Sewanee Clark [D10] fin

Sewanee Joseph Clark - Eighteen - District Ten

Paranoia is in bloom,
the PR transmissions will resume.
They'll try to push drugs that keep us all dumbed down
and hope that we will never see the truth around.
Another promise, another seed,
another packaged lie to keep us trapped in greed;
and all the green belts wrapped around our minds,
and endless red tape to keep the truth confined.

I don't even know where to start.

Well... I'm tall, that's a start. I'm 6' even, but I don't have a lot of muscle to go along with it. I'm more lean than anything, really. Sure, I have strength from working on the ranch - hauling, lifting, hoisting, yanking - but nothing on my body is bulky. Average, that's what my muscle tone is: average. Not excessive, but there's enough to know that it's there.

Anyway, I have rather large hands that have calloused palms. And because this is D10, the ranching District, my nails usually have dirt or grime underneath them from working outside. It's not unusual for my hands to have blisters, but I usually bite them or poke them with a needle, so they pop and deflate, and then I tear the skin off, so I have many hard skin edges and rough, somewhat circular patches on my hands. My forearms and upper arms have random dark brown freckle spots, along with small scars I've acquired from the years of working and breaking into houses. On the backside of my upper arms, and all over my back, there are a lot of long, welt-like scars from when I was whipped for "public disturbance," but I'll tell you about that later.

My shoulders are broad and bear the welt-like scars of a careless Peacekeeper, who also took it upon himself to whip my chest, but not as much. I only have two short scars on my chest, but there's one long one that goes from the middle of my left cheek, down the side of my neck, and ends near the bottom of my ribcage. That was the "marker" one, as the Peacekeeper had put it: "Now people'll know that you're a criminal and a traitor, and you'll be an example to everyone else who thinks they can best us." Oh, just because he landed a chance welt on my face suddenly means I'm marked like Cain in that old folk tale? No. It doesn't mean anything other than that man had horrible aim.

My head is kind of narrow, I guess you could say, but not drastically. It's just more vertical rather than horizontal, if that makes any sense. I have a small mouth that's always drawn in a tight, hard line and the corners never flick up into a smile. My face isn't very angular, so my cheekbones don't stick out noticeably. My eyes are mostly hazel, but they have faint blue flecks that you can only see when you look close. I have blonde hair that tends to always stay light in color because of the constant sunlight it receives while I'm working, and it comes down to just slightly over my eyes. I don't care much for my hair, so it tends to stay unkempt and the split ends are horrendous, but eh.

My legs aren't much to write home about. They're like my arms: slender and lightly muscled. Random and light scars here and there from mishaps at work and break-ins, but other than that, they're normal. My feet are rather large and I'm missing a toe on my right foot. I was born with only four toes on that foot, but it doesn't hinder me in any way. It's just... strange.

Interchanging mind control,
come let the revolution takes its toll.
If you could flick the switch and open your third eye,
you'd see that we should never be afraid to die.

[/i][/right]

To say that I'm a grouch is quite fitting. I've always got either a scowl or a neutral/serious look on my face, but never a smile. A smirk, maybe, but never a genuine smile. And to get me to smirk, it takes a lot and has to involve partial destruction of the governmental system in this awful country named Panem.

Maybe the reason people don't like me very much is because I'm not very approachable. I don't know. I mean, who would want to willingly go up to someone who always has an icy tinge in their voice whenever they do decide to say something? I hardly speak at all, usually I just stay silent and observe. You know, you can learn a lot by just watching and never asking questions. You can find faults that can be fatal or devastating when agitated, and no one really suspects the quiet one to be the one at fault.

I have a very short temper. For as long as I can remember, I've always been one split second away from snapping and making heads roll. Most of my anger is directed to the Peacekeepers and people of authority, though. I'm fine around fellow District people, even willing to help out with things either around the house or ranch, but I'd sooner burn down the Justice Building before I even think of cleaning one of its windows. Around Peacekeepers, or mayors, or anyone employed by the government, I'm not afraid of smarting off to them. What's the worst they can do to me? Avox me? Detain me? Kill me? I'll keep going at this until the day I die. I'm pretty sure that my short fuse will be the death of me, but if it'll change something in the end, I'll do it. I'll keep at it.

