+Night Visions+ [Pythong]

[arx!!]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 000000; -webkit-border-radius:100px 100px 100px 100px; width:500px] My eyes can't see. What is wrong with me? My world is spinning 'round and I'm lost again, lost again. I sit at the edge of the training center where I can hear my siblings throwing knives, slashing swords, and, of course, taunting each other. (Or killing each other. Sometimes it's hard to tell ... ) I can hear Aine over all of them, doing what she calls, "encouraging," everyone else in the room. Mostly I just get insults out of it, but then again that's all I ever hear come out of her mouth. I give a small sigh, one quiet enough so that no one's attention is drawn to me, and let myself focus on the smaller noises around the room as everything returns to normal. I can hear the tumbling of Jessalyn from where I sit, her intricate cartwheels and tumbling giving the floor a bit more of a rattle than everyone elses regular lunge steps. Through the open window I can hear a bird singing despite the ting-tang clash of metal on metal as Aine and Leo spar. And I can hear the soft thud of throwing knives against every target as Brigit throws a few while Aine is distracted. And behind me I can hear the mice running in the walls, their tiny feet scratching at the wood beneath. So much for being so rich that we can keep the mice out. I lean back against the wall, boredom beginning to kill me. I only came here because I figured I had nothing better to do. Turns out anything is better than this. And as I sit up at the sound of door on the other side of the room swinging open and the boom of my father's, I quickly guide myself out the other door before I have to hear more about how useless and pathetic I am. Or even worse, get completely ignored. Either way, I've dealt with that shit enough to know I don't much enjoy it. I do however enjoy listening to him yell at everyone else in my family, so once I get outside, I press my ear against the door, hearing clearly what he has to say. But it really only consists of the usual. "Brigit go do something productive." and "Aine you are the perfect daughter ever." and "Leo, why can't you be more like your sister?" And of course nothing for Jessalyn. I guess we are a bit similar in that aspect. Dad doesn't even look at us unless he wants to call us freaks. As I grow bored of even my precious father's company, I raise my head from the door and push my hair behind my ear before continuing around the edge of the building, following the road map in my head as my hand glides of brick walls and glass windows. My feet glide across the pavement with ease, despite the heat that radiates up from it, burning the soles of my feet and no doubt dirtying them more ... As I continue down the street the sound of lots of people shuffling along, makes me regret not bringing my "Helpless Blind Girl Stick" with me for the day. I can just hear everyone's wallets calling out to me, wailing when I just let them pass by without even trying to steal them. I pass down alleys where the smell of smoke makes me want to puke, pass by those racey bars only the nastiest people know about, making my way further and further into territory where only the worst District 1 has to offer go. A few guys call my name as I pass, and I call back to them, having memorized their voices. And this best part about these people in this part of the District? They don't offer to help me because they know full well what I am capable of. And normally, this place suits me. I get used to the smell of smoke after awhile and I don't mind stepping in someone's cigarette ash or chew spit (You get used to it, stepping in disgusting things.) but when I hear it, I can't help but turn around, my feet carrying me towards it. Some of the guys that called my name earlier laugh at me on the way back, a bit of an inside joke between all of us. "Ah! So little miss Blind Bandit does need some help!" I make a point to flip them off with a smirk, evoking more laughter and coughing. As the sound grows louder as I get closer to the nicer part of the District once again, I start to move a little faster, my ears following the new and unfamiliar sound. But then I force myself to slow donw, a bit ashamed of how naïve, not knowing what a sound is and being so intrigued by it. The sound gets louder and louder as I get closer and closer, but soon I find myself at the edge of my road map, grumbling in annoyance at how distant the sound still is. I stretch myself out away from the last building that I know and recognize, and slowly push forward, trying not to look completely helpless. I am not helpless ... As I find myself running into trash bins and stumbling over bumps in the sidewalk, I start to think that maybe this whole, "Oh my Ripred! A new sound! Must find out what it is!" hype was totally not worth the bruises and scrapes that I am gaining with every step. But then I round the corner and it's there. The perfect sound. A sort of tinging and pinging and humming that combines together into one beautiful thing that I know to be music. I smile, feeling my way along the wall, the sound of the still unknown instrument coming from above my head. It must be from an apartment. But my will to investigate any further sort of tapers off as I get lost in how beautiful it sounds. Music. Who knew it was so wonderful? I find my way to the curb before I set myself down there, folding my arms across my knees and losing myself in this new found thing. Who needs sight when you can listen to this? My eyes can't see what's in front of me. Should've learned by now but Here I am, lost again, here I am.

