Charlee Hightower - D9 - FIN | Hunger Games: The RPG

Charlee Hightower - D9 - FIN Dec 16, 2017 20:23:39 GMT -5

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Post by pearl mcclain d4 [ryan] on Dec 16, 2017 20:23:39 GMT -5

Working with metal was tough, but it was something that I honestly enjoyed. I think it was because I got to work with my hands, and while there were times where I couldn’t say I loved it, there were times where I could say I did. I found it to be a challenge, and I think that is what I enjoyed the most about it. A challenge that I could attack head on. There were times when people in the factory didn’t understand the inner workings of machines. When a machine would go down, they would call me, and with a little bit of tinkering, I was able to bring it back to working order.

However, what people didn’t understand is why I took an interest in being a mechanic. Most people thought that only boys should work such a job, but my father instilled a love of tinkering in me. There was something about finding things wrong with machines that made me quite happy. Maybe it was the fact that I got to spend long amounts of time with him that really got me into it, but there was also a general curiosity about how machines worked. How they functioned and what their purpose was.

My father told me that everything had something that made it tick. That was why he loved to work on machines instead of operating them. There was something about going behind the scenes and pulling the strings, and while he told that there was some risk, it usually didn’t outweigh the reward. I always found that interesting, because I knew that people didn’t work the same way. People were cruel to us sometimes, mostly because we had the one job that would always be needed. We were the people that they had to rely on in order to get any of their work done, and while they could be replaced, we weren’t. Sometimes when I would walk through the district people would give me dirty looks, and I didn’t know why. My father told me it was because they were jealous, but my friends that I did have told me it was because I was a pretty girl that shouldn’t have to be digging in the grease to find work. I should have been doing anything else really. It took me a second to realize that people didnt care about my profession, people cared because I was a girl. And to that, I would tell them fuck off. I could do anything that a boy could do, and maybe even better.

Maybe.

I was young when I started to work, and it was because we had to provide for a big family. My mother hasn’t been around in ages, mostly because she isn’t well. She still isn’t, and to this day, we aren’t quite sure where she is. One day I hoped she would pop back up, but I didn’t hold my breath. I took care of my other siblings. There weren’t many of us, but there were still a few mouths to feed and my father was getting older. It was up to me to make sure that everyone was taken care of in the house, and while I could rely on them to hold down the fort while I was at work, I couldn’t rely on them to make any money on their own. I had two brothers and a sister, none of which were old enough to be working in the metal factories like myself. Hell, I was only working because my father brought me along so much when I was a kid that I picked up things fast. Also, I wasn’t sure that they had any interest in it anyway. They spent their days as they wished, while I spent mine, tired, and alone.

On my seventeenth birthday, my father passed away, that was hard.

The next day, my mother came back into the picture.

That was harder.

I didn’t get why she came back after being gone for so long. It was like a switch had turned and all of the sudden, she wanted to be a mom again. I told her multiple times that she didn’t need to worry about us, and that she could have went and lived any life she wanted because I would have taken care of my siblings even if it killed me. She told me that she needed to come back. That she was waiting to come out of hiding until my father passed away.

She took me to her secret hideout one day, to show me where she lived while she waited for the right time to come back.

She sat me down, and told me stories about why she had to leave. About why she couldn’t do or say much to us while we were growing up. She told me that I was strong.

Courageous.

More of a man then my father would ever be.

She told me stories that would have made anyone cringed. About how dad used to get drunk from time to time and black out, not remembering whatever happened the next day. There were days were she would disappear because she didn’t want anyone to see the bruises that were left behind. She was broken. She was bruised. The moment she heard that he wasn’t on this planet anymore, she told me that she leaped for joy, because that meant that she could have another chance at a relationship with us.

However, I wasn’t sure if I wanted that myself.

My father was a God

My mother was a Monster.

Now.

My father is a Monster.

My mother is a God.

And I am a hero.

I am the hero.

All the information I had to take in, I had to give myself some breathing room. I told her to take it slow with me, and she could do what she wanted with my siblings. I needed time to heal, especially because I saw my father in a glowing light. I saw him as the one person that could do no wrong, and the one person who truly loved me. I needed time to heal. I needed time to show that I was the hero I claimed to be.

In the land of gods and monsters, I was a hero, and I wasn’t going to let that change a thing. So on my eighteenth birthday, I decided that I was going to take my destiny into my own hands. I needed to continue to do what I could to make sure we survive.

My mother tried to stop me once, and that’s when I knew that I had to do everything from here on out, for me. No matter what.