Paste The Last Thing Copied 1

[mundy]

http://mob0006.photobucket.com/albums/0 ... 1246054574

[Intense Disaster]

LADY ANTEBELLUM - OUR KIND OF LOVE LYRICS

[sivan]

http://www.feathereddreamranch.com/ph-s ... 03-800.jpg

Horse for RP

[mundy]

http://images1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb2 ... /blank.gif

[sivan]

http://lh6.ggpht.com/_nlAtOW0YBqM/Rp0oX ... ca+025.jpg

zebra rp pic

[Scoobs]

♂
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Must've been giving one of my pets a gender x3

[mundy]

http://l-userpic.livejournal.com/101711768/20120399

[sivan]

viewtopic.php?f=7&t=234559&start=10

[major tom]

~Sage~

I am hiking through the forest just outside of District Eight, the one I often escaped to in an effort to find food as well as escape the bitter reality of life, both of which I was doing right now. My multi-colored eyes scan the undergrowth for signs of edible plants and I keep a close watch out for medicinal herbs to sell in the market or keep for myself in order to keep my valuable stores in stock; wounds can be fatal if left untreated in this wretched prison. I paused for a moment when the corner of my eye caught a shadow that suddenly flitted to the trees. Faint alarm prickling in my now alert mind, I turned and took a cautious look around. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, so I slowly returned to my search. A branch snapped directly above me, but before my head could whip upwards to stare at the source of the sound, a heavy weight landed on my chest and knocked me to the ground, effectively driving the breath from my lungs and cutting off the scream the had arisen from my throat. I was staring, shocked, into the cold eyes of my assailant when the cool, curved blade of a knife presses against my throat, causing a shiver to ripple down my spine, which was pressed painfully into the earth. My horror registered in my head when the triumphant face of my brother grinned maliciously before proceeding to put and end to his prey's life.
A blood-curdling scream of terror greets me as my eyes fly open and I am sent hurtling into consciousness. My back arcs against the straw mattress that serves as my bed and my bony fingers grip the covers so hard my knuckles feel like they are about to snap. But that would be horrible, for I would then have no way of clutching onto something in this world. It takes several moments to realize that the screech assaulting my ears is my own, and my throat is raw when I finally lapse into silence. Darkness engulfs me once again, but that is because the only source of illumination is the trio of slits sawed into a spot near the top of the wooden closet door for ventilation allows only three claws of dim late-morning light into this cramped chamber. Slowly, gradually, my erratic heartbeat returns to it normal pace and fear releases its freezing grip on me, allowing my hands to relax their tight grip on the thin fabric of my blanket and my rigid body to go limp once again. My breath still comes in quick gasps, and I take large gulps of air and try to calm myself. It takes some time and effort, but eventually I can think once more. Just when I am about to get up and ready for the long, miserable day, angry fist pounds on my door mere inches from my face followed by an agitated voice, "Shut up, you weak excuse for a human! Stop being a dumb-ass and shoot that thing you call a brain already!" The furious hiss coming from outside the cramped space belongs to my fifteen-year-old brother, Pike, and my small, lean muscles tense in expectation of a painful beating that often accompanies his insults that my parents hardly bother to attempt to cease. My eyes shut tightly, but that won't change the fact that at least one of them will likely be swelled closed after my abusive sibling is finished dealing with me. My hands resume their positions as scared fists, the way they curl reminding me of the shape my body takes automatically, a pathetic fetal position that will strike rage into Pike's already-infuriated mind. I can already feel the strong, rope-like grip of harming hands flinging my almost weightless body to the stone floor, adding several more bruises to my painful assortment of wounds. Pike's cold blue eyes embedded inside my brain, unlike anyone else in this place besides my father's, strike fear into my heart while his hands and feet deliver the almost routine beating of my day. The most vital reason escape, for me, is crucial to my very survival. Most surprisingly, I hear his seething mutters fade away into a still calm that fills the air. My eyes ease open and my arms lower from their protective shield smothering my pale olive-skinned face. My ears strain for any indications of another person's presence in disbelief, but they detect none. After several seconds of this, I mutter with a bitter grimness in my soft tone, "Good morning to you, too." My expression hardens into an indifferent mask, hoping that Fae or Pike won't spot my fear and attempt to wheedle more screams from me, and I bring myself to stand at last.
