VENTUS BLANCHARD | DISTRICT SEVEN | FIN

v e n t u s blanchard

am i better off dead?
am i better off a quitter?
they say i'm better off now
than i ever was

Fully, my name is Ventus Terra Blanchard, but I prefer to be called just "Ven." I am seventeen years old, and was raised in District Seven. Something you should know about me is that I am not afraid.

I guess you'd say I am sort of crazy.

At least, that's what all my friends say. If I am being perfectly honest, I prefer being crazy over being boring. Standing out is always a good thing. I like to be the center of attention- I like it when everyone's eyes are glued on me, waiting for me to blow them away. (I always do.) Most of my friends like being around me, I think, but they say I tend to talk a bit too much. I can't stop myself, though. If I feel like speaking, I do it. They can't deny that pretty much everything I say is enjoyable, and almost always hilarious in a crude sort of way, but, whatever. Honesty is the best policy.

I'm not going to stand around and act like I am better than everyone, no, but I do like feeling superior. It makes me feel powerful. It's not just that, I also am good at pretending to be normal. I look like an average, every day guy, but really, I am so much more. I am a leader. I know just what to say, just what not to say. I think the reason I am so good at being in control is my ability to adapt. I understand things quickly. I can read people- their emotions, their actions- it's a gift, really.

The boy had only a few things that repeated themselves in his life. Never had there been more consistency in his life than going to school, working four days a week, and going to the same supply shop to get tools repaired and things he and the other lumberjacks needed. He could have waited, but he liked the walk to the place, filled with dirt roads and the sounds of birds singing in the apple trees that lined either side. The air smelled of cinnamon, and he took advantage of it, breathing in through his nose and trying his hardest to keep his eyes from fluttering shut until he reached the place. It was a small family business, Mr. and Mrs. Greer were both nice enough, and they had two sons that he had never really talked to all that much. Just a simple nod of the head, and nothing more. Maybe it should have been more.

I like to get things done. I don't like to sit around and wait, or take breaks every five seconds- the quicker I finish, the more time I have to do what I want. I tend to get frustrated when people joke around too much on the job, but shouldn't I? Why should I have to work longer because of their laziness? I try to keep them all happy enough, though, because I am far too unorganized to fill out a lot of the paperwork day in and day out- not that I don't understand it, I would just probably lose it before I turned it in.

I am pretty loyal to my friends, for the most part. I stick up for them, regardless of if I've known them for five years or five minutes- my friends are mine. Nobody gets to mess with them without getting passed me first. I have always been the body guard of my family, though. Probably because there is no way in hell I'm letting this world ruin my little brothers and my little sister the way it has almost ruined me. I don't care who I am defending them from, even if it means breaking a rule. (That's why they are there in the first place.) I have been told I have problems with authority, and I think that is right on the money. I don't like being told what to do and being expected to do it simply because the person bossing me around has been alive longer. How in the hell does that make sense?

The youth are the ones with the real troubles- struggling to find our place in a world already so angry, going to bed every night knowing we could be the next to have our names called at the reaping, balancing school with work, as well as watching out for our families- it's enough to drive anyone mad. I am fine with it, I guess. I'll follow the rules just as long as nobody steps in my way.

My little brother and I were were on our way to get my sister from piano lessons once when a group of drunkards that work with my father and I happened to cross paths with us. The smell of alcohol was as apparent as a brick to the face, and they each bellowed, declaring things that made no sense, and pushing their chests out in a contest of who the biggest man was. They cursed at us, tried to fight my brother, who was only thirteen at the time, and I must have been about fifteen, or maybe sixteen. Later he said he saw my almond colored eyes darken to an almost exact shade of black, and my face began to flush. Then I told him to go on without me, and needless to say, the men make it a point to avoid my family now, drunk or not.

A strong and capable arm pushed the wooden door open, and smells of oil and metal competed for a space in his nose. The bag slung over his shoulder quickly found itself on the counter, and one of the sons- the youngest, he remembered- stood on the other side. He was handsome, long blonde hair, an angular face, and pretty blue eyes. He looked like some of the tributes from one Ventus remembered seeing on the television screen. After all the times the two of them had spoken, he couldn't remember what his voice sounded like, or even what his name was. "I'm Ventus, by the way. Ventus Blanchard."

codeword: odair
face claim: xavier samuel
lyrics: "nothing" by the script