ｉ ｌｏｖｅ ｙｏｕ | ｓｅｍｉ-ｌｉｔｅｒａｔｅ | ｏｐｅｎ

[Brittle]

finished form.

[pumpkin.]

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She sits up high surrounded by the sun;
One million branches and she loves every one.
"Mom and dad, did you search for me?
I've been up here so long I'm going crazy."
.....
If I were you, I'd put that away.
See, you're just wasted
And thinking about the past again;
Darling you'll be okay.
.....
And she said,
"If you were me, you'd do the same.
'Cause I can't take anymore;
I'll draw the shades and close the door.
Everything's not alright and I would rather..."

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Why, hello there, I don't believe I've seen you around these parts before. The name is Arzu { Are-Zoo } Bella Tananglia { Ten-Angel-Iah }. But, you know, just call me Arzu. Yes, my name is rather strange, isn't it? My first name, if you care, is from Persian origination and means "desire". That's right, I'm Persian; it was my mother's side, thank you very much. Now, my middle name, Bella, is quite common and comes from Italian origination. Yes, another one of my roots; from my father's side. The name means "beautiful" in Italian- I dare wonder why my parents gave me this name. My name is nothing unique, thank you. I mean, every set of parents would want their child to have a name that described their personality or what they wanted- but that wasn't it with me. Apparently, to them, I was anything but beautiful, so I can't see the point in my middle name. And Arzu? Well, I can't even..., whatever. Can we just move onto the next topic?

I don't- I don't like talking about my history, okay? If I tell you, please promise not to tell anyone else. It's just not an exactly "pleasant" topic with me. You see, I was this so-called "mistake"; my mom was eighteen when I was born, and my dad was nineteen at the precise interval of time. And to put it simply- they didn't want a kid. At all. Ultimately, my Grandma eventually convinced my mother into keeping me, which I wish she hadn't. Throughout my childhood I was neglected, and my parents never took any notice of me. I would be unfed for days at a time and sometimes, even, I would end up locked out of the house! So, I would run away to the forest, and wait to see if they would ever come search for me. They never did. I would sit there for hours, and hours, and hours; they would never come. I would end up being forced to spend the night at my neighbors' houses, for my parents wouldn't even unlock the door for me for when I came home. I don't even think they noticed I was gone- not that they wanted me there, anyway. When I managed to scale a tree and climb through my bedroom window, the typical abusive behavior of my dad was switched on- and guess who the power outlet was. I was the apparent "source" of his anger, so I was who he would vent it out on; it sucked that he had anger issues. The neighbors knew, but they did nothing about it; we were the "problem family", and no one could solve our simple equation. There was no love. Of course, there had been, but then I came along and ruined everything. When I was thirteen, I resorted to cutting- you can call it my savior, if you'd like. My wrists, my palms, my thighs, my stomach; I tried everything. The scars still remain to this day, and more are to come, if they can fit in somewhere. But, anyway, I had run off to the forest- once again- and that was where I met Lucas, my best friend. He had seen me cutting, and though I was a complete stranger, he just walked up to me, took my wrist, and kissed the scars. "It doesn't help," he had said. "Life gets better." I stuck by him from then on; I guess you don't have to know our entire history to know we became pretty good friends. Lucas made me promise to stop cutting, and I did- until he moved. Then I had no one to support me, and I broke. It was my worst interval of time, then; I nearly killed myself twice by cutting too close to a vein. But, Lucas visited one day, and he found out I had broken my promise when he walked in on me- and he cried. I'm positive we both died a little on the inside that day. He left, and I haven't seen him since; hopefully I will see him again, someday, soon. But, somehow I ended up where I am today; who knows where that is. All I know is its away from my parents, and I'm with my Grandma.
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Constant recovery,
I see you choke and it takes my breath away.
But all is good, we close our eyes;
They all accept the lie.
......
I know you're tortured within;
Your eyes look hungry again.
But I'll never wander, my friend.
Will somebody believe in this suicide?
Am I the only one that thinks that you should stay alive?
I became ashamed
As you backed up on the ropes to arm yourself and lie.

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Hasn't anyone ever told you it's impolite to ask a lady her age? Well, to heck with it anyway! I was born on August twenty-second, some random year at some idiotic time. So, if I had given you the year I was born, you'd have to calculate up to the fact that I'm seventeen years young- not seventeen years old. I'd much rather look at the glass half-full than half-empty. If you count the months, days, seconds, and milliseconds since my birth, then I guess you can say I'm not exactly seventeen- but whatever. It's not like anyone remembers my birthday anyway. It's not like anyone even remembers I was born. It would've been much simpler if I wasn't alive today, and maybe my parent's would still be in love. But, bad things happen- and I was one of them. Don't bother trying to remember my birthday, or my age, because I might disappear soon enough anyway and everything about me will be gone.

