Theron Grimstone /*/ District 09

I'm nothing compared to those out there when it comes to beauty. I stands too tall, too thin and my facial features don't appear too attractive in general. I'm one hundred percent average, and even then it's pushing it. My thin, lanky frame stands at a high five foot eleven inches tall, and it doesn't come as an advantage to me whatsoever. If anything, it makes things worse in the line of work I participate in. I weigh a little over a hundred and twenty pounds, which is still about twenty to thirty pounds underweight.

My skin is covered in light pink patches, from allergic reactions and burns to the chemicals I work with -- they've even drowned out my light freckles that have disappeared on my arms. My hair is one of the only things I am proud of. Light brown and mixed with blonde, long strands fall down to the middle of my back. I often keep small ribbons or a tie-back in my hair, just to keep if from being fried by the harsh working conditions in my daily life. My face is untouched by the strands, showing no signs of oils or acne, though my green eyes are set too far apart, and my straight nose is too rounded for my liking. I have plump, small lips that are a light shade of brown.

I never speak. It's the one thing about me that's out of the blue. When others ask me why I don't talk, I can only think, "well when I talk, I always end up saying the wrong thing." I'm autistic -- it's not medically proven, but the signs are all there. I'm not a very social person, and I tend to stay by myself, my mind conjuring its own friends and appeals. While I may lack in social skills, I'm very good with basic survival skills. Most of the nights I sleep in a tent outside of my mother's house in our small village, and I heat myself by making fires in the winter. I’m a very defensive person -- I don’t do good when it comes to respecting authority, and I tend to drift off on my own most of the time. I couldn’t be classified as a rebel, though.

When I need help from authority, I’m willing to hear others out, as long as I benefit from whatever is being said. I could consider myself as a very artistic person -- I love to design the smaller things, and I often make paints out of berries to decorate the inside of my large tent on the walls of the fabric. Some can call me horribly stubborn and closed-minded, but when they do, I nod my head as if I’m agreeing with them. I like things to be done my way, all the time, and I tend to exclude myself when it doesn’t. In all, I believe that everyone is different -- what some may consider flaws, others might consider positive traits. I don’t believe I have internal flaws, that it’s what makes me -- well, me. You can choose who you want to be in life, but if you never take charge and try to change how you act -- then it’s easy to call them flaws. But, if you try your hardest to make changes to your persona, to make yourself a better person, then you win in the long run.

When I was born, I wasn’t wanted. I was the little weird girl, who would never listen to her parents, and wanted to do things her own way. At the young age of three, I began working at the factory across the lake from our village, where I would wrap the freshly-made gels into packages. It wasn’t difficult at all, but mostly because the packaging was pre-made and I only had to put the gels inside of it. As I grew older through, my jobs got different. When I was eight, I began working with combining the chemicals to make soaps, and I often came home with horrible red marks and burning skins from the harshness. My mother didn’t care though -- she only cared about the small amount of money I was receiving each month. After a while, I realized her selfishness and refused to go back to work or sleep inside of her house. Of course, I ended up going back to work the next day so I could survive. I built myself a large tent and used the small amount of money to buy meats to cook over the fires I would create overnight.

I wasn’t jealous at all of my mother because of her nasty opinions on me. She was a selfish old hag who used her daughter to get the small pleasures in life. I disowned her as a family member, and moved my large tent out into the middle of the woods, where I only came to my father for parental support. He went to school for teacher meetings. He often brought me seeds from the tenth district to grow fruits and vines and bushes around my little area. I was only about ten years old when it happened, but I still continue to live that way. Some have told me that I was stupid, and that I wouldn’t be able to survive a month on my own. The only thing I could think was "social skills aren’t needed for survival." Currently, I’ve made my house slightly closer to civilization, due to the intense laws about having to have parent protection. My father still helps me, but I am getting closer and closer to becoming an outlaw -- a wanderer in my own district.

Internal Voice -- B7CFAD
Thinking -- C7CC68
Talking -- 8A8A66
Other's Voices -- D1DFBB
Wishes -- A89B8A

FC: Elena Trajanovska