Generation 4: Prologue: Belle Everdeen

She never slows down…

Arts. There were a lot of forms of them. Singing, dancing, writing, and most importantly…painting. The art of painting was a beautiful thing, rarely appreciated by anyone under the age of 50. But it was my passion; my calling. Every brushstroke told a story.

It told my story.

She doesn’t know why but she knows that when she’s all alone, it feels like it’s all coming down…

I hated school. I hated it so much that some mornings I would make myself sick in order to make Dad let me stay home. There were no arts at school. Just people. Mean, judgmental people.

To be honest, I didn’t have many friends. Sure, a few kids would sometimes ask me if I wanted to trade animal crackers for Grandma’s amazing pudding, but other than that I ate alone in the bathroom. Where no one could see me or make fun of me. I think it’s because I don’t have a mommy. All of the other kids at school have both parents but I don’t.

School was hard for me, in general. I was taken to the doctor about a year after my Dad came home. The doctor ran some tests on me and I heard him tell my Dad about this big word called “dyslexia” but I don’t know what it is. All I know is that I hate reading out loud in class. I’m so slow and all of the kids laugh at me when I mix up my words.

She won’t turn around…

My bedroom was my safe-haven. It was where I could go to cry, or scream, or sing as loud as I possibly could without being told to stop. It was a place where I could paint my feelings without getting a grade for doing it. It was a place where I could dream outside the box.

It was a place just for me and my thoughts…and no one else.

The shadows are long and she fears if she cries that first tear the tears will not stop raining down…

I do love it when my Dad reads to me, though. I was scared of him for awhile. I didn’t know who he was or why he suddenly wanted to be a part of my life. My sister hated him and I couldn’t remember him, so I fed off of her angry emotions. Sooner or later, though, I learned to trust him. And now he reads me to sleep every night, no matter how late he has to work.

My favorite stories are love stories. Even though I know that there is no such thing as “happily ever after”, especially for a loser like me, it’s fun to dream about the fairytale world. Sometimes, I have dreams I am the princess, waiting to be rescued by the prince. But he never comes, so I have to fend for myself. Which is fine, since Daddy told me that it’s a sign of independence.

So stand in the rain, stand your ground. Stand up when it’s all crashing down…

Ariella is everything I wish I could be and more. She’s outgoing, smart, funny, and charming. Almost all of the boys at school have asked her out at least twice and every time she says yes. Nothing bad ever happens to her either–like when it happened to mommy and daddy–so I guess that means she plays it safe, whatever that means.

She looks out for me at school. Sometimes she can get her friends’ siblings to play with me for a little while. It’s pathetic, having your big sister try to find friends for you.

But honestly, I don’t mind, as long as there is an easel with fresh paints waiting for me when I get home I’m happy.

Stand through the pain, you won’t drown…

The morning of my 15th birthday I was less than excited for. I started high school tomorrow and high school meant that there would be a larger amount of kids to bully me. Sure, Ariella was a senior and everything, but it wasn’t like she could save me from getting dumped in the trashcan on the first day or getting my head stuck in the toilet.

And one day what’s lost can be found if you stand in the rain…

High school here I come.