Back off I'll take you on
Headstrong to take on anyone
I know that you are wrong
Lyric Tang, 17
District Seven female
"Look at his eyes, they are so squinty! I bet he can't even see," A little boy with curly red hair, freckles, and a belly that hangs over his shorts says, pointing to a little boy across the alley.
He and his friends laugh at the little boy as he walks by. I can't help but notice the sticky chocolate melting off the little boy's plump face.
"Leave me alone, I can't help the way my eyes look!" The little boy says, obviously stretching to make his eyes look bigger and more open.
The little boys mock him and all of the other little children laugh. If there is one thing that grinds my gears more than anything else, it's people picking on other people, especially for things that they have no power over.
"You should be ashamed of yourselves, his eyes are beautiful," I say, reaching my hand out to the little boy. He hesitantly takes it and we start walking away.
"You are one to talk, your eyes are the same!" The lollipop guild looking kid shouts, his belly jiggling with his laughter. I turn around and stare the kids down, letting go of the little boy's hand and slowly walking over to the kids. I don't say anything, I just look. The red head's face hardens as he tries to compose himself. He starts fidgeting and then runs away quickly. His friends take his lead and they are gone just as quick as they appeared. I look down at the small child and see silent tears running down his face.
"Don't cry. Those boys don't know what they are talking about," I tell him, patting him on the head.
"They are right, though, my eyes do look funny," he says looking down.
"Let me tell you something," I start. "Our eyes look different because we are unique. Our eyes tell our stories. We can't be ashamed because we look a little bit different than other people in our district. It makes you special," I tell him, poking him on the nose lightly.
His smile returns and he wipes his tears away. I dig around in the pocket of my washed out jeans and find the wad of bills that I was going to use for lunch. He probably needs it more than I do and it spites my parents in the process.
"Thank you so much! My family can eat dinner now!" He shouts excitedly before running off.
Coming from a district where my Asian heritage is rare and often unrecognized was never easy. People talked all the time and what they had to say wasn't always nice. It used to bother me a lot. I could never fathom how people could not like someone just for the way that they looked. If anything, though, being treated differently for most of my life has made me a stronger person. I am unapologetically myself and if someone doesn't like that, they can kiss my ass.
My parents try to incorporate some of my heritage into our everyday lives, but they aren't the best at it. I appreciate everything that they do for me, it's just that my culture is important to me too. I've never known what my culture was, living in Panem. I would go after school and sneak into the room with the forbidden textbooks and teach myself all about Asia and the people who live there. It has always fascinated me.
I never knew my real parents and the ones that I have now aren't good people. They love me and they take care of me, but that's it. They adopted me when I was just a tiny baby and have raised me as their own. There has always been an aspect of love missing, though. One of my fondest memories of my lovely parents is when I overheard them discussing how they only adopted me because they would receive a tax break and other government based benefits. Trust me, these moochers don't need any more money and it infuriates me that they have so much of it.
After I heard why they adopted me, I started doing things just to spite them. I would take money from them and give it to homeless residents, I started dressing the way that I wanted to dress and not how my mom wanted me to, and I started hanging out with what they call the scum of District Seven.
It pisses them off immensely that their little government deal is seen around town with people that they consider lazy. They don't understand the concept of struggle, so they view anyone who does struggle as lazy. It brings me joy to see the cringe on my mother's face when I leave the house late at night and hop onto the back of a bike of one of the rougher looking men of district seven.
The thing is, most of the time the people who have nothing in life are kinder than the people who have everything. The people who know who they are when they are alone with nothing but a sign and a cup to collect money are the people that feel the most empathy for others because they know what it's like to struggle. People like my parents are stunting the growth of the country because they can't get their heads out of their own asses long enough to realize that differences are what make people unique.
It's hard to enough to be different in a country where you are destined to be all the same. I don't see being different as a bad thing I love the diversity that I see on the rare occasion. I like my shiny black hair and my squinty eyes. I wouldn't change them for anything.
"Lyric! Come downstairs for dinner!" My dad shouts from the bottom of the spiral staircase.
I slip out the window and pretend like I never even heard him.
