Curtus "Curt" Dolor - District 3

CURTUS "CURT" DOLOR



Living in the electrical District of three, he was able to scrounge up the money for a guitar pretty easily. A good thing to, because for this eighteen year old, that guitar is his lifeline in a house where he is feared and despised.

These ideas are nightmares to white parents
Whose worst fear is a child with dyed hair and who likes earrings
Like whatever they say has no bearing,
It's so scary in a house that allows no swearing

LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE

Everything seems dark about this kid. His hair is dark, his eyes are dark, his clothes are dark. Even his soul is dark. However, his skin isn't dark, instead being semi-tanned and contrasting nicely with all of the darkness that clings to him. His hair wasn't always this dark, the almost black colour that could be compared to mahogany or even ebony, but instead a more medium brown. When he turned fifteen, he had tried to dye it. His intention wasn't to go black, but instead some other colour like blue or red or purple even, something that would state that he was different. However, with his lack of skill in that situation, and his inabilit to go to the Capitol, he created a dark colour that made his hair become so much darker than it originally was. Trying to wash it out, he found that it was permanent. What he didn't know, was that his hair would naturally turn that colour, and that the dye he had put in it wouldn't be what kept it that colour.

His parents paid no attention to the shift in hair colour, but he was satisfied with it for nearly a year. When that satisfaction wore out, he searched for something more dramatic to really shock his parents. That was when he got the idea to pierce his right earlobe. With the help of a friend, he used a piece of heated wire to create the hole in his ear lobe. It had hurt him, but they had thought ahead to place a cloth in his mouth so he could bite on that. It had taken a while for it to heal, but he had used another piece of wire, formed into a loop, to keep the hole open. He has worn a few different types of wire for an earring, sometimes copper, or nickle, but he managed to scrounge of silver and gold wire in a large enough quantity that he could wear it.

His eyes are a dark blue, though sometimes they can appear either blue-gray or blue-green. Perhaps if he wore lighter colours his eyes wouldn't look so dark and stormy. They are his one open point, where people could see his true emotions, if only they looked. But no one wants to meet his gaze, for he often snaps at them and asks what they are looking at. Anti-social as he is, not many people even have a chance to catch a glimpse of his eyes. At his job, as a DJ or even just a performer for smaller places, he always wears sunglasses. Some people would think it was gaudy, but he doesn't wear it for the effect. He wears them to keep his eyes hidden. Of course, no one knows that. He just looks like he's trying to be cool, which to most people he is. One of the more popular young DJs, he is often looked to as a symbol. People just don't realize the darkness that lingers, even behind those shades.

To see him walking around with his headphones blaring
Alone in his own zone, cold and he don't care, he's a problem child
And what bothers him all comes out,

AND THE PILLS GO DOWN AND GET YOU HIGHER

His eyebrows are long, and a little bushy. They hardly have any curve to them, except for a small dip at the outward ends. They are the same dark shade as his hair, or he would have dyed them to match. His nose is perhaps a little long for his face, but not overly large. It forms a decently sloped triangle, but doesn't distract from his squarish chin and chiseled cheekbones. His mouth is a little small for his face, but his lips are average fullness. The shape of his face is nothing extravagant, but the word fetching would fit him nicely. His neck is a little short and thick for his body, but with the muscular structure he has, it's not too surprising.

His whole torso is pretty well-muscled, from his continuous carrying of heavy equipment. Not to mention, that he secretly trains in a few of his hiding spots, doing chin-ups in trees, as well as simple things like push-ups and sit-ups. Along with the added benefit of being strong, his fit appearance makes him both attractive, and threatening. The more imposing he looks, the less likely people are to bother him. His legs are muscled to, if not quite to the same level as his torso. Being as long as they are, his legs bring him up to a height of 6'1". Not overly tall, but tall enough to be of decent height, he is pretty satisfied about his height, even if been even a bit taller would make him more imposing.

His clothing is dark, black and gray. Some dark browns, maybe, and perhaps dark blues, but for the most part his clothes are black. Mostly he wears t-shirts, and they are really the only things that change colour significantly. His jeans are all dark wash, though some are as light as medium wash. A black belt often circles his waist, though he may wear a brown one. Any jackets he wears are generally hoodies, and he only has three, two black ones, and a gray one. His shoes are skater shoes, the only things with any real colour on them. One pair is black with a touch of green, and another is gray and black. His third pair is black with a bit of white. But for the main portion of his wardrobe, there is little or no colour to be found.

