inge selberg d5 | fin
Dec 11, 2015 8:17:24 GMT -5
Post by Lyn𝛿is on Dec 11, 2015 8:17:24 GMT -5
Inge Elisabeth Selberg district five. fourteen. female {misty mountains sing and beckon lead me out into the light} |
You've got a fire burning in your heart.
No, that's not quite true - it's less of a fire and more brimming rivers and dancing gales, but all the same you're restless.
And for as long as you remember you've always been that way.
i.
You're five and it's your first day of school. The teacher sets everyone down to take a nap, and she steps outside the classroom.
You don't like naps. Naps are boring.
So you make your way to the teacher's desk and by the time she comes back in there's a screwdriver in your hand and the classroom clock is in three pieces in front of you.
The next thing you know she's dragging you outside the room and you're desperately shouting it isn't broken I can put it back together but you get in trouble anyways.
(You're lucky, they all say, you weren't in the other teacher's class.)
ii.
You've had a crush on him for forever. He's sassy and he beats you on every test and you can't stop thinking about him but he just won't play with you.
Until one day.
He pulls you aside and whispers into your ear conspiratorially. The custodians had left the maintenance room unlocked, he tells you -
You already know what to do.
Five minutes later the building's dark and the teachers are scrambling and you're filing out with the other students and trying to appear absolutely innocent.
You feel relieved, and maybe a little bit proud, when they never catch you for messing around with the circuit breakers.
(But it still doesn't make him talk to you afterwards.)
iii.
Why can't you ever sit still?
You're sitting in the office just waiting to be chastised again; this time it's because you touched the machine and only the teacher is supposed to touch the machine, but he was busy and it's not your fault the teacher assigned too much time for the first part of the assignment and wouldn't let you move on to the next even when you finished.
Why are you always so disobedient? he asks you, his mustache bobbing up and down as the words flow out of his mouth, and you don't have an answer.
Well? Answer me, girl! Do you even have a brain?
He's sneering at you, now, and it intimidates you enough that you can only manage to choke out a yes, sir in response before he scoffs at you again.
Doesn't look like it to me. Talking to you is a waste; you don't even remember what I say to you.
(But you do, of course you do, you've always had a quick memory. Yet, every time, temptation beckons and you find your curiosity overriding your restraints.)
iv.
You're up high, the wind in your hair as you climb the scaffold of the rig, gripping a wrench tightly as you twist the nuts and bolts into the metal.
You like it, when you can work with your hands, when you can move and experience and do things, and when the teachers punish you precisely by taking those away you feel silenced and a little bit of you dies inside.
But up here you're free, up here you're alive, and the man who you're shadowing for the day gives you a little smile and tells you they're always looking for high school students to intern and you beam back at him.
You could spend hours puzzling out the diagrams and machines; manipulating all the intricate parts is the way you discover how they work.
Your parents still fret and worry, afraid that one day you'll forget to listen to instructions, piss off the wrong people, and get hurt, but nobody can really stop you when you get excited about something.
(And you can't help but get excited, even when others warn you against feeling that emotion because more often than not it lands you in trouble.)
v.
You're growing into a young woman, slowly. You shoot up several inches nearly overnight, and the tiny girl you once were is replaced by a tall, lanky body. You're still shorter than your peers, but you're catching up, and it's only a matter of time before people stop seeing you as cute.
The day of your first reaping, you're put in a stiff, starched dress, and you fight to keep from fidgeting and rumpling the uncomfortable fabric. You can't tumble or move or climb anything in a dress, after all. You know that you could be chosen, but standing among the thousands of children in the square you're not really worried and all you're thinking of is how endless the speeches and videos are as sweat runs down your golden hair and soaks the collar of your dress.
Intellectually, though, you're aware that the two who step up to the stage probably aren't coming back.
(But it's still easy to push it to the back of your mind, when they aren't anyone you know.)
vi.
They say you're innocent, and it's true, isn't it? You're still as curious as you were as a child, willing to try almost anything at least once, oblivious to the looks of scorn and annoyance others throw your way.