I am a firm believer that the country of Panem can do well without President Snow or any governmental structure. The people in each District already pretty much live on their own and don't need a government. President Snow doesn't do anything, really, and nor do the Peacekeepers (other than bullying the poor and Avoxes, of course). They're bastards, all of them. I'd take them out myself if I had the means to.[/i]

The only way my family can really have nice things is by stealing, so I guess you could classify me as a thief. My parents and I don't make much money altogether, so we resort to stealing. When I take things, I tend to break into the houses of people of a "higher class" than us. You know, the people who actually have money and don't need to worry about how they get food on the table. But when I steal from a store, I take small and nice things, and, if they have any, even art supplies for my sister.

My sister and I aren't that close, but I still care for her. She's my sister and I love her, though it's hard for me to effectively show affection. I've seen my father be affectionate and warm toward my mother, but I just... I don't know, it doesn't make sense to me. It's such a strange concept that my mind refuses to fathom it. It's frustrating, really, not being able to understand how to show love. It drives me mad and thus shortens my fuse by a lot and I become even more ill-tempered. What's wrong with me? Does everyone have this problem? Obviously not. Because I can't express myself fruitfully, I distance myself even more from people so I'm not ever forced into awkward situations that require me to show any emotion rather than anger or seriousness. I love my sister and parents, and I'm more than willing to protect them at all costs. I protect what I love, though the only way to protect that I know of is to get physical and slug a few people.

So aside from my negative traits.... I have a soft spot for animals. I work on some rich guy's ranch (though I don't steal from him), and I take care of the livestock. One of the other workers there taught me how to ride horses, so I like to do that during my lunch break. Get away from annoying humans and just go off with a horse.

Rise up and take the power back.
It's time the, fat cats had a heart attack.
You know that their time's coming to an end.
We have to unify and watch our flag ascend.

[/i]

Born and raised in District 10, obviously. I was always the quiet kid in class, though I ever only cared for one particular class: history. I took it upon myself to learn about how Panem was structured and how it became like this over the years. The bad events were what stuck with me the most. I couldn't just get over how the Capitol was never there for any of the Districts when things got rough; say, a hurricane hit District Four, but the Capitol did nothing. And if mines collapsed in District Twelve, they sat on their asses and watched. These kinds of things made me mad - don't even get me started on the Games - and that's what started my hatred of governmental structure.

When I was about ten was when my sister started to have her "visions." At first I didn't believe her, but when a few of them came true, I started believing them. I don't really let her know that, but I really do believe these "visions" she has. I take them to heart whether they're wrong or not because nothing is certain.

So I started my "rebellions" around age 15. Once I had learned all I thought I could that I could hold against President Snow, I started with little things: throwing rocks at Peacekeepers, breaking windows on the Justice Building, stealing from the rich. Well, needless to say, when I got caught, it wasn't pleasant.

I was caught for vandalizing the Justice Building. They took off my shirt and tied each of my hands to a post, and a big brute of a Peacekeeper was given a whip to put on a public display "to make an example out of me." He whipped me too many times to count (though I had lost count after seven strikes), though he had awful aim. And even though he couldn't hit a tree with a hovercraft, he had a very powerful arm and it just tore my skin up with each crack of the whip. He even went around and struck my chest three times, nailing my face and neck with one stroke.

Then he left me there overnight. I drifted in and out of consciousness, hanging by my wrists and sitting on my knees. A few of the Peacekeepers that I had thrown rocks at returned the favor by chucking rocks at me and laughing, but it didn't hurt as bad as the whip. I was released in the morning; given my shirt and a shove to get away, so I stumbled all the way back home, delirious. My parents were worried, but after a few agitated snaps that I was fine, they let me be. It's not like they could do anything to help me; we don't have any kind of medicine or ice, so I had to suffer while lying in my bed on my stomach, flies circling and landing on my back. It hurt, but it healed.

When I could move without ripping open scabs, I went right back to breaking-and-entering, stealing things for my family, and then after a while, I started vandalizing and flaming at the authorities. Sometimes they'll throw things right back, and I tell you, most of them have great aim when it comes to throwing. Maybe not whipping, but they can throw a rock and make it sting like ten hornets at once.

But it doesn't stop me. Start with the little things and work your way bigger. Someday I'll get to the Capitol and destroy it from the inside, out. We don't need authority to live.

They will not force us,
they will stop degrading us,
they will not control us.
We will be victorious.

Victim for This Is War plot.
Brother to Myriail Clark, the Prophet.


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