Are you blind or something? Why do you need to have a description of me when you can see with your own eyes? Well, if you must know..., we can start out with the minor details. How about my eyes, for starters? My eyes come from my father's side, practically the only feature of him I retrieved with the genetics; and, well..., they're strange. I have heterochromia, which is a genetic birth defect. My one eye, as shown, is blue with brown and hazel flecks. As mentioned, it's from the heterochromia. My other eye also went completely wacko, just like the first one, from heterochromia. It has the same colors as my other eye, except for a smudge of green, but the colors are more spread out than just flecks- more like layers, if you'd prefer that term. No one comments on my eyes, yet I see them look at me strangely whenever they take notice. Anyway, how about we move onto my hair? I got this feature from my mother, as you could see, since she has ginger hair- much like mine- and my father has brown hair. As I basically just gave you the answer the sentence before, you should know I have ginger hair- but I dye it red when I want to. I don't care if people look at me with apprehension or mock favor, because the bright color makes me feel, well, lighter. I don't know the term at the moment. Though I get my mother's naturally wavy hair, I prefer to have it straightened most of the time, unless it's a special occasion. At the moment, my hair is straightened, and my hair is its natural ginger color. I'll tell you if that ever changes. Now what, are we done here? No? What's my body shape? Whoa there, tiger; slow down a bit! Why do you need to know that, what are you going to use that information for? You know what- just- whatever. If you have to know, I don't consider myself the prettiest crayon in the box. I'm like the color white; ignored and useless. But, I suppose I did get my mother's hourglass body-shape. I have my curves here and there, just like any other girl; they're just where they're supposed to be. Under the conditions of my being underfed, I only weight ninety-six pounds; but now that I don't have to live with my parents, I'm gaining the weight I should've had years ago. I have high metabolism, though, so I'll probably remain as slender as I am to this day. Onto the next topic of my description; I'm 5' 10" in height, from my long legs. Not necessarily tall, but not necessarily short, either. I also have three tattoos (shown above in pictures), but I guess you don't have to know everything; right? As for my scars..., they're pretty much everywhere. As I said before, they're on my stomach, my palms, my wrists, my thighs... Basically everywhere but my face and the top of my hands, and my feet- and, of course, my back and neck. The abusive scars from my dad are on my back, mainly, and my face. You'll notice both the self-inflicted scars and the abusive ones, if I don't hide them right. But, I always do. It's not like any would take a second glance at me if I didn't hide them, anyway. But, I don't really cut anymore, so I guess that's a good thing.
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Could you check my pulse for me,
To see if I'm alive.
'Cause every time that I am near you,
Is the only time I feel alright.
If there were any way
I could think to turn back time,
I'd stay here with you.
Sometimes I sit and wonder;
Sometimes I feel like letting go
All I know is no one should have to be alone.

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One object that describes me? A white crayon, as I mentioned before. There are so many in this box of a world that I can be compared to, and I don't overpower any. I'm the one that's thrown to the side unless being used to patch up a mistake made by another color. I guess you can say I dye my hair red so I'm not invisible, so people will actually notice I'm standing there, because without it, they never do. And I always wonder if anyone will notice when I end up killing myself in the end. Then I realize- no, no they won't. I have such emotional problems, whoever does take notice of me, is scared away. Though, I have a cheery exterior, no one knows that I'm dying on the interior. I drag it on, and continue making the pain worse in hope that someone will notice; I always hope that someone will say they love me. But no one ever does. The closest thing I've ever gotten to an "I love you" was when Lucas said he cared too much for me to die. But he's gone now, so I doubt that was true. I'm constantly judged for the scars of both abuse and self-harm, and people avoid me without knowing that every time I get rejected, a new scar is added. Sure, I'm referred to as "Day", but that doesn't mean I have to be this happy-go-lucky cheery person for everyone to admire. No, I reflect more of the rise and fall of the sun, how the light turns into darkness. I don't want to be the person I am. Is it so wrong that I don't even want to be alive? No one would notice if I was dead, so..., I wish someone would. I guess you could say I'm suicidal, but if I do die, it'll be after I see my parents again- so I can apologize for being a part of their lives, for being born. Maybe, though, if someone ever does decide to stick around me, they'll be able to see the real me. The real me that struggles so desperately to reveal itself, but never has anyone to reveal itself to. On the inside, through my layers of scars and emotional problems, I am very much like the description of "Day". I am vulnerable and sensitive, as I have been judged many times, but that doesn't distract the fiery trait I can have. I can be rather..., stubborn, at times. I stand up for what I believe is right; if I believe in it, I won't let it go until someone else agrees with me and something is done about the problem or plan. I was a cheerful person, before the abuse and neglect really kicked in, but I know that meaningful, excited personality is still buried inside of me somewhere.

Love? Well, quite honestly, I gave up on that a while ago- when Lucas left. I do admit, there is this one guy I've seen that just seems so- nope. No hints on this topic. You can find out for yourself. It's not like I'm going to tell [nope] I like him; I'd just be rejected, right? Just like how my parents rejected me, the same thing would happen in this situation. Or..., maybe [nope] likes me back... Who am I kidding, nah, he probably doesn't.

{ Could she be part of the quadruplets? }
{ Sorry for not posting this earlier, I lost the RP XD }
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character © LifeIsNoWonderland
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please do not use this form or character unless my agreement

[otaku,]

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