Annabelle O'Sullivan of District 6 [FINISHED]

Annabelle O'Sullivan of District 6 [FINISHED] Dec 14, 2012 17:37:01 GMT -5

Post by Sedge on Dec 14, 2012 17:37:01 GMT -5

"You can't trust anybody with power."

Name:
Annabelle "Annie" O'Sullivan

Gender:
Female

Age:
17

District:
District 6

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Appearance:

My siblings and I live the rougher life. Never enough to eat, and always on the run from the Peacekeepers leaves us as a dirty and ragged bunch. Sometimes I can get the worst of it. Strewn across my back are the scars from my public whipping, a time in my life that I haven't forgotten. No one forgets the sting of the lash. It left my back bloodied and raw, and the haunting memories from it still remain. It makes you wonder how much your next meal is really worth. It was worth the risk.

Much like my sister, Lexi, I'm not that big or muscular. We're both pretty short, and the muscles that we feed are those in our head. Like her, I stand at a meager 5' 4" in height. Really too bad, I wouldn't mind having some inches to brag about. My arms are... unhealthy. Scrawny, bruised, and scarred from our "misfortunate," but educational lifestyle. Sometimes I remembered where they all came from, but more often than not they are a mystery from my days that seem to all blur together.

One good thing, at least, is that Lexi and I aren't identical twins. We are fraternal, and though we share many similarities, we have plenty of differences. Even though we share the same blonde hair, hers is longer, and more of a golden color compared to my head of straw. I keep it short and tied back, and then I just try to forget it exists. Like the rest of the grime on my body, if I can forget it's there, I have one less thing to worry about.

My clothing choice is also much different compared to my sister, whose always dressing in reds and blacks. I prefer the brighter colors, the softer colors, the kind that remind me of a spring meadow and help me forget that I actually live in this urban dump. But they're also clean, and that is just one thing that I've never been able to have these days. Going day to day with dirt under your nails, greasy hair, and skin shiny with oil gives that whole new perspective on bathing. You grow to desire it, to yearn for it, but it's a selfish dream.

You know, some days I just like to sit on a bench and watch, my silvery gray eyes blank. The days when I just don't know what to do, and the days where I just don't have any energy. My poverty-stricken body just demanding rest that I can't give it. Grimy hands on my lap, and a bad day just leave me staring, waiting for some kind of answer.

Personality:

I'm not overly fond of other people. They make me uneasy, I can't read them, and in some ways... I don't even trust my own siblings. I don't trust myself. I don't see any point in it. All my life I've watched the dirty secrets unfold, the most decent of people who've done wrong, and I know that it doesn't matter how much you love someone. You'll hurt them eventually. They'll hurt you eventually, and love is a stupid excuse to put a giant target on your heart for them to shoot at.

As much as I care for Lexi and Gus, I can't let them in too close. I love those two, but even they can't be trusted. Just, things that surface when you are consumed by paranoia. I have the hunch that my twin lies to us, and though I don't think it's hostile, I still can't help but be put off by it. I can't imagine anything that she could do that could ever force us away. What could she be doing that is so terrible we can't know about it? Is she trying to save face?

I've found that my humor is all but gone. I'm not really a cheerful person, and not much brings me joy anymore. There was a time when the simple site of a sidewalk flower, or a clear summer night's stars would bring warmth to my chest. Now my heart is frozen and cold, and nothing resides here. I let myself slide into the shadows, and don't establish presence. There are days where I just want to curl into a ball, and forget the world. But you can't do that when you're in my position, my family's position. I honestly don't know how Gus does it. Stays together so well even with cancer, he's incredible.

So hard I try not to dwell on what we've gone through, but everything... it's just broken me. I don't sleep well at nights, but I can never stay awake during the day. Just like a zombie, I shuffle about and moan, dissatisfied with my current state. Maybe I am dead inside. Maybe that's why I can't feel anymore. I wonder if you can cure this kind of sadness, or if it just goes away in time. How long has it been? Has it faded yet? Is the end of this... near? Or is this a permanent state of loneliness and disconnection?

Perhaps the what I do feel... is hope. And it keeps my heart from breaking.

History:

My past is long, and none too pleasant. It's a great big disaster, starting a mere year after my and Lexi's birth. All it took was her death giving birth to Gus that sent us spiraling out of control. Our father grieved over the death of our mother, but we never thought we'd leave. Him casting us out and sending us to a foster family was the catalyst for our train wreck of a childhood.

Our first home with the foster family only lasted until I was about five years old. It was brutal, with a careless care-taker, and we were often at the mercy of the other children in the home. The woman who housed us told us that we were lucky to be in such a great home. I say housed because she didn't take care of us. She gave us food and board, and let us roam free, which was a mistake on her part. At such a young age, we were always snooping around and getting into trouble. Quite often we were yelled at, but she never did actually hit us. However, we were too much for her, and the other children were glad to see us be sent out when our mother's sister took us in.

The aunt's home was a short-lived residence, and we were quickly shoved off into another foster home. We eavesdropped, and tested our boundaries. Lexi would fabricate lies to try and get sympathy out of the woman, and it sometimes worked when tied with our innocence.

You know, as we went on, we ended up in our last foster home where it was actually somewhat pleasant. The other kids were nice enough, and I even began to form a bit of a bond with these people. Kind and thoughtful, but no tolerance for our antics. Our rebellious natures and hunger for the home's secrets eventually would be our downfall. The people I'd begun to love had thrown us out, and it hurt me. I felt betrayed, and I still do. They'd broken my heart, and I still didn't forgive them for that. Not now. Not ever. Age nine, and cast out into the streets. Heartless.

We had to be creative, and I'll admit to scrounging through the garbage bins a few times for a meal. Rotten vegetables and an old bone was better than air pudding and wind sauce. It got us by, even if it upset our sensitive young stomachs. Eventually we began to learn to pickpocket for money, Lexi and I working as a team to accomplish the goal. Often times I would have her bump into a citizen, and a quick nab would take their wallet and their cash. Other times we'd steal from the stores, either a piece of fruit or other item. When we got desperate, we used our knowledge attained over the years to black mail people into either paying or feeding us.

However, just when we thought that things were going to be alright, there was my little brother, Gus. He developed bone cancer, and had to lose one of his limbs. Things were far more complicated with this, and we had to be careful in order to care for him. Though, like most things, we adjusted and things have worked out so far.

Except for one day. I remember it pretty clearly, and the scars are still fresh after a mere year's passing. It was another one of our pickpocketing scandals, and we weren't as careful that time. A peacekeeper saw me reach into his pocket, and he was on me in an instant. I was slammed to the ground, and put into hand cuffs. I was terrified, but he took me away, and I spent a night in a cell. I don't like to remember that place.

The next day I was tied to the post in the center of the district's square. Twelve painful lashings, the amount of money that was in the man's wallet. I have the scars to prove it, and I consider myself lucky. It was better to be an example, than dead. But I haven't been the same since then. Since the day I had my power stripped from me, if it ever was mine all along.

And I'll never have it back.