gavin nitram; wanderer; fin.

gavin nitram; wanderer; fin. Mar 27, 2014 10:54:12 GMT -5

Post by Gavin on Mar 27, 2014 10:54:12 GMT -5

name » ~~Gavin Ambriel~~ Gavin Nitram.
age » ~~Seventeen~~ I don't know.
gender » Female.
district » ~~Six~~ Wanderer.

Gavin.
My name is Gavin.
It took me a while to remember, but there's a sense of selfness about it, and if it had been someone else's-I'm taking it for my own now, because I need something to say when people run into me by the district fences and ask my name and don't look at me cockeyed when I say I don't know and threaten to tell the Peacekeepers even though you were outside the fence, I could report you just as easily but nobody is going to believe the poor addled girl wandering around in the woods.

I'm not. Really. Am I? I don't know. I could be. I don't know anything.

She told me once if I were a drug I would be weed, because I make everything soft and blurry and everyone is open and lovely, and I don't mind that, so much, I think, I want to be the one making everything soft and blurry and lovely.

I think I need some light. She was my light before-figuratively, not literally and I can't remember my last name but I can remember the difference between those. And now she's gonegonegone out like a candle in the wind like the power in December because Where I Came From was neverever warm.
I don't know where it is and I don't know what it's called and I know it's sure as fuck not home because home is her and now I have none so I am lostlostlost forever.

I dream in black and white with color everywhere but it's sharp and it hurts to touch and then it fades and I am alone in the dark and I am that way when I wake up, too, and the voices tell me I am a foolish, foolish girl, and I believe them.

I carried her body with me for milesmilesmiles until my arms ached and threatened to give out no matter how much I rested and I cried like a baby when I left her behind, and I covered her in everything beautiful I could see and cried again and I told her I was sorry because leaving her there was like leaving myself, only worse. I think I did leave myself there. I don't think I'm myself anymore.
I don't remember home and I don't remember where I'm going but I remember where I left her and I will always.

My body is torn from bramblebushes and thornywoods that I don't care about because let them tear me to pieces maybe it will make Them go maybe they will leave me if I am not fit for Them any longer
but then, there would be nothing of me left for them to leave.
Maybe that is when I would die.

Everything before is a blur of smoke and laughing and all that and lovelovelove for this girl.
I remember parents not caring and me not caring and her caring and that made me care because she was there and suddenly something was more important than myself.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry for the mess but my head is a crowded warm busy place full of everything I have known and Them and it is getting so so hard to get my thoughts in any sort of order.

They tell me I'm not good enough and I believe Them I really do because there are absolutely no reasons I shouldn't and that's what scares me the most that I don't know myself well enough to tell if they are lying to me

I didn't know it was this hard to say I'm sorry but I am I am and I mean it I'm sorry

Here's the part of the story that makes sense:
There was a girl.
There was a girl, and she was self-conscious and beautiful and stuttered when she talked, and other people mocked her because I didn't care all I saw was her.
I don't remember my own last name, but I remember hers, so I took it as my own. She matters more to me than I do. I think that's some kind of metaphor.
And this girl had a girlfriend, but I didn't care, because I loved her longer than summer days in District Eleven.
That's not where I'm from, I think.
And anyway, this girl's girlfriend, she mocked her, and she beat her, I think, and I didn't say anything because they said they were happy and I didn't want to be that person who ruined their happiness for my own and besides I was stoned all the time anyways.
And I'd say, "You're pretty," or I'd say, "We should kiss," and this girl, the pretty one, she'd say "Hilarious, Gav," and I'd make myself laugh so she would. And then.
And then this girl died.
I wasn't there. I don't know exactly what happened, but I got there quick enough to hold her. Not while she was dying. I was too late for that. Her precious girlfriend ran her through with something, and you don't live long with a punctured lung, okay, you just don't
I held her after, though, and I rocked her body and I pretended she was gonna be okay, and I was high enough to believe myself.

And sooner or later the weed wore off. And I.
I ran into the woods, I think. Straight under the fence. I don't know how I managed to take her, I don't know if I remembered to pack things or if I stole those later. But I took her with me, and I ended up in a cave, and I sang to her and I pretended she could hear me. And when I woke up, there was blood on my hands. And on the wallsfloorceiling and it it was hers and there were paintings on the walls of death and dying and I had done that and no no no it wasn't me it was Them I wouldn't I would never and then I looked over.
And her head.
Was.
On.
The.
Ground.
I don't know how you decapitate someone and don't remember but I did and this part is crystal clear and I held her and cried more for hours and tried to think what to do because I couldn't stay there with her all over the walls and everywhere and I left, but I took her with me.
Gruesome, I know.

And I stayed that way. Til I couldn't carry her.
I already said that part.

I've told this story before. Not to anyone. Just trees, and rocks, and sometimes sunlight. They all listen. They don't call me a freak.
I learned to stop going near the districts a long time ago..
I think it gets a little better every time I tell it. A little smoother, maybe, but I don't know for sure because the parts only come all out of order. But I'm sure if they were right, it would be good.

My hair is long, and it tangles, and it's stained part purple from ripred knows what. Some kind of dye, I'd assume, but I have no clue for sure. I think I dyed it. But I don't know-could be anything.

My eyes are- green-greyish, I think? I don't know at all. I haven't seen a mirror in monthsweeksyears so as far as I know they could be anything.

They started talking to me after I got "sober", which I think is what this would be if I were normal and alone in my head without Them. Capital-T-They tell me all kinds of things and I don't know if They are right or wrong or if I am really sick, and wrong, and a failure like They tell me.
She would say They were wrong, if she was here. I know she would. But she isn't, and I am. And They are.

There's a theme here, even if it's not all right or it doesn't all make sense. I don't know myself.