amelia saracen // d10 // fin
Feb 28, 2016 19:44:26 GMT -5
Post by arx!! on Feb 28, 2016 19:44:26 GMT -5
Amelia Saracen . female . eighteen . district ten . fc: jennifer gilmore
The bark scratched at the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet, but she wasn't about to let the blood bother her. The tree limbs swayed under her weight, a few making a slow cracking noise as she shifted her body from one branch to the next. ("Meli! Meli, come on! Nana is going to kill you if she see's you up there!") Her sister called to her from the ground, but she was nothing more than a speck as Amelia looked down at her from her perch. She waved, smiled. Funny how even from way up here she could see the pout in her little sister's lip.
Amelia knew she should heed her sister's warnings—Nana has never liked the way she climbs trees or wears tattered blue jeans—and she fully expected a lashing like no other when she got home for putting another tear in the skirt Nana had already stitched ... twice. But as she looked out over the fields, the rolling hills, and admired the curve of the earth as the sun set over the horizon all she could do was close her eyes and extend her arms. She let the breeze toss her hair, the chill kissing at her cheeks.
She let her head fall back, only opening when her eyes were staring into the stars. The stars seemed near enough to touch; never before had she seen so many. Her heart began to race in her chest, her head spinning for a moment as she took it all in. She stumbled, her heart immediately leaping into her throat as she immediately let her extended arms wrap around a tree limb. She laughed at herself only once she had caught her balance. ("Meli! Please!") Her sister grew more impatient. But Amelia couldn't resist just one last look at the moon, the stars.
She extended her arms again and all worries of impending lashings and discipline simply fell away into the sky. What would it be like to fly?
Her knees rubbed against her sister's, their bandages and bruises nearly identical, but neither flinched away from the other. It was story time and today it was Papa's turn to read. With one hand wrapped around the neck of a whiskey bottle and the other sprawled across the back of the couch, Amelia laid her head against his collarbone. The scruff of his beard scratched against her forehead as he read, his voice deep and comforting.
With each breath she tasted the alcohol on his breath, though she resolved not to crinkle her nose the way her sister was. Last night had been one of the bad nights—
("Fired!? Edwin, how the hell are we supposed to afford--")
("Ah, don't worry about it--")
("OF COURSE I WORRY ABO--")
("I CAN HANDLE THIS!")
("You can't even handle your daughters! Did you hear Amelia built---")
("WHO CARES!?")
—one of many in which she and her sister slipped into the same bed and tried to ignore the arguments. Grace always laces her fingers between Amelia's when she hears her name. It was a comfort to know that not everyone hated her.
She had built a ramp using some of the old farm equipment and connected it to the roof of the tool shed. It if had worked exactly as her calculations (perhaps some simple math drawn in the mud wasn't enough?) had suggested, she would've flown over the house. Instead, she ended up crashing head first into the pig pen, ruining both the fence, her plane, and her face which would apparently be "black and blue for weeks!"
Amelia was sentenced to fix the pig pen and extra chores for a month; she wasn't able to wriggle free of her Nana's clutches either, and for once, her Mama agreed—("You have to wear dresses for the entire month--no exceptions!") And though Amelia was endlessly annoyed and did not forget to pout each time she was forced to take the garbage pale to the pigs, she had learned something about herself that day.
"Grace," she whispered, twisting to stare out the window. "I think I belong in the sky."
They don't say it's impossible, they merely say that it is impossible for a girl who grew up in the farming slums of District 10 to know anything about mechanics. Her parents had always embraced her tomboyish habits of collecting crawfish in her room, hunting the rats that lived in the barn, and mud wrestling with her sister. So when she had picked up a wrench and started fiddling with old tractor engines they hadn't even blinked.
But even as adulthood approached, her Nana insisted on restraining her to "lady-like" tradition. And though her sister had taken to the dresses and make-up, Amelia preferred her Papa's old aviators and her uncle's leather jacket. She prefers blow torches to paintbrushes, oil cans to tea kettles, grease to nail polish—("What have you done to your nails!?")—and still her Nana's persistence caught her even after she passed away when Amelia was fourteen.
Her Nana was known for her medical skills—the district even took to calling her Nurse Nana as a sort of recognition—and as a result, after she passed away, many still came wandering to the Saracen household after whippings and farm accidents. Amelia learned quickly enough; she spent hours both watching her Nana work (who was under the impression that Amelia would take after her if she was forced to watch her) and get pieced back together after one of her endeavors.
But even after taking over her Nana's work she found time to continue her so called "childhood adventures." But this was more than just a childhood fantasy for Amelia. It was more like a destiny she knew she had to achieve.
