Charlie Pryce Brownings // D1 [FIN]

[Deleted]

Charlie Pryce Brownings

❅ ❅ ❅

But those are just memories, God I love the memories
God, you felt so close to me when we were still a family
Those are just melodies, God I love the melodies
God, you felt so close to me when we were still a family

❅ ❅ ❅

Toothpaste is disgusting.

The residue sinking in my teeth because I decided that I want my teeth to match my pallid skin. I don't go out much, it's why I'm so pale. I should do that tomorrow, maybe. What would I even do? Maybe Augustus could come with me and we could do something. I like going places with him, he compliments me a lot. He said he liked my hair the other day. Was it softer or darker than usual? Who am I kidding, these black strands are never soft. Maybe he was being sarcastic and hates it? Does he also hate the taste of leftover toothpaste?

If me and him went somewhere, what would I even say? "Oh, I saw your cut when you came out the shower the other day!"? I still hope he's ok though, I asked if he was and all he said was "Shut up." So we sat outside and talked about navy taxis with grass growing slowly around our fingers. The sun was bright unlike now, because the sun is down on the other side and it's nighttime, and I'm rambling to myself because I can't sleep. At some point Marlene came up, and Augustus called me crude because of the jokes I made, and because I am. I'm still thinking about it. I didn't mean to be rude, or say it at least, but it came out wrong like most things.

My father used to say I was rude a lot, because I don't phrase things correctly, or maybe I do, and that's the problem. Regardless, my mom used to say we were spitting images, eyes bluer than Marlene's stupid face when she tried to hold her breath long enough to recite some boring essay without any coherent punctuations, like she was rambling like I am now but decided to throw it on paper anyways. I think she doesn't know how to form a correct thought, but my father said he didn't think I could either because I never thought before I acted out, and still don't.

I don't know how there aren't very many people with mental health problems, because thinking is one of the most stressful things I do, and not being able to articulate what I mean to words drives me insane. My mother said once I should try to read more books, and learn new words, and Augustus once read the dictionary so I think I'll start with that. He also said he wanted to travel before, and I would like to too. I want to visit District Four and see the ocean and whale and compete in that thing where they hook fish and throw them in buckets. I'm not sure about rivers though, the pictures of them in books scare me, but I want to swim. I want to count the laps because counting is relaxing, the numbers sooth me.

When I was younger, my house burned down and I walked past it everyday for years and still do, charred to match my hair and my parents' bodies. I used to think that hobos lived there, and I'm still not sure because there are never any parties over near the house because the area is shit. The district tried to clean it up, make it less vulgar here and there, but ended up tearing it down because it was and is an eyesore. Behind the remains of the building however, was a wall, and on that wall was various graffiti saying things like "Topaz Ross has a big ass" and "Cunt." So now I walk past that everyday.

The area is still charred, and black, and dangerous, but love sitting in it, and walking through it. I love to sit there and read and reread some of the books that my mom was making me read before she died, and I love to mark the books whose sheets match my skin because we are probably related by mothers. I like sitting there and counting the flowers that grow beneath the shabby floorboards, soaked in rain, because they are the only things that still remain of my old house. I like being there, because it's lonely, and I like being alone.

Because I am loud.

I wish I could be quiet, but when I'm quiet, people usually think I'm sad. And usually I am. Sometimes when I'm thinking like this, I make plans to go out to somewhere busy like the Training Centres and shout. Because sometimes I have something to say. I want to say-shout out about my life, how my life has gotten jumbled between the pages of one of my mother's old books, how I've been living with Renevolia because I'm too privileged to get a job. I want to shout about the way my hair still matches my father's, and how one of my tattoos are of him, and how he is still on my back but less metaphorically now. I want to shout about my feelings and views and opinions and thoughts.

But I don't think.

Just go to sleep.

[Deleted]

hi don't read this u guy

there was a horrid table here, but it broke lol

it had a lion gif tho

odair tho

[charade]