the situation altogether, or at least that's how I see it. If you don't want to talk to someone, stand up and walk away. If they follow you, start running. Everything can be solved by changing direction and running. Run from a fight if you don't want to be killed, run away from home when home is no longer a pleasant place to be. Run from things that have happened to you, because they can no longer be solved and there is no use in dwelling upon events in the past. It can fix any and every problem imaginable, if you manage it well enough.

You just can't be slow.

People have called me a coward for being like this. Perhaps I am; perhaps I have always been one of faint heart. It used to bother me, the fact that I was so afraid of everything that I couldn't face up to much. But when it really comes down to it, I'm not the one struggling under immense problems. I'm not the one worrying about anyone else other than myself. There is nothing to dislike, no reason to stay at places that I don't like . When you ignore everything, there isn't anything there for you. It's (relatively) painless, and that's the best part. No worries other than survival, and surviving is one of my strong suits. Eat, sleep, hunt, explore. It has it's not-so-simple sides, but I would much rather be here than to be cooped up in the Districts with laws and problems and people. This is far easier for me, and running away got me all of this.

The actual point is, I don't have to deal with this person in front of me anymore. She helped me (after fighting god-only-knows-who) and just as easily as I have left everything else, I can leave her standing here. I have no obligations to speak to her. With running I have freedom, and I no longer have any manners. Even if I do have a few good manners, they only come to me sporadically. Right now, I don't care whether or not I'm being rude by abruptly leaving. No obligations, no worries, no people. It's quite the life.

I'm just about to give up and walk away when a gasp in front of me sends me sprawling back several steps. I was kind of scared that she was actually dead or something, but now I'm more afraid that she's awake. A dead person is scary and all, but a live one is the only one that can kill you. One's gross, and one is a threat. This is why people need to stay away from me.

She seems to register the fact that I'm standing in front of her, the glance shooting from her eyes showing clear recognition. Of course she recognizes me; she was the one with the bandages. She healed me.

Thanks, chick. I'm leaving now.

I raise my eyebrows at her in a curious glance before I turn tail and begin to walk away, but I stop abruptly as clear, nervous words reach my not-so-attentive ears.

"Um... Goddamit I don't know how to word shucking stuff... You alright? The wound's patched up okay...ish? Sorry about that by the way. I'm sort of... paranoid and... overprotective... sometimes."

Turn and leave. Go, I tell myself silently, closing my eyes at the words. Something about what she said seems odd to me, but maybe it just all seems odd to me. Oddly enough, the few things that truly occur to me at first are the words paranoid and overprotective. It sounds just like me, except I no longer have anything to protect but myself. The overprotective bit is pointless in my case.

The next thing that occurs to me is probably a billion times worse.

This chick attacked me.

I'm not one to talk much, but I can't restrain the words that pop out of my mouth next. "Wait, you did this to me? Why did you bandage me up, then? I ask, my tone rising and falling like the tide in question and curiosity mixed with the anxiousness that never leaves my voice anymore.

It bothers me a bit that she seems so much like myself. Paranoid and unable to talk at times, it's no wonder that we fought each other. I wouldn't get along with myself either, if I had some sort of exact twin to fight with.

Exact being the key word there. Of course I've already had a twin.

[/justify]

That inside we're broken
I try to patch things up again
To count my tears and kill these fears
But have I told you, have I?

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