kennedy rosebay. 3f. fin.

[arx]

k e n n e d y

name: kennedy blake rosebay
age: twelve (12)
gender: female
pronouns: she/her
district: three (3)
status: tribute of the 6th hunger games

. rebellion is in her blood. she sits upon scraped knees, forehead pressed to the floor and fingers gripping anxiously at the lace in her dress as she begs her father again: Please, let me go with. I can do this. I can help. he sighs, pats her head affectionately, eyes full of something she knew meant he was going to say ‘no.’ he never lets her go on runs with her older brothers, always ‘too young’, ‘too small’, too ‘well what would I do without my little girl around to keep me company?’ but she’s wanted nothing more than to fight for the freedom her family does. if only they’d give her the chance.
. she thinks it’s strange that they’re asking how she feels. don’t you know? she wants to scream, but her father would’ve been disappointed. she loves her father. and she wishes she wasn’t sobbing and sniffling so pathetically at his funeral. when her brother nudges her, elbow even sharper than it usually is because he’s got the living room couch keeping his arm from falling further out of place, she can’t help but snort all the snot right out of her nose and onto his wrist. how dare he expect her not to be upset, how dare he suggest she’s overreacting at her own father's funeral- and his tears are hot against her scalp, but she’s still so cold as he collapses into her in a fit of sobbing. she doesn’t know how to make him stop and she so desperately wants him to. dad would’ve been disappointed in her.
. she never got bigger. small hands and slight figure, fits of sickness that’d keep her bedridden as her brothers plotted their revenge without her. and she was angry, bitter - days spent counting the train cars cutting through the mountains because the top of the ridge was as far as her feeble figure would take her. she hates that she’s so miserably stuck. she presses her palms to her notebook, her anger hidden beneath pages full of tally marks and strategies her brothers refused to listen to. still ‘too young’, ‘too small’, too ‘in the goddamn way.’ she knew only a few steps into stumbling down the side of the mountain, twisting her ankles and choking on dirt as she made her way to the rail yard, manuals and pamphlets strapped to her back, crushing her lungs - she knew she should turn back. but with the silhouette of the train engine’s smokestack coughing at the bottom of the hill, she knew this was the only chance she’d get. couldn’t tell her ‘no’ if she’d stolen a train, right?