[Python]

The room was heavy with sweat, tension, and sibling rivalry. It was a weight upon Brigit’s shoulders that distorted her focus, especially with Aine barking orders and disrupting the peace of mind she longed to achieve. It was always Aine and Leo sparring for dominance in the training center, desperately trying to outmatch one another with fluid kicks and silver swords.

And for what? She suspected it was a battle for father’s praise. Aine already had him in the palms of her nimble hands; she had always been the prodigy of the family, his shimmering star. He always looked upon her through a lens of deep admiration, while Leo was cast aside into the shadows where he continued to mourn for the loss of their beloved mother. Father’s approval was essential for boys and girls like Aine, Brigit, and Leo, because letting a simple mistake slip beneath his watchful eye called for dire consequences. For Aine and Leo to battle in a war zone was natural if both wished to either restore or maintain their honor. Thankfully, Brigit was not tangled in this storm of sibling rivalry. She was in her own fabricated world, running a business under the supervision of her scrutinizing father - but that didn’t relieve her of her duty as a career and a solider.

With Aine momentarily distracted by her duel - tossing knives with precision Brigit knew she could surpass - Brigit was able to stride confidently with her loyal blades between her fingertips, well aware of how powerful their little tongues could be under her command. One, two, three - perfect. She launched three consecutive knives at a single target without pause. The first one sank its tip into the bulls-eye of the dummy’s chest, claiming the imaginary “life” only an inanimate object could hold. The second and third followed suit, but with no intention of leaving their marks. Precision at its best. Pride was forbidden, so it was with a stoic expression that she watched the remaining knives ricochet off of the hilt of the first knife and bounce across the floor. She immediately glanced over her shoulder, wondering if Aine had witnessed the seemingly miraculous act that had become Brigit’s training routine. Fortunately, the infamous fire princess was too distracted to notice anything other than her target. The scene in front of Brigit would now appear as a failure rather than a victory - two knives on the floor, and only one buried in a target. She was more than satisfied.

As she retrieved the fallen knives her eyes caught sight of an impressive acrobatic display performed by Jessalyn, as she cart-wheeled across the floor as if her muscles were rubber and her bones light as a feather. Brigit noticed that the smile across her face never seemed to fade. I envy her freedom. It felt wrong to envy a person - it sounded too similar to an emotion, which was something she could not afford to have in any shape or form - but she couldn’t help but admire her twin’s extended wings. Brigit was trapped in a shell molded by her father’s brutal hands, and she was unable to grow her wings, let alone stretch them. The business encompassed her entire life and proper manners consumed her to her hollow core while Jessalyn and Clare were free to do as they pleased. Of course, with their freedom came the price of neglect and scorn from their father’s heart, and to him they would forever remain useless and unworthy of the family honor. Clare especially fit this category, but only because she was blind. It was unfair, random circumstances that forced this lonesome life upon her sisters, but there was nothing she could do to help them - not without suffering her father’s wrath in the long run.

Speaking of our father, Enlon Hayes burst elegantly through the front doors to disrupt their training session. The effects of his presence were immediate; every muscle in Brigit’s body turned rigid as she stood at full attention, and Clare immediately took the opportunity to slip out of the room before father could scold her for her lack of worth. His previous words were still ringing in her head, ”I want you to follow her, Brigit.” When her eyes locked with Enlon’s, it was clear what he wanted her to do. A simple gesture toward the door confirmed his wishes. Suppressing a sigh, she slipped off her shoes when he turned away from her. She would surely be chastised if he ever noticed - walking around without shoes was improper and unlike the typical behavior of a lady - but how could she be expected to pursue Clare without being caught wearing loud, clacking shoes? The prospect of walking around barefoot brought an odd discomfort to her skin, but if this is what father wanted, she would not risk failing him. ”I’ve been hearing rumors, Brigit, and I want you to find out what she’s up to.” Why their father was taking a sudden interest in Clare she did not understand. After years of verbal abuse and neglect, why did it matter where Clare ran off to when training hours were over? Unless her actions somehow threatened the family reputation (she suspected this was the reason, but she would never ask), there was little reason for Brigit to be following her for his sake. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t follow his direct orders.