When he talks about his fuckin' dad walkin' out
Cause he just hates him so bad that he blocks him out
If he ever saw him again he'd probably knock him out

BABY BOTTLE'S BURNING, MOTHERF***KER

Shoved down and kicked to the side, he turned to music to fill the gap left in him by his parents. With his guitar, bought from his own money, he plays and writes music for his own enjoyment as well as anyone who might wish to listen. However, it's not as though he would go out to extremes to get others to listen. He is quite anti-social, preferring to keep to himself instead of spending time with others because he finds that people hold too much power when you give them the chance. Like his father, for example. He swears that of he ever saw "that bastard" again, that he would knock him out. Being abandoned by him, he lost all faith in having a father, and ignores the idea of a father in every way. Trying to keep his father from his thoughts, he even goes so far as to punch his step-father when he hit him for talking back. He broke the man's nose, creating a rivalry between himself and his step-father. It was then that he officially became hated by his parents.

Afraid of him as they are, his parents wonder how they had let such a monster form under their supervision. Preferring to stay away from their scrutinizing glares and dark accusations, he shuts himself off from everyone, especially them. His shelter is his room, and a few other hiding spots that are scattered around District three. In these places, he avoids people and writes songs, and, depending on the spot, he may even play his guitar. Most of the songs he write hold swears in them, but it's his form of expression. After all, it doesn't really matter anyway; no one else ever hears them.

His thoughts are whacked, he's mad so he's talkin' back
Talkin' black, brainwashed from rock and rap
He sags his pants, do-rags and a stocking cap

AND THE MOTHER HATES HIM LIKE THE DAUGHTER

His only other outlet is the angry rant he goes on at mention of his father. Depending on the situation, or the timing or even the wording of the recollection, he may even go into a rage. In that state, he smashes things, throws punches, swears heavily what else is new and has even gone to the point of intentionally breaking a kid's arm. In his singing, he just lets everything spill out, every emotion and every hateful word. If anyone were to ask him about it, being careful of how they asked, he might tell them that if he didn't sing, or rant and rage, or write songs, he would have nothing left to do but curl up and cry. Of course, no one would ever ask, and he would never tell. The thought of being weak, while flashing through his mind constantly, is not something he is willing to admit.

If someone snaps at him, whatever the reason, he isn't afraid to snap back. Often he will make a retort before the person had even finished speaking, cutting them off with rude responses without allowing them to explain their words. Most often the people he snaps at are his parents, as they are usually the only ones talking to him, as well as the only ones who insult him. At eighteen years of age, before his last reaping, by law he must stay with his parents. This is the only thing keeping him from being tossed out by his mother, though his step-father has said many times that in this case he would gladly break the law. To intentionally annoy his parents, in particular his step-father, he uses a heavy slang. Though, he can speak perfectly intellectual English when he wishes, but he prefers to allow himself the ease of slang.

During the night, as he tries to sleep, he has horrible nightmares. These dreams are as scarring as the terrible treatment he gets from his parents. Often they are dreams about him dying in painful ways, stabbed in an alley, electrocuted at his job, drowned by an shadowy figure, but sometimes they are dark dreams of him murdering his parents. He might snap his mother's neck, or slit his step-father's throat. The most common one he has is him shooting his father in the back, right after which he is taken in by the Peacekeepers and beheaded, or hung, or shot, or executed in some way. The worst one was when he had been burned alive, on which he turned into a song. It's hard on him to keep them to himself, without sharing the weight with anyone but there is no one he trusts enough to tell them.

His step-father hit him, so he socked him back, and broke his nose
His house is a broken home, there's no control,
He just let's his emotions go...

ONLY GOD AND MAKER GRIPPING TIGHTER

Some may say their family started out happily, and then everything went wrong. That may have been the way the Dolor family went, but it's easier to remember it as starting off bad and ending up worse. Because that's basically what happened. As a very young child, of only two or three, he knew both of his parents, and they tolerated him. They didn't love him, not really, but they tolerated him. After all, they would raise him to be a good kid, and they wouldn't have a problem. No problems, no reason to not tolerate him. Up until the age of six, he was exactly the child they wanted him to be, the curious child who loved to learn and listened most of the time. Most kids weren't perfectly attentive as this age, and they understood that. Even if they tried to force him to always be attentive.

It was when he was almost seven that he became a nuisance, as many boys do, talking loudly, playing loudly, being destructive. Face it, kids do well at that. They would have to tell him off constantly, but with little result. And then all of a sudden his father had had enough. Enough of him, enough of his mother, enough of being this husband and father. He walked out on them, taking with him all of his son's trust in parents. His mother cracked then, and began to blame him for his father leaving. At such a young age, it was hard for Curtus to take. He broke down under his mother's accusations, even though they had not been spoken aloud.

For the next couple of years, it was just the two of them, and his mother's one-sided hate. Curtus became very independent, but also very distant. He seperated himself from everyone and did his best to avoid anyone. Shortly after his ninth birthday, his mother began to date a man who was almost five years younger than her. This made the man only a little more than twenty years older that Curtus, but he was in no way accepting of the boy. From the moment they met Curtus, who had become good at telling whether or not someone hated him, knew that there would be no getting along with this man.

