Will Atlas, D8 Tribute for the 56th
Sept 6, 2010 21:08:50 GMT -5
Post by shrimp on Sept 6, 2010 21:08:50 GMT -5
Hey.
What’s up?
My name is Will Atlas,
I’m 16 years old,
I normally live in District 8,
I am obviously a male,
Oh, and I’m District 8’s male tribute for the 56th Hunger Games.
So, you’ll probably see me die in about a month.
But moving on,
Appearance
Well, for starters, I’m an average height. The doctor says I’m 5’7”, but I feel like I’m shorter than that. But I tend to slouch, so I’m not really as short as I seem. Technically, I’m closer to 5’8”, but really, it doesn’t matter. Except when I’m at work, then it matters. Because being tall gives you an ounce more of respect, which you definitely need. Otherwise, you’re like the runt of a litter, likely to be weeded out.
My weight, well I’m pretty light. I’m around 130 lbs, give or take. I guess that I look pretty thin. I mean, I can see a few ribs or so. But that may be from malnourishment. I can’t really eat much, seeing that my mother spends most of our money buying mushrooms to get high.
My hair? It’s not that special. It’s sort of like a dark brown. People like to compare it to the color of ash, but my hair’s more saturated than that. I would suppose that my hair’s pretty thick. I can’t really see my scalp or anything. My hair falls over my eyes, the bangs are pretty straight, causing the hair to almost touch the bridge of my nose. Normally I wear a newspaper boy hat over it, but I gave that to my mother after I got reaped. Hats pose a problem in the games. They fall over your eyes, fly off, etc.
And if they fly off, there goes your district token.
But if they get in the way of your sight, you’re dead.
My eyes aren’t very interesting either. They’re a grayish-blue shade. If I had to compare it to something, it’d probably be a cloudy sky, but still, it’s not that similar to it anyways. They’re dull and boring. But they’re my eyes, and I can’t change them.
What’s next… My mouth I guess? I mean, it’s just a mouth. Nobody really pays attention to them. But if I had to describe my mouth, I guess it’d be a little bit on the thin side. My nose isn’t that important either. It’s not really short, nor long. It’s not oddly shaped or anything, so it’s not really a distinguishing feature.
My arms are a normal length I guess. They aren’t heavily muscled or anything, but I have some strength using them. Guess that lifting all of those boxes paid off slightly. Somehow I beat about half of the guys at work in an arm wrestle. But we don’t do stuff like that often, so I can’t show off much.
Oh, I forgot, I happen to have a scar on my back. No, I’m not showing it to you. But it’s a diagonal slash across my back starting from my left shoulder blade, and ending a half a foot above my right hip. It doesn’t look very good, but it’s there, and it’s the only present I’ve ever received from my father. You see, he was a drunkard whose anger flared up very easily, which would normally result in broken windows, and bruises on my mother’s face.
Personality
I’m easily described as “antisocial”. I try to stay away from most people, I guess so I don’t get humiliated or hurt or something. I guess I’m sort of sensitive then. I try not to talk to strangers much, other than saying “excuse me” or “I’m sorry.” It’s pathetic really, how often I attempt to stay unnoticed. I really should stop that.
I mean, I am antisocial, but that doesn’t mean that I’m heartless or anything. In fact, the two traits are not even remotely related. Personally, I like to think of myself as a generous person. I mean, if I have spare change, I’d give it to some kid who’s less fortunate than I am. But I do this discreetly. If someone found out that I was carrying around loose change, then I’d probably be mobbed. You don’t want to know what people do here to survive.
I like kids. I really do. If I wasn’t in the Games, I’d like to get married, have a few kids, watch them grow, etc. But if I become the victor, my kids will probably be reaped. It’s happened before, and it will happen again.
I mean, if I was a parent, I’d be able to entertain them. I can tell a great story. But only when I’m in the mood, or when I know that I need to use a story to make someone smile a tad bit wider. It’s easy to remember all of the stories that I read as a kid in school, so they wouldn’t get tired of hearing the same stories over and over again, even though they’ll read them in school.
If I had to pick one trait that everyone would notice about me, it’s my impulsiveness. I have a very bad case of this. If I think I have to run, I run. If I think I need to fight, someone’s going to end up with at least a black eye. I only really plan things out if I have a lot of time on my hands.
In fact, I definitely have a lot of time on my hands. I’m an insomniac. Therefore, it’s extremely hard for me to fall asleep. Most of the time, I get a few hours of sleep, tops. It’s pretty annoying, but it gives me time to think about things. And worry about things.