To fly.
"I want to get beyond the fence."
"But what if you can't?"
"Adventure is worthwhile in itself."
amelia saracen
The bark scratched at the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet, but she wasn't about to let the blood bother her. The tree limbs swayed under her weight, a few making a slow cracking noise as she shifted her body from one branch to the next. ("Meli! Meli, come on! Nana is going to kill you if she see's you up there!") Her sister called to her from the ground, but she was nothing more than a speck as Amelia looked down at her from her perch. She waved, smiled. Funny how even from way up here she could see the pout in her little sister's lip.
Amelia knew she should heed her sister's warnings—Nana has never liked the way she climbs trees or wears tattered blue jeans—and she fully expected a lashing like no other when she got home for putting another tear in the skirt Nana had already stitched ... twice. But as she looked out over the fields, the rolling hills, and admired the curve of the earth as the sun set over the horizon all she could do was close her eyes and extend her arms. She let the breeze toss her hair, the chill kissing at her cheeks.
She let her head fall back, only opening when her eyes were staring into the stars. The stars seemed near enough to touch; never before had she seen so many. Her heart began to race in her chest, her head spinning for a moment as she took it all in. She stumbled, her heart immediately leaping into her throat as she immediately let her extended arms wrap around a tree limb. She laughed at herself only once she had caught her balance. ("Meli! Please!") Her sister grew more impatient. But Amelia couldn't resist just one last look at the moon, the stars.
She extended her arms again and all worries of impending lashings and discipline simply fell away into the sky. What would it be like to fly?
Her knees rubbed against her sister's, their bandages and bruises nearly identical, but neither flinched away from the other. It was story time and today it was Papa's turn to read. With one hand wrapped around the neck of a whiskey bottle and the other sprawled across the back of the couch, Amelia laid her head against his collarbone. The scruff of his beard scratched against her forehead as he read, his voice deep and comforting.
With each breath she tasted the alcohol on his breath, though she resolved not to crinkle her nose the way her sister was. Last night had been one of the bad nights—
("Fired!? Edwin, how the hell are we supposed to afford--")
("Ah, don't worry about it--")
("OF COURSE I WORRY ABO--")
("I CAN HANDLE THIS!")
("You can't even handle your daughters! Did you hear Amelia built---")
("WHO CARES!?")
—one of many in which she and her sister slipped into the same bed and tried to ignore the arguments. Grace always laces her fingers between Amelia's when she hears her name. It was a comfort to know that not everyone hated her.
She had built a ramp using some of the old farm equipment and connected it to the roof of the tool shed. It if had worked exactly as her calculations (perhaps some simple math drawn in the mud wasn't enough?) had suggested, she would've flown over the house. Instead, she ended up crashing head first into the pig pen, ruining both the fence, her plane, and her face which would apparently be "black and blue for weeks!"
Amelia was sentenced to fix the pig pen and extra chores for a month; she wasn't able to wriggle free of her Nana's clutches either, and for once, her Mama agreed—("You have to wear dresses for the entire month--no exceptions!") And though Amelia was endlessly annoyed and did not forget to pout each time she was forced to take the garbage pale to the pigs, she had learned something about herself that day.
"Grace," she whispered, twisting to stare out the window. "I think I belong in the sky."
They don't say it's impossible, they merely say that it is impossible for a girl who grew up in the farming slums of District 10 to know anything about mechanics. Her parents had always embraced her tomboyish habits of collecting crawfish in her room, hunting the rats that lived in the barn, and mud wrestling with her sister. So when she had picked up a wrench and started fiddling with old tractor engines they hadn't even blinked.
But even as adulthood approached, her Nana insisted on restraining her to "lady-like" tradition. And though her sister had taken to the dresses and make-up, Amelia preferred her Papa's old aviators and her uncle's leather jacket. She prefers blow torches to paintbrushes, oil cans to tea kettles, grease to nail polish—("What have you done to your nails!?")—and still her Nana's persistence caught her even after she passed away when Amelia was fourteen.
Her Nana was known for her medical skills—the district even took to calling her Nurse Nana as a sort of recognition—and as a result, after she passed away, many still came wandering to the Saracen household after whippings and farm accidents. Amelia learned quickly enough; she spent hours both watching her Nana work (who was under the impression that Amelia would take after her if she was forced to watch her) and get pieced back together after one of her endeavors.
But even after taking over her Nana's work she found time to continue her so called "childhood adventures." But this was more than just a childhood fantasy for Amelia. It was more like a destiny she knew she had to achieve.
To fly.
"I want to get beyond the fence."
"But what if you can't?"
"Adventure is worthwhile in itself."
