//Samuel Tulius// District 8 CBD
Jan 1, 2013 13:17:36 GMT -5
Post by Rosetta on Jan 1, 2013 13:17:36 GMT -5
Samuel Tulius
Of 18 years
Of District 8
Male
Of 18 years
Of District 8
Male
[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote][/color]I like to think that my heart is bigger and more important than my weight. My father doesn’t. The brown eyes, the mess of brown hair, my facial hair, as if to disguise the second chin and sagging cheeks. He doesn’t notice my strength or my kind, worn hands that turn the pages of a book delicately as if afraid to hurt it. But, he notices the weight. Worthless, useless, I am. I won’t readily get up and move around, no, I’m a sack, a lump. A lazy nothing. But, Father, look at my grades. I can read and write better than anyone in my class!But, can you work in my textile factory? Too heavy, too much work, I sweat, I get tired and hot…No, you lazy bum. Responsible for your mother's death, a too fat baby you were! Get out! Get out! He kicked me out when I was sixteen and reaching my maximum weight and me, a cry baby, a coward, I cringed and cried and when out, unable to fight back. Lack of self-control. Eating out of garbage cans, crashing at friends’ houses, in warehouses, stealing and whipped a few times, begging forgiveness of who I took from. Crying. Always crying, but no one wanted the fat boy who got kicked out. Until him. I got sick when I was seventeen on a cold night, sleeping in an alley. Nearly passed out in my own vomit, he took me in, tipping herbs down my throat. The old blind apothecary. And when I came to, thankful, I begged. You’re blind. I can help. I love to help! Can you take orders? Write down sums and formulas? Yes, yes, I can! At least he doesn’t think my weight matters. It’s my kind heart.
<img src="http://i41.tinypic.com/16h2ibt.png">