Don't worry, it's alright
Don't worry, it's alright
Don't worry, it's alright
Ailo Gunčíková, 18
District Seven Male
Music is the most amazing thing. It's one of the only things on the planet that can take you away to another time, memory and place. When everything is going wrong in your own realm of reality, you can always trust music to take you away and keep you away until you feel that you want to come back down.
Music has been there for me all my life, without it, my life would have been silent. Literally. I have never uttered a single word in my life. I was born mute and no matter how hard my parents tried to cure it when I was younger, they couldn't. They tried doctors, superstitions, fables and everything, but none of them worked. They didn't want their son to grow up mute, so they put everything they had into finding a cure. When we realized that nothing was going to work, we had to come to terms with it. Surprisingly enough, I came to terms with it way before my parents did. Sometimes I think that they will never accept it.
Just because my mouth is silent, doesn't mean my brain is silent. I would like to consider myself a deep thinker. Because of my Asian culture, I know a lot about the culture and the continent of Asia. I would eventually like to move there, but I know that I can't. There is evil in Panem and they want to keep us here at all costs.
Living in a place where there are so many issues is hard when you can't use your voice to help change them. All I want to do is help, but people think of me as strange or weird. My brain is a busy place because of this and often times I don't know how to shut it out. It can all get to be a bit too much sometimes.
When I was younger, my parents worked a lot. They needed to make up for all the money that they had blown on medical expenses. I've always been used to being alone. My entire life emptiness has been a comfort for me. An empty house means nobody to look at me with pity and sorrow. An empty mind means no thoughts keeping me awake at night. Emptiness had always made me whole, up until recently.
I have started to realize that by staying in my empty little corner of life, I am paving the perfect road to loneliness. I am starting to crave more. I want to know people, to have friends and maybe one day even my own family. I don't want to live an empty life. I am convinced to start living a life that I will eventually be proud of. To most people, being mute would be a severe weakness. It would hold them back from doing a lot of things that they hope to do in life. That won't be me, I can promise that. I tell my story in the things that I love and the things that I come across in my everyday life.
You see, music speaks when words can't. I tell the story of my strength and courage through a bow. Playing the violin takes me to a place where I am armored with any word that I want. In this place, nothing holds me back. With every arm movement, another part of my story gets told.
"Very good, Ailo!" Sarah, my instructor, says, tears filling her eyes.
I smile at her, adjust the beautiful mahogany instrument under my chin and go straight into the next melody.
"Ailo, that is just so beautiful!" she says, clapping her hands together.
I take a bow and quietly exit to my room until I am sure the instructor is gone. I know that she thinks that as soon as she leaves, my violin gets put into the case and not touched again until the next lesson, but she couldn't be more wrong.
One night a few years back, my thoughts were just getting to be too much for me to handle, so I did the only thing I am one hundred percent certain that I am good at. I played the violin. Only this time, I snuck quietly out of my house and went into town. It was late at night so the only people on the streets were the beggars and the homeless.
I climbed up a rusty fire escape the led me to the top of the highest building in District Seven. I closed my eyes and let my body sway with the wind. I sat on the edge of the building and let my feet dangle. With my violin nestled underneath my chin, I began to play. I couldn't stop on this particular night. I was lost in my own little world.
As the songs got more melodic, people started to emerge from their homes. I stepped back to make sure that I wouldn't get seen but every now and again, I would peer over and see crowds of people swaying to my music. It filled every void that I had inside.
Before I knew it, when I would be walking through town and I would hear people talking about my and my music.
"They call whoever it is the whistle of the night, you know," they would say.
"The music keeps me up all night, but I'm not complaining. It's beautiful!" Others would chime in.
When I found out that I couldn't talk, I was sure that I was going to live a doomed life. Nothing good was ever going to happen to me and my story was never going to get told.
I'm realizing more every night, though, that my story is told in a more beautiful way than others.
I see your motives inside
Decisions to hide
Lyric Tang, 17
District Seven Female
"You really should go home, Lyric. This isn't the life for you," Des says, looking at me with pity.
"Wipe that look off your face before I do it for you," I tell him, annoyed. I cross my arms and walk to the other side of the worn down bar.
"You have everything you could possibly need at home, yet you hand out there with the lower class. You know no one understands that," he says, throwing back another beer.
"Has it ever crossed your tiny little mind that maybe I'm not asking to be understood?" I ask him, sitting down next to him and stealing the beer from his hand.