Pain makes my shoulders wince and my eyes narrow for a moment as the top of my head explodes in a short-lived burst of agony; my head has banged into the dark, slanted ceiling that I almost always bruise my skull on. My head throbs but I take no time to probe the tender flesh. Bright light blinds me as I swing the closet door open, careful not to let it slam into the wall and alert my siblings of my exit, but I dismiss my lack of vision and quietly shut it while my eyes adjust to the swift change of surroundings. I am already fit to leave the house like I always do in the mornings, dressed in a simple tan tunic, plain long black pants, and dark brown leather shoes that my feet slide in since they're a size or two too large for my small feet. I don't mind the slight inconvenience, though, and am accustomed to the way they flop slightly with each step. I slip out of the house and close the front door as loud as I dare (Which isn't much, honestly.) and make a beeline for the wall that divides my neighborhood and the forest beyond not too far from my birthplace. The brief trip to the wall is uneventful, the dimly illuminated roads deserted. I am more antsy then usual due to the grim atmosphere covering District Eight like a dark veil of despair. The sorrowful air feels heavy in my lungs and on my slim shoulders, and I feel like I am about to be crushed by the sheer suffocating darkness of it that. I roll my shoulders uncomfortably, frowning-- then I remember; today is the Reaping! My heart skips numerous beats and I am immediately overwhelmed with the usual explosion of mainly fear-based emotion that cause the gray world around me to spin and I have to fight the urge to flee in blind desperation like prey bent on escaping its hunter. Sadly, that simile is scarily accurate, and needle-sharp claws rake down my back in icy shivers and my unmoving feet start sweating like crazy. I am already dreaming up zany, impossible feats of escape when logic finally kicks in and I have to yet again refrain from losing control.
My hollowed features are strictly composed when I set off in a different direction this time. I have no intention of proceeding to complete my average daily rounds; the annual event of the Reaping brings heightened security to the uniform, dull grey wall enclosing District Eight and frequently serves as my escape, even if it is only for a short amount of time. As I pass the mournful-looking houses that omit nary a sound, shivers continue to crawl down my spine, chilling me to the bones that my thin frame mainly consists of. I try not to dwell too much on the fact that today will be my first Reaping and attempt to soothe my frayed nerves by encouraging myself that of the thousands of deadly paper slips that the boys' glass bowl contains, only two of the lot have my name etched on them. One because I am required to, and another due to tesserae. Only two out of thousands have Sage Lyomir scrawled on them by trembling fingers. Only a single pair. Relax. I am hardly aware of my surroundings while my feet trudge the familiar path to my destination, a tiny shed behind the old, abandoned warehouse that hold a few rusty, menacing machines that haven't seen the light of day for decades. Nobody uses either of them anymore, except for a small group of older teenagers that lurk around and within the large warehouse. Other then myself, nobody else is even aware of the equally unused shed only twenty yards behind its counterpart. I skirt the colossal building and head for my second home, my feet making nearly inaudible thuds on the overgrown weeds and grass. I halt abruptly before a nearly invisible structure only feet before me. It is a small, shady shed supposedly secret from society (Try saying that five times fast! X3), concealed by the thick layer of undergrowth that proves nobody has entered it for an infinite amount of time. Well, nobody other then myself, that is.
I slip through the small space that the slightly ajar door provides and pause just inside the entrance. The moment I cross the threshold my nose is flooded with the strong scent of aging wood and dense shrubbery. The covering wall pressing close to it isn't the only way plants have swallowed my shed; vines crisscross the inside walls in every which way and leafy sprouts erupt in random clumps on the decaying floor. I have to keep my eyes carefully fixed on the rotting wooden boards that make up the floor to avoid stumbling over the abundant plant life. I take a few moments to allow my odd-colored eyes to adjust to the dim, shadow-strewn room before proceeding to take a seat at the cracked, worn stone table. It has several different herbs and plants lining its rough gray surface. I begin to sort through them, forming neat and organized piles of identical herbs. My mind is at ease with this simple chore, and my thoughts can flow freely without being shattered by worries of the unthinkable happening. I savor these few blessed moments of serene calm, knowing that in an hour or so I will be experiencing a mixed bundle of emotions such as fear, anger, desperation, vain hope, and so on. A blur of white streaks across the room, so sudden that I barely have time to draw the wooden staff strapped to my back in preparation to defend myself. I lurch to my feet, heart racing, and face the startling interruption.
