Post by friss△n on May 23, 2015 23:37:29 GMT -5
Name: Harper Mercedes Palatia
Age: 17
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 8
ODAIR
I'm an in between girl.Sun bleeds my brown hair to a blonde at the ends, the light strands threading through the darker ones. It's not quite wavy or straight, refusing to conform to any singular label. It sits just below my shoulders at uneven lengths, chopped off by rusty scissors and my own spindly hands. Although, there may be one description that works with no loopholes: a pain in the ass. Yes, tangles are a contagious disease among the locks, always popping up after I'm sure my brittle brush had cured it. A frustrating pain that I usually leave half done in the morning. In between neat and messy.
I have an undeserving innocence to my face that should probably be given to an angel, not me.
Big, brown eyes, almost pensive, in a way. Always hanging bright, despite their inherited darkness, under my strong brows and long lashes. Cheeks that make my cream colored skin a rose, resembling a chipmunk's in their largeness to my face. I have a nose that is a straight line down my face, the bridge never widening or narrowing as it forms down my face. My thin lips seem to have pucker set as their neutral position, almost standing out against my round face. I've never been pretty, or ugly, for that matter. Just in between. I stand at an average 5'6", not skinny, not fat, holding a healthy, mot strong, not weak frame. The only extremes on my body are my spindly fingers and slightly big ears.
I used to charm smiles off of people. I used to be smaller and cubbies and bouncier. Needless to say, that has worn off over ten years.
Yes, I can be rude. Stubborn. Sarcastic. I rub people the wrong way without even trying. It's a gift from Ripred himself, how filterless I am. The first spitting remark I can think off crash lands out of my mouth with no thought process whatsoever. I've been told to shut up, to quit disturbing the class, to hold my tongue. Wherever I go, no one seems to appreciate my excellent sarcasm. The only thing I get in return is to leave and take my attitude with me. And sometimes, in the back of my mind, I wish I could keep the snide remarks from leaking out of my mouth. I wish I could be treated with a little respect. HA. Who am I kidding? It's set in stone. No takes me seriously anymore, always expecting that any compliment I say is patronizing.
Might as well keep up the facade.
It's not called stealing, it's called borrowing with no intention to return the item, which we have all done at some point in our lives. That's what I tell myself as my hand slips from pocket to pocket dancing with the folds of strangers and fishing out treasures from their hiding spaces. I should feel bad, is what I don't tell myself. I shouldn't use other people as a stepping stone to food and necessities when they can barely achieve it themselves, let alone like it. I shouldn't think of unclipping watches as a game, I should think of it as a sin, as something only horrible, terrible people do.
The fact that I am indeed a horrible, terrible person passively eats away at me every time I come home with cash in my hand.
My family knows. My family knows that our neighbor's money was used to put food on the table, not just our shabby little store we have connected to our house. They look at me strange whenever I hand them coins, as if it were my fault my morals were skewed. Maybe it was. But I don't think we'd be fed decently enough every night if other people's currency didn't go into us. I'll never be accepted by my family, anyway, no matter how good of a liar I am. They'll never think that any money I bring home is earned, they'll just assume I stole it. They'll see me as a parasite, as a manipulative freak. Something that feeds on the rest of the people using misdirection and sweet lies.
And the worst thing is, I can't tell them they're wrong. Because they aren't.
I've always liked sunrises. They brave the new day without fail, and go unnoticed without fail. They spill pastels into the sky, dyeing the clouds pink and light blue. And yet, everyone seems to enjoy the sunset more, with its obnoxious oranges and reds, how it ends everything instead of making a new beginning. Maybe my preference came from being born at sunrise. My mother said it was so quiet that spring morning, the house empty of children until I came along, and three years after me, Isaac, my younger brother.
I wasn't the best child. I didn't listen to my father or learn to sew like my mother. Isaac was my punching bag and insult absorber, never saying much back to me. At that point, I could see my parents' obvious favoritism for Isaac, regarding me as the screw up, thatone who doesn't belong. Isaac learned to be a great sewer, nimble fingers stitching with precision. I have those same fingers, quick and swift, but I use them in a much more questionable way than creating articles of clothing for our family business.
Twelve. Twelve was the magic number. At that age, I started to pick pocket when I realized the shop wasn't supporting us as well as my parents had told me. I went to the other side of town, and I tried with no luck. One person caught me in the act, and returned me home to my parents in disgust. They told me that I was raised better, that if I could only be more like Isaac, tune I wouldn't have to steal. If I could just be more like Isaac, if I could just sew like Isaac, if I could just be the family angel like Isaac. Hate is too strong of a word for my feelings toward him. I hate my parents for alienating us both from each other. And, because of that malice, I disobeyed my mother and father and went out again.
I tried to get people to look one way while I stole a bracelet from their opposite hand. I bumped into people and in my awkward splendor, somehow managed to come home with a little money. I slowly learned how to pick out people fro the crowds, like a wolf picking its prey. My parents reluctantly accepted the coins I brought home, trying to ignore the fact that some people might not eat at night because of me. Isaac was absolutely horrified when he found out, and made a, vow to only eat what came from our shop. But, ever so slowly, he gave in like my parents.
That's life. You give and take.