It was mere months before Curtus' mother told him that she and her boyfriend were getting married. Curtus felt as though she was doing this as much to strike at him as out of actual love for the man. It was evident that they both lusted for each other, though, as Curtus often heard moaning from their room that even a shut door and a pillow over his ears couldn't block out. He wasn't even invited, or allowed, to the wedding, instead being ordered to stay home. It wasn't as if he wanted to go anyway. Going would mean celebrating the joining of two people that he was starting to hate. That was the thing about hate, it often infects the person being hated. It's not often that hate is only a one-way thing.

For anyone who's ever been through shit in their lives
Till they sit and they cry at night wishin' they'd die
Till they throw on a rap record and they sit, and they vibe

SAYING YOU WILL BURN IN HELL, THEY SAY

The first few months were the same as before, only his new step-father was around more often. But then things really took a downward turn. His step-father began to abuse him. At first it was just as punishment, things that could be "justifiable" to his mother, but as time went on the abuse got worse, and came more often. Eventually, full on beatings would happen as punishment, and other hits would be administered for things like talking back. It wasn't for another three years that Curtus finally fought back.

At thirteen, he wasn't exactly all that strong, but certainly the many beatings he had received had given skill at dodging and a high tolerance for pain. Of course, he learned quickly that dodging blows would only make his punishment more severe, and so he would give himself up on that idea. That was, until his step-father hit him because he "talked back". It was then that whatever barrier inside of him tumbled down to expose the hate and anger and frustration that squirmed inside of him. Drawing back his fist in the way his step-father had so many times, he swung his arm forward and landed a hard punch on the middle of the man's face. A thick sounding 'crack' came from his step-father's nose. Almost instantly, blood welled under his fingers and he withdrew his hand, glaring with a mixture of hate and satisfaction at the man who had turned his life from bad to a living hell.

It turned out he had broken his step-father's nose, and it was all his mother could do to keep the man from killing him in his rage. The only thing that stopped him was the thought that he would be guilty of murder and under Panem's laws, it was illegal. After that angry outburst, his parent's began to fear him, as well as hate him. His step-father still abused him, but only after restraining him. His mother would verbally abuse him, calling him names and swearing at him.

We're nothin' to you but we're the f**kin' shit in they eyes
That's why we seize the moment
Try to freeze it and own it, squeeze it and hold it

YOU WILL BURN IN HELL

At fifteen, he tried to dye his hair, but it didn't go all that well. However, he came to like the result, even if it wasn't vibrant like he had wanted. It seemed that his parents didn't care, though, so the reason he had done it was lost. The look suited him more, in his opinion, and he was glad that his hair stayed like that. Then, thinking that he needed to do something to shake it up a little, he got one of his few friends to help him pierce his right ear. They took two lengths of thicker wire, sharpening and then heating the end of one, while molding the other into an earring. It would be painful, so they got a clean cloth to stuff in his mouth. Carefully, his friend pierced a hole in his right earlobe with the heated wire. A muffled yelp had come from him as the sizzling wire went through his earlobe. When it was done, his friend helped him run cold water over the spot, so it wouldn't burn.

It took almost a month for the piercing to heal, and he had to be careful about leaving in a wire so the hole wouldn't close up. Once it had healed, he experimented with different wires, coming up with a few different kinds. Depending on what kind of place he was going to, or what he was doing, he could wear a copper, nickle, silver, gold or aluminum earring. His favorite was the silver, and it was the one he wore for the most part.

Shortly after, he began to scrounge up wires to sell, making money through a side business. He didn't know what he would do with that money, but he would save it anyway. When he spotted the guitar in the store, he soon had something to spend the money on. When he bought it, he got the shopkeeper to teach him a few chords. From there he learned on his own. He had finally found an outlet, and he was a natural at the guitar. Playing was the only thing that made him happy, and he eventually began to write songs. They were expressions of his fears, his hatred and his feelings of hopelessness. It wasn't until someone offered him a spot to play at that he seriously considered his talent.

Honing his abilities over the last two years, he had written many songs and learned many chords. In the last year, he had become a DJ, and would often put on small shows for people. Then, he was given the offer to work at one of the newer clubs in District three, and he accepted. He wouldn't start to work there for another little bit, but he practiced and hoped to eventually record his own music. Perhaps he would become a famous musician. That would show his parents, wouldn't it. Their son, for all they denied it, becoming more famous than they would ever be. The thought brought him a bitter satisfaction. He would not let the opportunity to show them up slip away.

Cause we consider these minutes golden
And maybe they'll admit it when we're gone
Just let our spirits live on, through our lyrics that you hear
In our songs and we can...

OTHER

FC: Holden Nowell

Lyrics: Sing For The Moment by Eminem

Words
44 - Introduction
898 - Appearance
738 - Personality
1359 - History
3039 - Total

Sing with me, sing for the years
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears,
Sing it with me, just for today,
Maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away...

odair