Distance is key. Even after the removal of her own shoes to ensure the safety of her identity, she was careful in her pursuit. She did not underestimate Clare’s ability to hear and recognize the pattern of her footsteps, so she kept a fair amount of space between them. The sensation of her soles rubbing against hot pavement made her lips twitch and her jaw tighten, but no sounds escaped her but the soft breaths passing through her nostrils. Clare led her through twists and turns, through streets and alleys tainted with the odor of acrid smoke, and into the dingy areas of the district. She silently began to debate whether or not Clare was lost, or just wandering (she seems confident in her strides, she must have an idea where she is) when a string of voices captured her attention. They were boys - what most people would call delinquents by district one standards - and they called out her sister’s name like they were old friends. Clare returned their calls, and Brigit could no longer ignore that feeling of envy boiling in her stomach once again. She may not have father’s attention, but she has friends to make up for her loss. Maybe Clare’s life wasn’t so lonesome after all.

When Clare suddenly halted in her tracks, Brigit made haste to conceal herself behind the nearest corner. She heard those same voices again, regarding her sister by a different name. ”So little miss Blind Bandit does need some help!” Blind Bandit? Now that was something of interest. That implied that her sister was a thief, and if that was true father’s commands would no longer pose as a mystery to her. She considered leaving right then and there, before she discovered too much about Clare’s secret life (my brain tells me to follow orders, but my gut tells me that this is wrong), but when Clare passed her by she looked keenly interested in something. Curiosity alone gave her the extra push forward, and she continued following Clare until they both came to a pause near an apartment complex. She had acknowledged the soft threads of musical melodies from a distance, choosing to snuff it out before music’s forbidden emotional pull could wriggle its way past her defenses, but now it was evident that this sound was what Clare had been seeking. Brigit didn’t listen to music often - father said it was a distraction, and she knew he was right about that - but she was able to recognize the instrument's soothing voice.

”It’s a piano,” she said, in her usual impassive tone. Clare was perched at the edge of the curb, now, but she did not move to join her. Instead, she tilted her head to look at the window through which the melodies were escaping. As fascinating as it was, Brigit knew she couldn’t lose herself in the music like Clare was. It would only provoke the onslaught of emotions, and that’s not something you’re allowed to have, Brigit.[/blockquote][/justify]

