Cutter Vaughn-- D7 -- FIN

Cutter. The name should say it all but it doesn’t. He’s supposed to be fierce and strong, someone who culls the trees in District 7 like it’s his duty; because it is. Standing at a slender six foot two inches tall and weighing in around 185lbs he does look imposing. He doesn’t try, in fact if you ask him he was as small as a field mouse. Too skinny, too frail, too anything but ugly. His nose is too large and his head too small for his body. If you asked him he’d say his chin was the worst, protruding from his face like some sort of awful deformity. He couldn’t understand why the girls seemed to follow him everywhere. He was worthless and ugly and didn’t deserve the attention. If you asked him.

He spent most the days in the logging center, so his hands were covered with callouses and the nails often split and broken. It was hard to remain handsome when so much of your life was revolving around physical labor. Why his muscles didn’t get bigger he didn’t know, but the mirror never lies. It didn’t lie about the crook in his nose, the point in his chin, the sandy brown color of his hair, or the blue of his eyes…so why would it lie when it showed the ugliness he saw. There were days where he had flashes that maybe, just maybe, he would outgrow the ugly duckling stage. Yet it never once happened. He still saw the gangly boy with arms too long for his tree trunk body.

Cutter’s family was a small basic family and he grew up with good morals and beliefs. He knew right from wrong and was polite whenever someone spoke to him. If anything he was shy and reserved because of his fear of people pointing out just how hideous he looked. He knew they saw his flaws, he knew they were judging him, and it was easier not to dwell on them, but to hide and move on as quickly as possible. He studied hard at school, though it was clear they were just filling his head with nonsense about the Capitol and their mush. He’d just let it slide in one ear and out the other and head back to the logging center to work the rest of the day away.

There was a hidden pain in the way he tried to shy away behind his work. The logs didn’t judge him, didn’t laugh at him or see anything. They didn’t know he was a horrible monster. They didn’t care that he was just utterly boring. They just were there to cut and trim and toss in the machines to cut down to the sizes that the Capitol needed. They were silent sisters to his pain.

Time after time he’d tried to get up the courage to talk to girls (or even boys, he wasn’t one to define anything) but he couldn’t figure out how anyone would want to talk to him. So he’d given up on trying to find someone to find companionship with and instead looked inside himself and realized he didn’t deserve it. Cutter was made to be alone, and that’s all there was too it. He’d accepted it and even as he’d spend nights under the covers doing things he only wished someone else could do he understood it would never happen. He wasn’t made to be loved.

Ever since he was a child he’d felt different, he’d looked at the others with their soft hair and perfectly childlike bodies and he’d see the differences in himself. The way one leg seemed longer than the other and the way he didn’t run as fast as the other boys. His father had tried to convince him it was just in his mind and he’d grow out of it. That he had good genes and there was nothing wrong with him, but Cutter knew the truth. He was just the runt of the family good for nothing.

As he transitioned into puberty he’d spend every night praying that he was going to grow bigger and stronger and handsome. Night after night he’d fall to his knees beside his bed sending up prayers and wishes and tears to be someone he thought others would appreciate. Yet each morning he looked in the mirror and still saw the rubbish he was. It didn’t work. Prayer was for fools and he decided that no longer needed God. All he needed was himself and the saw and the sound of wood being made into something else.

Now he is entering his final year of The Reapings and all he wants is for it to be over. There wasn’t a soul alive that would want to see his disgusting face splashed across the tvs of all of Panem. No one would sponsor someone who they couldn’t even look in the face. A selection for tribute would mean certain death for him. Even as worthless and ugly as he was he knew that dying in front of the nation was not how he wanted to end his life. He wanted to stay hidden and live his life alone and in peace.