I worry about a lot of stuff. I’m a constant worrier. I need to be one. My mother does nothing but get high all day, drying up our already meager funds. It was probably worse when my father was around, but I was too young to be in charge of my family then. Now I don’t even know if we’ll make it to next week, so of course I worry.
Being the worried, impulsive insomniac that I am, I’m easily angered, and prone to violence. To be honest, most arguments can end if the other party gets a little beat up, you know, to set things straight. Although I do try to curb my violent streak, sometimes, I wonder if I like it a bit. I mean, I can feel a bit better about myself. It proves that I’m a fighter. I’m not weak. I’m determined, and I won’t go out without a fight. And if I do that, my family will survive.
History
You guys are very nosy aren’t you….
Anyways,
Once upon a time, my father and my mother were party animals. They got drunk off of uncountable bottles of alcohol, smoked weed and used shrooms almost everyday, and finished off their evening by doing stuff that I’m really not comfortable talking about.
They were really young. My mother was nineteen. My dad, a few years older than her. They loved each other. Or at least, they pretended to love each other. It’s likely that they only stayed because they’d be able to get more mushrooms that way.
My mother found out that she was pregnant a few months before her twentieth birthday. It was pretty obvious that she’d been expecting a baby months before, when her stomach had been extended. But she had been ignorant, and blamed it on all of the alcohol that she drank.
The fact that I was born with no defects is well…pretty astounding. My mother had drunk a bit of wine everyday, until she realized that she wasn’t bloated. Luckily, it wasn’t a lot of wine, but still, I would have liked her to be a bit more responsible.
My parents got into a particularly bad patch soon after my birth. For ten years, I was forced to deal with constant yelling in the house. My dad would always spend his paycheck on whiskey and vodka, while my mother wasted away, using mushrooms almost everyday.
My father was particularly angry that night. My mother had screamed at him, and smashed his beer against the wall, the glass making a rather loud sound as it smashed into bits. He was furious. He grabbed the biggest chunk of the bottle, and attempted to attack my mother, only she ducked.
The scar hurt for a while, I mean, I wasn’t expecting it or anything. I was near the glass, looking at the way the material shined after the candlelight glowed onto its smooth frame.
My father must have felt guilty. I mean, he cut his own child with a broken beer bottle. But it didn’t stop him from continuing on the path that my parents had been following since their teens.
I couldn’t stay there when they fought. I ran to somewhere that would always be a haven for me.
There had been a park a block away. Nowadays, the grass is browned and dead, and the paint is rusted in most parts. But before, it was overflowing with life. Greenery sprang up everywhere, until the entire field was covered in clovers, and grass, and small white blossoms. This was my refuge in times of turmoil. I’d go there for a few hours, sit around, go on the swing, then come home. Normally my father would be gone; most likely buying more liquor. My mother would be asleep, tear marks on her cheeks.
When I was 10, my father was found dead. He’d been passed out along the side of an alleyway. He’d choked on his own vomit. Truth be told, I hated the man. But still, he helped put some money on the table, so we were worse off now. My mother continued her downward spiral towards an overdose.
I began to steal. At first, it was little things. An apple here. A small trinket there. When I got the hang of it, I stole bread, or larger fruits. Sometimes I even was able to swipe a chunk of meat while the butcher wasn’t looking. Of course, I was occasionally caught, and was punished for it. But I had to do this in order to survive.
When I was 12, I got tesserae for the first time. Being at the reaping was even worse for me, especially because I knew that I’d most likely be reaped sooner or later. But gradually, I became calmer about the situation. I still stole. I still got tesserae every year. It was the same routine, over and over.
Soon, I got a job in one of the main clothing factories. I was hauling boxes here and there, helping to load the trains to ship out “fashionable clothes” to the Capitol.
The next year, I somehow was on the boss’ radar, leading me to get a promotion. It involved spotting mistakes in the fabrics. Promotion equaled more pay, so I was soon able to get me and my mother to a more stable economic status.
When I was 15, things changed. I don’t know, I guess I was a late bloomer. But I started to feel…odd. There was a weird feeling that I got whenever I saw a pretty girl… or some guy. It freaked me out. I started worrying even more than usual. I couldn’t sleep. I could barely eat. The doctor said that I had developed insomnia, most likely from stress.
So I know about my sexuality. I don’t like it, but it’s who I am. And that’s that.
And that is all that you, dear reader, really need to know about myself.
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