[arx!!]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 000000; -webkit-border-radius:100px 100px 100px 100px; width:500px] My eyes can't see. What is wrong with me? My world is spinning 'round and I'm lost again, lost again. I've never minded the whole not seeing thing. I've never known anything different so I guess I don't have anything to go off of, but I'm pretty sure being blind is much more fun than being able to see. How would I be able to steal anything if I didn't look so damn helpless and pathetic all the time? It's true, it annoys me the way everyone broods over me like I can't take care of myself and sometimes the kids at school like to pick on me because to them I am the weakest link, but otherwise I don't see (I really don't see - Ha!) what the big deal about eyes is. They are different colors and are supposedly an inside to all emotion, but I swear everyone else in this world must be deaf if they think that sight is the most important sense. Don't they hear the inflictions in peoples voices or recognize peoples walking patterns? Do they not use their ears at all? It makes me laugh knowing that I am the only one with this information - this crazy insight to how awesome your ears are. That's right, I am superior to nearly everyone in Panem. But does anyone else actually know this? Hell no. Look at my dad for example. I didn't know the man even existed until the day mom wasn't there. I swear if I hadn't thrown such a terribly loud fit I would've still been locked up in my room and no one would even know I existed. ... Why did he let me out of my room? I'm assuming to shut me up instantly rather than trying to muster the patience to starve me to death, but who knows. Maybe he loves me? Yeah - NOPE. He ignores me because I am of no use to him. I'm not the eldest son like Leo or the perfect career like Aine or running the business like Brigit. I'm worth even less than Jessalyn to him and my God does he think she is a freak. (Maybe that will change since the crazy, bendy chick won the Games this year?) Never mind the fact that a blind boy won the Games not too long ago. Never mind that I am nearly richer than him or know exactly where to grab and twist someone to be able to break their arm or ankle or neck even. I'm just a waste of life ... Whatever Dad, I don't need you either. Now Mom - Mom was different. Not that it was a good different, but it certainly was a better different than Dad. Sometimes I hated her. They way she never let me out of room for example, even when I could hear my siblings screaming and giggling in the yard. No dressing myself either, even after I had tabbed all my clothes to match them together correctly. Want to brush my own hair and teeth? Couldn't do anything like that either because I just wasn't old enough. Little did I know it had nothing to do with age. I wasn't allowed to do anything when it was up to Mom. I can remember throwing tantrums every time she told me I couldn't go outside. "You can't see, darling. You could hurt yourself." she would tell me, trying to calm me down. But I always remember telling her that I could see things. That she was making no sense at all. I could see my sisters and brother playing in the yard, I could see her her cotton dress, I could see the door was wide open, and I could see that she was baking something. But she told me that wasn't seeing. That I was different from everyone else and everything in life was going to be a lot more difficult for me than for other people and that I would need help my whole life. If only she could see me now, walking around the District all on my own, doing everything for myself because each way I turned no one was their to hold my hand. And I guess in a way I have my Dad to thank for that. Mom taught me how to love and Dad taught me how to ignore it. I guess they really were perfect for each other. Except now Mom is gone and that one part of me that knew what love has shrunk down more than it probably should be. But I'm okay. I got my money and my secret reputation as a total bad ass, so what more could I possibly need? Family is all one big joke to me anymore since Mom died so I don't mind if they don't talk to me at all. I've never really known any of them. Mom sort of glorified the value and importance of family with me and I was really injured when none of them turned out the way Mom she had explained them to me, but that was a long time ago. I know better than to trust anyone but myself now. And I guess this is what got spat back out after years of being told I couldn't, a girl who does everything for herself and lets nobody tell her she can't. And I have to say, I have sure made a name for myself. The Blind Bandit. I think it's got a pretty nice ring to it, if I do say so myself. Suddenly my mind wanders back to the music coming from the apartment behind me, the music stopping for a moment before continuing on like nothing had happened. It's so ironic how something so loving and beautiful could intrigue me so much. But the fact I can't help but revel in sounds. I find myself counting the foot steps behind me, distinguishing how may different people are behind me. The click-clack of heels, the shuffle-thud of work boots, the tiny pitter-patter of chubby children with no shoes - it's fun just to listen. I would bet anything that I know more than people with eyes do. You can take in so much more with your ears than your eyes. (How do I know? Because I'm smarter than everyone else I talk to.) I laugh then, my superiority over everyone else making me smirk in spite of myself. Go ahead. I dare everyone in Panem to try and outsmart me. ”It’s a piano.” I almost jump in surprise. Almost. But the thought of giving her the satisfaction of actually surprising me makes me so sick that I make sure I don't move at all, and turn in her general direction with a smile. "I was wondering how long you were going to just watch me from a distance. I would have to say swooning over your little sister is a little creepy." But my whole mind is whirling because she followed me. She followed me where everyone knew my name and watched me stumble along in new territory, looking like a complete idiot and running into everything. And even worse than that, I didn't know she was there. She obviously took her shoes off. There was no other explanation as to why I couldn't hear her. Everything inside me clenches and I feel a little sick at the thought. I missed something. I didn't hear her. What else am I missing? I stand up off the curb, listening to what I now know to be a piano playing. I adore it that much more now that it has a name. It just reminds me of Mom singing to me before bed or humming when she brushed my hair. Maybe that's why I missed it. I was distracted by - by the piano. God, why am I such a sucker for music? "So I'm sure you enjoyed our little walk, am I right?" I turn to where I think she is standing and a smirk crawling onto my face despite the fact that I am obviously losing this sibling face off by a long shot. Maybe she wasn't using her eyes ... But I know she had to have been paying attention. She's smart, not as scatter brained (in the good special way, don't take that as an insult) as her twin is. She knows what she needs to know. But this couldn't have been her idea, following me around. She lacks passion in every sense so the commitment to following her blind sister who she has never cared about before just to check up on her and tell her what she is hearing is out of the question. Which leaves one thing - and that's Dad. Since when does he care? "Oh and that outfit on you is just beautiful. I'm really disappointed about the shoes though. Dad really wouldn't like that, y'know. The fact that there are none." I find my way carefully back to the wall of the building, gesturing in her general direction as needed to make the conversation look normal, all while trying to wrap my mind around why suddenly Dad is sending Brigit off to spy on me. Apparently my life just got interesting. My eyes can't see what's in front of me. Should've learned by now but Here I am, lost again, here I am.