Rejection is not new to you, of course, but the world holds far too many interesting things to explore for you to stay crestfallen for long. You're always in motion, searching for the next new adventure.
(But there's only so long that can last.)
No, that's not quite true - it's less of a fire and more brimming rivers and dancing gales, but all the same you're restless.
And for as long as you remember you've always been that way.
i.
You're five and it's your first day of school. The teacher sets everyone down to take a nap, and she steps outside the classroom.
You don't like naps. Naps are boring.
So you make your way to the teacher's desk and by the time she comes back in there's a screwdriver in your hand and the classroom clock is in three pieces in front of you.
The next thing you know she's dragging you outside the room and you're desperately shouting it isn't broken I can put it back together but you get in trouble anyways.
(You're lucky, they all say, you weren't in the other teacher's class.)
ii.
You've had a crush on him for forever. He's sassy and he beats you on every test and you can't stop thinking about him but he just won't play with you.
Until one day.
He pulls you aside and whispers into your ear conspiratorially. The custodians had left the maintenance room unlocked, he tells you -
You already know what to do.
Five minutes later the building's dark and the teachers are scrambling and you're filing out with the other students and trying to appear absolutely innocent.
You feel relieved, and maybe a little bit proud, when they never catch you for messing around with the circuit breakers.
(But it still doesn't make him talk to you afterwards.)
iii.
Why can't you ever sit still?
You're sitting in the office just waiting to be chastised again; this time it's because you touched the machine and only the teacher is supposed to touch the machine, but he was busy and it's not your fault the teacher assigned too much time for the first part of the assignment and wouldn't let you move on to the next even when you finished.
Why are you always so disobedient? he asks you, his mustache bobbing up and down as the words flow out of his mouth, and you don't have an answer.
Well? Answer me, girl! Do you even have a brain?
He's sneering at you, now, and it intimidates you enough that you can only manage to choke out a yes, sir in response before he scoffs at you again.
Doesn't look like it to me. Talking to you is a waste; you don't even remember what I say to you.
(But you do, of course you do, you've always had a quick memory. Yet, every time, temptation beckons and you find your curiosity overriding your restraints.)
iv.
You're up high, the wind in your hair as you climb the scaffold of the rig, gripping a wrench tightly as you twist the nuts and bolts into the metal.
You like it, when you can work with your hands, when you can move and experience and do things, and when the teachers punish you precisely by taking those away you feel silenced and a little bit of you dies inside.
But up here you're free, up here you're alive, and the man who you're shadowing for the day gives you a little smile and tells you they're always looking for high school students to intern and you beam back at him.
You could spend hours puzzling out the diagrams and machines; manipulating all the intricate parts is the way you discover how they work.
Your parents still fret and worry, afraid that one day you'll forget to listen to instructions, piss off the wrong people, and get hurt, but nobody can really stop you when you get excited about something.
(And you can't help but get excited, even when others warn you against feeling that emotion because more often than not it lands you in trouble.)
v.
You're growing into a young woman, slowly. You shoot up several inches nearly overnight, and the tiny girl you once were is replaced by a tall, lanky body. You're still shorter than your peers, but you're catching up, and it's only a matter of time before people stop seeing you as cute.
The day of your first reaping, you're put in a stiff, starched dress, and you fight to keep from fidgeting and rumpling the uncomfortable fabric. You can't tumble or move or climb anything in a dress, after all. You know that you could be chosen, but standing among the thousands of children in the square you're not really worried and all you're thinking of is how endless the speeches and videos are as sweat runs down your golden hair and soaks the collar of your dress.
Intellectually, though, you're aware that the two who step up to the stage probably aren't coming back.
(But it's still easy to push it to the back of your mind, when they aren't anyone you know.)
vi.
They say you're innocent, and it's true, isn't it? You're still as curious as you were as a child, willing to try almost anything at least once, oblivious to the looks of scorn and annoyance others throw your way.
Rejection is not new to you, of course, but the world holds far too many interesting things to explore for you to stay crestfallen for long. You're always in motion, searching for the next new adventure.
(But there's only so long that can last.)
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