Sydney Carlisle { D 4 }

Sydney Carlisle { D 4 } Sept 30, 2013 0:26:48 GMT -5

Post by brΔdley on Sept 30, 2013 0:26:48 GMT -5

Sydney Ann Carlisle
16 years old
District 4

”I hope she’s a fool. That’s the best thing a girl can be is a beautiful little fool.” I got my looks from my father, both of our blonde hair being bleached by the heat from the immense sun at on the ocean bay. My eyes, however, retained a dark color from my mother’s side of the family. I am an average height for my age, I would like to say, perhaps a little taller than a few of the other girls. I am definitely not lanky in any sense though. My skin is averagely tan – not the usual bronze that resides in the District. I attribute my fair skin to my mother’s side, of course. This also can be attributed to how I always avoided manual labor and hardships as a child thanks to the protection of my older siblings. I have a small little birth mark above my lip that is ever so faintly noticeable. Most people I talk to barely even recognize it until after a full moment of conversing. Another one of my attributes is a very dull scar that resides on my forehead. Once upon a time, I had fallen from a slick, moss covered rock on one dull afternoon and gashed open my skin to reveal the sensitive flesh underneath. It recognizable to me even though I try to very hard to retain the flaw that the accident caused. I usually try extremely hard to prevent facial impurities (such as acne and other blemishes) from being seen on my face, attempting to keep up a certain image. There was something about being a girl that makes one feel as if all eyes are on them to appear perfect in all situations. Could I appear clean and well-kept at all times? No, there were days I had to go without proper fixation or preparation. The fact is – I care about how I look. This is reflected in my clothing, as well. I try to dress well for my age. My mother usually crafts the most beautiful dresses and garments out of fabric she collects, which makes it a one of a kind piece – making me a one of a kind girl here in District 4. I am thin framed when it comes to my body structure and barely developed through pubescence, so I feel like my clothes stand out more than I do at some points – and I’m okay with that. If my clothes define me, that speaks volumes for how proper and lady-like I actually am.

There’s nothing strong about me. There’s nothing vicious about me. I’m just a little girl. I never claimed to be aggressive or strong-willed. I would much rather keep my hands clean and stay out of the way when it came to most everyday matters. In contrast to my brothers, who all were aggressively dominant and strong, I played the “princess” card well. God, I hate that. Princess. The term itself just protrudes arrogance from every syllable. I like to think I’m a good mix of arrogant and humble. I’m not humble to the point where I don’t know that I am good-looking or have any other advantages over society, but I won’t voice these advantages. Compared to many of the other teenagers in the District, I don’t want to be a Career. I don’t want to fight anyone if I don’t have to physically.
I always found myself getting into a different type of fight – verbally and mentally. Many of my classmates (and even my brother’s on a few occasions) have called me, among other things, a bratty little girl. I feel that if I can mentally get into someone’s head with my words, I have crushed them far more than a sword or spear could. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not a ‘mean girl’. I don’t go looking for fights with anyone to verbally destroy their egos or self-worth. I’m kind of like a crab. In a sense, I only attack if I feel endangered by something. If I am not attacked first, I feel as if I am a very likeable girl – I use the charisma and charm etiquette my mother taught me to socially deter enemies. “A sweet voice and a charming smile will win anyone over,” my mother always said. It was true – a smile could go a long way. Just simply greeting and acting interested in the locals of District 4 somehow makes me feel more likeable to myself, if not others as well.
I was always taught from a young age to never pass judgment upon someone, because not everyone has had the life advantages that I have and I cannot complain. All of my family is safe, I am healthy, I can afford food upon my table and rarely go hungry. I can afford, on some occasions, nicer things in life. My mother, specifically, always smacked my face as a child if I had said something rotten about another child or person in the District. I feel that this inner-brat was kicked out of my emotional system long ago, but somewhere deep inside I can’t ignore the negative qualities and hypocrisy. I always feel like I am judging people just as strongly as I am judging myself. I also find myself to be extremely emotional – sensitive at times, even though I refuse to let it be known how easily I am offended or annoyed. However, sometimes my eyes and facial expressions express more of my emotions than my voice ever does.

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There’s nothing strong about me. There’s nothing vicious about me. I’m just a little girl. I never had an ambition to get my hands dirty with sweat or dirt. Being the youngest and only daughter in a family of four sons, I always ended up being babied and pacified when it came to the demeaning chores or laborious work. My favorite moments were whenever my brother’s would start to hone into my weakness and my father would swoop in like a caped crusader and steal me away to the beach. My favorite moments in my life definitely had to center around this aquatic serenity. I never had the patience for recreational fishing, but me and my father would go around the edge of the beach on occasions and look at the marine life in shallow wake pools. I, of course, would never touch any of these slimy creatures, but my father’s love for the ocean seemed to wear off on me, as well. I was always excited for these oasis trips with my father. Chadwick Carlisle worked under a Capitol controlled commercial fishing rig with a numerous amount of other District 4 adult males. He was one of the best, too, I would assume – being able to tie knots and rig nets quicker than anyone else I knew. Seeing as how he was always away on fishing trips, I only got to see him a few moments out of the month.
With an absent father, my mother was my inspiration. My mother, Morgana Carlisle, worked with a local business stringing necklaces out of shell and, my personal favorite, pearls. She trained me in the art of charisma and personality. I knew how to be a ‘lady’ by the time I hit my early teens, and soon mastered the art within a year. There was something about the way my mother taught me to control my voice and attitude that made me feel powerful – not in the physical sense, of course – but the mental sense. The men of my family are all hulking brutes, in a way, all with excellent physical character and strength. After their educations, my oldest two brother’s went to work with my father. The childish roughhousing stopped when three of the main men in my life left to go out to sea once more. The house seemed quiet with only myself, my mother, and my other brother staying in the large walls these weeks alone. My other brother, eighteen year old Flint, seems more than ready to leave the nest as well – ready to join a study program on the oceanic life of Panem or something.
At the now tender age of 16, I can’t complain to readily about anything. My father is home at least two weeks in the month, which lets me have time to be with my brothers and father once more. I spend a majority of my time with my mother in her shop when I’m not in school. Despite being anti-dirty, I enjoy soaking in the salty, oceanic water. It reminds me of when everyone was young and together when I was just a babe. I have always prided myself on being able to swim faster and farther out than any of my older brothers, my mother always joking that one day her little guppy would “grow gills and fins and swim away” into the oncoming wake of the tide. There was just an ease when one’s ears are blocked of sound by the water surrounding you.

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