[Python]

Proper etiquette demanded that Brigit Hayes present herself in a public setting with her shoulders straight and her eyes facing forward - actions meant to represent her lifestyle, manners, and typical behavior. It was crucial in the business world to establish a strict reputation without the unnecessary task of proving it true, and that was one of many reasons why Brigit behaved the way she did; collectedly, professionally, and with a complete lack of emotion. She was almost robotic in the way she spoke apathetically, blue eyes trained on whomever had the ‘pleasure’ of sharing amateur small talk with her. Some people called her eerie, others commented humorously on how she walked “with a stick up her ass.” While she was a bit stiff in the neck from enduring hours of too-perfect posture, her movements could be rather fluid in the training center, since it was one of the few places she could embrace leisure and luxury. What her father’s wishes of ‘lady-like behavior’ didn’t entail, however, was exposure.

It was always her responsibility to dress appropriately when she was on the job, running one of the district’s most successful jewelry companies with Enlon breathing dragon’s fire down her neck. It was always concealing business attire such as collared shirts, suits, slacks, and close-toe heels, because to wear anything even slightly revealing was an invitation for “inappropriate attention” that would pose as a potential stress-inducer. Stress was an aspect of humanity that nobody could avoid, but with father’s severe commands she wanted to evade emotional stimulation as much as possible. He was also very protective of her in a possessive, irate manner that told others she was property rather than family, so lovers and relationships were so far banished from her mind that they left but an empty trail in their wake. Her mind was merely an accessible slab of information laced with a few drops of humanity that could not be drained from the human soul, and their father was its commander. He controlled how she acted, how she would conduct business, and how she would dress. At this moment, however, strings had to be tugged in order for her to execute orders.

The exposed skin of her feet was not an issue of pain more than it was the discomfort of breaking habit and allowing awkward display of freckled skin. Clare and Jessalyn could roam free without this burden, but this was only because they had escaped Enlon’s watchful eye. Brigit, on the other hand, was treading dangerous waters, and shifted her body to hide her naked feet from plain site within Clare’s shadow. Hopefully, the very few citizens browsing the streets would neither notice nor recognize her. ”I was wondering how long you were going to watch me from a distance. ” She was smiling, but Brigit was skeptical. The knowledge of Brigit’s presence would’ve driven her to pull tricks rather than letting her witness brief moments of vulnerability. If Brigit knew anything, it was that little Clare did not like to be considered vulnerable in most situations. She would allow it if she had stashed a few tricks up her sleeve, perhaps, but this was not one of those instances. Brigit had witnessed her stumbling, exchanging hellos, and accepting suggestive nicknames without concern. If she had known Brigit was there, her behavior would’ve changed. Besides, keen sense of hearing or not, Brigit was stealthy without her shoes. How could she have possibly heard her? ”I would have to say swooning over your little sister is a little creepy.”

Brigit always chose her words carefully, and to these comments she had none. She knew whether she spoke or not Clare would continue, and from past experiences she knew to expect bouts of sarcasm. ”So I’m sure you enjoyed our little walk, am I right?” She was smirking, creating a façade of confidence when her lies were translucent. The owner of the advantage here was very clear.

