Horus Jacobs, District 10 (FINISHED)
Jun 28, 2012 19:48:04 GMT -5
Post by I'm Known As Eliza on Jun 28, 2012 19:48:04 GMT -5
Name: Horus Jacobs
Age: 12
Gender: Male
District/Area: District 10
Appearance:
Comments/Other:
Age: 12
Gender: Male
District/Area: District 10
Appearance:
Personality:My sister is signing to me that I need to write about my appearance. She also signed that later I'm going to talk about my personality, and my history. That's going to be a doozy. Oh, I shouldn't have written that. Stupid pen, can't erase.
Ok, so I am Horus Jacobs, I'm twelve years old, and I live in District Ten. I look pale and fragile, which sucks. I hate looking so needy. I hate the way that I look so messy and stupid, and it just irritates me. I hate it.
I have very pale skin. When I was little, my sister signed to me that I looked like a star, with my blonde hair and pale skin. I looked like I could glow as a tiny star in the sky. My pale grey eyes are bright, and I kind of look like my sister. But I look kind of bleached out, like all of the color was drained out of me. My hair is messy, and almost bleach blonde naturally, so I look like someone could find me in the darkness easy. I feel vulnerable, which is terrible for me. I hate it.
My blonde hair is always messy, falling over my eyes and my pale face. The sun does almost nothing to me, except light burning. My face is more oval than round, and my cheekbones are prominent. I'm lanky, with my long neck and skinny shoulders and stomach, and skinny legs to add to it all. I'm average height too, so I don't look as skinny as I really am.
My mom and my sister sign to me that I'm really handsome, and I just point to my forehead, but they don't quit. I say pointing to my forehead, and I mean pointing to the little circles that are scattered there. They are dark red and swollen and I think that they are little scars, and they look so stupid. It looks like someone poked holes in my forehead. They are puffy, and luckily I can cover them up with my hair, but I hate showing them. I feel like every one can see them, and my hand often flies to my forehead to cover them.
I usually wear light colored clothes, because they look better than dark clothes, which make me look like a ghost. I wear tennis shoes when I bother to put shoes on. Most of the time I run around barefoot, call it a habit if you wish. I always wear long sleeves and jeans as well, if I can get out of bed that day. If I can't pajamas it is. The story of my life.
Ok, so my personality.History:
I love animals. I love taking care of animals. I always try to take care of Miracle as often as I can, when I'm not coughing up blood and saliva. I love being outside, even if it means being burned just a little. I love working on the ranch my family owns. I enjoy it, even though my sister does all of the work. I love the color blue. I love watching stars at night.
I have a grand interest in stars. I could watch them from my window all night long. And sometimes I do. I watch the stars and imagine up stories for each and every one of them. I love telling them to my sister by signing. She loves listening to my story, and I love telling them.
I am impatient. I can't handle waiting for something. I like work with instant success. I can't handle waiting for results. I get offended easily too. I've been made fun of before, by people I've met over my years, and it isn't fun. I hate being bullied, and I hate watching other people be bullied. I lose my temper at that, and I might try to throw a couple of punches.
I am very caring. I can't wait to meet a friend that I can care for, younger or older. I feel like I would be a good friend, but I don't know yet. I've never had one. My sister says anyone would be lucky to be my friend, but I don't know. I always wanted a little brother or sister, or a friend, or a fellow worker. Not to be rude, but sometimes your family gets annoying. I need someone to talk to besides my family. I need a friend.
I am known as one of the miracle children of the Jacobs couple. Miracle meaning I'm not supposed to be alive at this moment. I was born fine, and healthy. My parents thought I would be a perfectly strong boy, ready to work on the farm. Isis was already six when I was born, but I wasn't considered a nuisance to her. She took good care of me, so my parents trusted her with me, even at her young age.Codeword: odair
I started having the seizures at ten months old. It was late at night, and I started thrashing in Isis' arms. She was terrified. She started crying, while I stayed quiet, still thrashing. My parents rushed in, and they took me to my room, put my in my room, and prayed. My sister kept crying, begging me to be better, begging me to stop. Eventually I did. Isis thought it was all her fault. She kept crying, and my parents calmed her down, telling her that she did the same thing when she was little, making her feel a little better. That's the story my parents always told me, at least.
But I got worse. My seizures got more frequent and they lasted longer. They never stopped. I still have them in my sleep, I still thrash around. Isis comes in and checks on me often at night, up to ten times a night, making sure that I'm hitting my hands and my legs on anything. It's good to have her there.
I learned how to read and write. As you can tell, I write pretty well, at least my age level I guess. I understand like emotions, and I can read faces. I learned how to sign to my family, so they can understand what I want, and how I'm feeling. If I'm feeling bad, a simple thumbs down will suffice to help them understand, for example. They're not too complicated, but my sister understands me more than my parents. She can read my harder signs, and my parents can read my basic ones, like my 'hungry' sign, and my 'sick' sign, and my 'thirsty' sign. And my 'I love you' sign, as well.
My family has been there through it all. They were there during the seizures. They were there when my parents found out I was mute. They were there when I became basically permanently sick. I am always coughing, hacking, sneezing, mostly blood comes out. I'm getting better, slowly but surely. They take care of me, helping me heal. They help me through everything. It's makes me feel better when they are there to wipe away my tears. I can't voice my gratitude, but they know I have it.
I rarely get out of the house. I can go out more often now, but I used to be stuck inside, never being able to feel air on my face. It was terrible. I would see my sister and my parents outside taking care of the horses and the cows, but I would be stuck inside. My own home started to feel like a prison. I couldn't leave. But once, I snuck out. I walked out to the ranch, a good two miles. When I got there, I was so tired. But then I saw the animals. The horses especially enchanted me, but mainly it was my horse, Miracle. You'll never guess where I got the name.
Then she was just a foal, a small pretty white one, and her mother was being very protective of her. I walked up to her, my hand out in a friendly gesture, and her mother whinnied unhappily. But Miracle came almost right up to me, and we grew closer as I got out more. I'm learning how to ride other horses, and now that she is bigger and older, I can't wait until my dad tells me Miracle is ready. I can ride her soon, once her and I are ready to ride at a gallop.
That's my history. It's a little lengthy, and it will get lengthier as I get older, but I can't wait for my life to get longer. I can't to get better. I can't wait to be able to ride alongside my sister, meet the girl of my dreams, and to have kids. I can't wait. But I'll have to, because it's still a long was away.
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