The hairs on the back of my neck stop bristling when I spot a familiar furry face staring back at me, crimson-pink eyes watching me curiously. I exhale a sigh of relief and take a seat again, giving the smooth-furred animal a gentle stroke along its long, lean body. The albino ferret closes its eyes momentarily and rubs its sleek head against my palm. The strong, musky smell floods my nostrils but I don't recoil, since I'm used to the smell. The small animal is one I am used to seeing, and have shared my shed with it. It crawled in sometime several months ago, and never left. I have warmed up to her over time and eventually named the she-ferret Lunez, or Luna after the moon to reflect her distinct coat color. She is a welcome friend, even though I have to keep my plants hidden on occasion so she won't attempt to devour them. The thought of herbs reminds me of the now scattered ones on the table and I scold Lunez for the mess. Now I'll have to complete the task later or tomorrow. . . She remains oblivious to my scowl and nuzzles my hand for more attention, but I refuse to give her any. My gaze wanders about the small shed and I stare distantly out a crack in the wall. The high-pitched clang of metal on stone echoes and my head whips forward, towards the sound which was directly in front of me. A large chip in the table greets my alarmed eyes; they catch a glimpse of a blade falling to the ground as well while a streak of white goes to the floor and Lunez attempts to bolt for it, but a dark boot is brought down hard on her head. A sickening crunch reverberates in the room as her skull breaks under the brute force, and I am confronted with the face in my nightmares; Pike's sadistic grin fills my vision and my limbs are frozen without a chance to escape. "Can't make any friends other then vermin, weakling?" His cruel taunt brings me back to reality and I stare at his boot scraping the gore of the contents previously within the white ferret's head across the ground for a few seconds before I am hurdling out the gap near the ceiling of the shed. My feet make painful contact with the hard ground, since my leather shoes do nothing to absorb the impact, but I only use it was a reminder of the predator that will take chase. I streak away from my former sanctuary so quickly that I am in danger of stumbling over my own two feet. Being inconspicuous doesn't matter anymore, as long as I can get out alive. Why does he hate me so much?! I am not sure if I am imagining the sounds of pursuit behind me, but I don't dare to waste precious time to glance over my shoulder. That isn't worth the price of freedom.
I have no idea when I finally veer sharply into yet another alleyway and my legs give way to exhaustion and I slide gratefully to the ground. My breaths come in quick, short gasps and I try to take great greedy gulps of air. I know that I have succeeded in my escape; I am a faster sprinter then my older brother, since my slender body and lean-muscled legs contribute to speeds quicker then Pike could ever manage achieving. I feel no triumph, though, and a lone tear drips down my face; I give myself a minute to grieve over my lost friend, despite the difference in species. Lunez hadn't ever tried to hurt me, and that's the only thing that matters to me. . . She accepted me without a word, even though words were always beyond her. My emotions harden after my minute is up, and I automatically strengthen up so nobody will be able to spot my weakness. It doesn't matter that I am alone, isolated in this dark, chilly alley. The low temperature cools the sweat covering my skin, and icy shudders move down my spine once more. I'm not sure if this place has ever known the sun's warmth, but I don't care. As long as I can stay hidden here from my sibling's violent intentions. I can sense the sun in its position almost directly overhead and remember that this year I have to join the other children in the town square to impatiently, fearfully wait for two names to be called out. This year, I have to listen to the two tributes who are going to be slated for death the moment their names are uttered. I force myself to stand up to start making the horrible journey to the center of my District, my limbs moving reluctantly. Everything is now routine, my emotions restricted and my eyes gazing ahead indifferently. After a few steps, I can walk normally, as if my legs are being controlled by some unseen force. They can't be my own, yet I am heading directly towards my fate. . . Funny, I have never believed in fate or destiny before; everything happens for a reason, I think. The entire trip is haunted by the nightmarish thoughts of despair plaguing my twelve-year-old mind.
This is for a Hunger Games roleplay. . . I copied it because I would be horrified to lose it after over two thousand five hundred words, my longest post yet. I don't care if you read it or not.

[sivan]

https://gblog.garlandisd.net/users/jmbr ... /5de4f.jpg

Fox for roleplay i decided not to enter