”Indeed, Blind Bandit.” For most there would be an air of impudence about the tone of voice when uttering the one phrase that surely defined her little sister’s identity in the outside world. If Brigit were anything like her father or Aine, her lips would be curled into a devil’s grin at the idea of her own victory. But instead, her tone was casual, almost disappointedly hollow. To conquer with fear and venomous malice was in the family bloodline, but it was not in her blood, nor did she believe it was in Clare’s. Therefore, she would be as delicate as she always was when dealing with unpleasant predicaments, but she would also be straightforward. Mentioning the nickname should’ve been enough to warn Clare of her new-found knowledge and the consequences that needed to be considered. She was not trying to be insolent or venomous - she was merely introducing the information, as upsetting as it could end up becoming.

”Oh and that outfit on you is just beautiful.” There it was, the dripping sarcasm. She chose not to acknowledge it. ”I’m really disappointed about the outfit though. Dad really wouldn’t like that, y’know. The fact that there are none.” She blinked. Fighting fire with flames equally as radiant - that was a Hayes tradition, whether either of them could deny it or not. Clare was no exception to this rule, and her words made that fact evident. They were balancing on both ends of a scale, each with information to carry as burdens upon their shoulders. Both could be used as weapons, and both could infuriate an unstable tyrant. Brigit knew, however, that the scale tipped slightly to the right - to her end. The dirt on Clare was far more severe than two exposed feet. ”Father also wouldn’t like the fact that you have a nickname. I’m assuming they don’t call you the Blind Bandit without reason?” There was a part of her that realized she could use the information to an obvious advantage, not to mention her original objective was to discover rumors about Clare that may or may not be true. Rumors that her father never even bothered to reveal to her. Had he also heard of her nickname, or was he sending her on this mission because he didn’t have enough information?

This wasn’t the only question that nagged her. Gaining the information was one thing, but actually using it required crossing a line of betrayal. If the rumors were true - if her sister was a thief with an infamous reputation - then she should report her, right? No, that doesn’t sound right. That was selfish behavior, and that wasn’t something her father had ever encouraged, yet if he were to discover withheld information like this she would be chastised - painfully chastised. Now after putting forth this effort to follow orders, she was second guessing herself. Now it was a question of morality and loyalty. She knew what Aine would do, and she knew what her father would want her to do. She also knew what Leo would say, and perhaps how Clare might feel and how she might suffer. Brigit swallowed an imaginary lump in her throat, visibly unfazed by the turmoil storming behind invisible walls, and shifted her stance. Fortunately, Clare would not be able to see the slight, twitchy tremor developing in her right hand - something that only occurred when she was faced with conflict.[/color][/blockquote][/justify]