"Everyone wants to be understood lyric," he says, staring up at the neon signs that litter the wall.
"Ew. Cut the cheese," I say, putting my head in my hands.
It's late now and the reapings are in the morning. I couldn't sleep so I snuck out my window again and came to see who was around. You never really know who you are going to encounter at the bar at three in the morning but I've found that if you aren't a pretentious asshole to them, they won't be to you either.
The bar is finally getting ready to close and as I'm heading out, I see a man rummaging through the garbage in the back. He is shoving pieces of anything he can find in his mouth. I was going to walk right by him, but I refuse to be anything like my parents.
"Sir, I hope this helps you," I say, holding out a big wad of bills that I had just taken from my mother's purse.
He looks hesitant as he reaches out for the bills but when his hand meets the paper he starts to cry.
"Thank you, Miss," he says, repeatedly.
People struggle every day in the district and that breaks my heart. The thing that hurts me even more though is that there are people like my parents in the world. They see what is going on, but they don't help even though they have more than they will ever need. If you ask me, that is the real scum of the earth.
My life could change tomorrow, for the worse and all my parents are worried about is upkeeping their precious reputation.
They are going to be in for a shock tomorrow.
Don't you worry
Cause it's alright
Don't you worry
You child of the night
Ailo Gunčíková, 18
District Seven Male
"Ailo, get down from there right this instant!" My mother screams.
I adjust on the tree branch, but I don't move. The tight leash that my parents keep my on for the fear of me injuring myself is suffocating.
"You are too damn old to be climbing trees! We have to go Ailo," she says, frustration taking over her normally soft voice.
When I was younger, I would sneak out of the house and go play in the forest behind our house. I taught myself to climb high in the trees and steady myself among the branches. I might be too old now as my mother says, but when I need to get away from life for awhile, this is where I go.
"Fine! Get yourself to the reapings!" she says, throwing her arms up into the air.
I can't help but smile at her drama.
When I am sure that I am alone, I climb down and head the center of town for the reapings. There are kids of all ages everywhere. Some of them are crying, others clinging onto their moms but most of the young people I see, are straight faced and cold. I don't blame them, though, this whole situation is messed up.
I finally find my place among the other eighteen-year-old males. Listening to them talk makes me uncomfortable, I am so scared that they are going to try and talk to me and I will look stupid when I can't reply. I stare down at the dirt to make sure that that doesn't happen.
After what feels like forever, a woman in a neon blue pantsuit walks out onto the stage. She has short green hair that is slicked back. The bright pink lipstick she wears makes her teeth look really yellow.
"Welcome to the reapings my little ducklings!" She cackles into the microphone.
We listen to her long lecture on why we are here and how this is going to benefit society so much before she finally strides over to the bowl with the names of the female tributes.
"Your female tribute is… Lyric Tang!" She says smiling, pink lipstick dotted all over her teeth.
A girl with short black hair with the edged dyed blue stands there looking stunned. She slowly starts to move towards the stage, her pace getting quicker as she moves forward. When she reaches the stage, she dodges the microphone and stands with her hip popped and a look of determination on her face.
I wouldn't want to mess with her.
"Next then, your male tribute!" She says, walking quickly to the other side of the stage.
"Please welcome to the stage Ailo Gunčíková!" She smiles.
I can feel the color drain from my face. My hands start to shake. This has to be some kind of mistake. I stand there looking around. When I realize that this is actually happening and that there is nowhere to run, I put on my serious face and begin to walk toward the stage.
When I get there, the escort shoves the microphone in my face.
"Tell us something about yourself!" She says.
I start to fidget and my face gets hot.
"Is anyone in there?" she says, jokingly.
"He can't speak you dumb bitch," Lyrics says.
The look on the escorts face is horrified as she realizes her mistake. Lyrics is being taken into the building by peacekeepers and I am left alone.
May the odds be ever in my favor. This is going to suck.
Surprise! I'm not dead!
Seriously, though, this took me a million years to get out and I am so sorry for that. Life got crazy busy and things happened but don't worry, this story is getting finished!
I'm not going to lie, I struggled writing these two quite a bit, but I like them a lot so I am excited to work with them more!
Expect another update in the next few days.
What did you think?
Predictions?
XOXO
Jenna
QOTD: What is your dream job?