[arx!!]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 000000; -webkit-border-radius:100px 100px 100px 100px; width:500px] My eyes can't see. What is wrong with me? My world is spinning 'round and I'm lost again, lost again. It took years for me to get where I am. It's obvious she doesn't realize this, or that if she does, she doesn't really care, but as for me, I care. This status I hold, this nickname I have received - no, earned - didn't just happen overnight or even over a weeks time. It took years. I didn't ask for it, this recognition throughout the misfits and delinquents that scatter the streets, it just came with it after I started. I thought that when I started it would be a one time thing. I just wanted to try it, y'know? Just to see if I could do it. But then it turned into a sort of act. I would walk around, flailing, calling for help, just waiting for someone to grab me around the shoulders or take my hand to help to a bench or doorstep nearby. No one thought I could steal away their money without them noticing. Everyone thinks a blind girl screaming for help in the streets is so innocent. But the boys and girls that stand on the street corners in the shade of nearby buildings, trying to hold in their laughter as some poor soul comes to help me, have come to know me. And thus, the Blind Bandit was born. And now, here is my darling, dearest sister, ready to take it away from me. All because our "oh so precious" father told her to. But what could he possibly do? Lock me in my room? Yeah, I can pick locks pretty well, not to mention I could attempt a daring escape out the window if it came to it. Plus I've only spent a good 8 years in that room, I could survive a few more. Yell at me and tell me how worthless I am? I've gotten that so often throughout my life that words like that have little effect on me anymore. I've grown numb to it all really. Or at least better at hiding the hurt ... Maybe he will be daring and decide that since the verbal abuse no longer works physical might be a bit more effective. And to that idea, I laugh. In fact, I hope he hits me. I hope he beats me into oblivion, thinking that I will change my ways just because he can hit a 14 year old blind girl. I've taken that kind of abuse before too, sneaking under his nose to go have my own personal hand-to-hand combat training in the underground fighting ring that no Peacekeepers seem to know about. Just another way for me to reel in more money - through bets. So, unbeknownst to him, I am invincible. Untouchable. He can lock me away, yell and curse at me, hit me, push me down, break my bones, and strip away my name I have made for myself, but he will never take away the fight in me. I live and breathe to make his life as miserable and difficult as I possibly can. So I hope she tells him. I hope she tells the whole god damn District and I hope the family business comes crashing to the ground (with everyone in the family beneath it I might add ... ) and I hope they know that their poor, little, pathetic, useless, blind sister put them there. Maybe it's a bit cruel, maybe I would pull them out from underneath the debris if they begged enough, maybe I would crack and break under pressure and forgive them, Leo and Aine and Brigit and Jessalyn, for looking at me like I was insignificant or stupid or whatever other dirty thoughts they hold in their minds to describe me. Maybe I would forget it all, because underneath it all, I really do love them. Mom made it impossible for me to hate them. I do love them. But as for Enlon ... I will never forgive him. Mom built up the image of him - strong and powerful and sweet and able to keep me from harm and just the perfect fucking father in all of Panem. And I was lucky enough to be his youngest daughter. Ha! Lucky! And I believed that for years and Mom let me go one believing that my whole life and I created something in my mind. I imagined the perfect dad. And then mom died and I knew I would get to meet him and he would scoop me up in his arms and everything would be alright again. And then I reached for his hand and he let me fall to the ground, a stumbling, terrified mess. And I will never forgive him for letting me fall. He was supposed to catch me, to hold me, to tell me that he loved me and everything would be alright because he was there now. And instead, he let me fall. And to make it all that much more picture perfect, he fed me to the dogs he raised as my siblings. ”Father also wouldn’t like the fact that you have a nickname. I’m assuming they don’t call you the Blind Bandit without reason?” My hand finds the brick wall and I immediately feel like I'm in control again, less vulnerable. Oh, Brigit ... always so damn analytical. And for that, I would also blame dad. Love is not in his vocabulary and I don't think he even taught my dear sister the definition, just for the sake of her knowing that this "love" people spoke of was a stupid thing. Passion - everyone should have it. Passion to hate, to love, to steal things, to murder people, to swing swords, to count money, to hold someones hand, to run a business ... You need some sort of passion to function properly. And I don't think that dad too the time to wire that into her brain. I don't say anything, just wriggle my toes on the sidewalk, listening to the piano again, contemplating. What am I supposed to say? [color=FF7777 ]"Yes, oh my God you caught me, you are such a talented pet - I mean, spy - and just take me away to Enlon now. Take me away." That's a little too sarcastic and confident for even me. I shake my head, smiling again. "Well, it's really not all that special really." I say, making my way back along the wall, feeling the ridges of the bricks beneath my fingertips, not really caring it she follows me or not. If she wants to get involved in my business, then so be it. "I could just as easily give you a nickname. Like, say, The Philophobic. Or maybe, Super-boring-stick-in-the-mud girl! I think that one has a nice ring to it personally. Kinda catchy, too." For a moment I feel bad. It's not her fault. None of this is really her fault. She is only following directions after all. But she is following me none the less, spying on me, in a way, attempting to ruin me, all because it would please dad. At least she gets the opportunity to try and please him. I stop in my tracks, pressing my back against the wall, smirking in her general direction. It's jealousy, this thing that drives me to talk right now. I don't welcome it, but it is here all the same, forcing mean and misdirected insults at my older sister. God damn am I a bitch or what? "Your super power, because yes, I have a secret super power too - but yours, yours could be the ability to be so boring, that people near you die because you are just that boring. Oh and of course we can't forget the Enlon-kiss-assery power you already have. I'd say you're nearly as good as Aine at that now." And with that I turn away again, slowly beginning my journey along the wall, back to familiar territory.

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My eyes can't see
what's in front of me.
Should've learned by now but
Here I am, lost again, here I am.

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