Capone Elfinstone | District Five

NAME: Capone Adair Elfinstone.
AGE: Seventeen.
GENDER: Female.
LOCATION: District Five.
FACE CLAIM: Coming soon.

I have to admit, as an infant, I was the cutest thing that walked this earth. I was so adorable, even I swoon over my own baby pictures. Shallow? Yes, yes I am shallow. I am shallow and proud. Alright, so maybe I wasn't cutest baby ever. My stupid, perfect little sister was. But this isn't about her. This is about me, me, me, me, ME. I acknowledge how selfish that sounds (and I am very selfish). And I'm okay with being selfish. As a baby, I had these big, wide brown eyes that were the color of dark chocolate. Absolutely lovely and all, with my curly black eyelashes framing my sparkling eyes. They're like big dark stars on my face (they still are). My skin was a beautiful light gold color, and my face was as round as a saucer. My hair was as dark as ebony and it was beautiful and silky and straight. I was loved so dearly for five years, and then my brat little sister, Esra (what a stupid name), was born. I hated her from the beginning. She was beautiful (not as beautiful as me!) with dark hair and dark eyes and light golden skin, just like me when I was a baby. It was like she stole my face. My parents adored her more than they adored me, and I was barely paid any attention to. I know I must sound incredibly bitchy right now, but how else should I feel when no one cares about me?

Being from District Five (who's industry is power), it seems fit that I am a powerful person. My words are very persuasive, very powerful. I am charismatic, and I discovered this talent at the tender age of seven. I know how people's minds work (if I know them well enough). I can predict what they'll do next (I am almost always correct). I am ingenious and cunning. I am much smarter than my sister, who's head is as empty as my heart. I don't love anyone. I've never seen a reason why I should. With my parents never paying any attention to me, I've never grown attached to them. I have friends, but I don't love them. I like them, but I don't feel for them that strongly. You cannot warm a heart of stone with words nor feelings. I have a very heavy, very thick heart of stone.

When I was ten, I lost my lovely babyish looks. My face became thinner with more prominent bones. My nose got longer and thinner and pointier, and my hair got longer and lighter. It became a dark chocolate color, like my eyes. The tips of my hair grew dark blonde. The dark and light colors of my hair contrasted with one another, looking a little out of place, but beautiful at the same time. My hair developed beach waves, which looked gorgeous next to my thin oval-shaped face. I was much prettier, but I still miss that adorable childish look at made so many people under my command (except for my parents).

I am not the selfish, hollow, shallow, rude girl I have come off as. I have feelings just like normal people (I am above normal). I have compassion, but very little. I am very daring (some people say I'm a show-off) and I don't care what other people think of me. I am not insecure. All I want is their attention and adoration (even if it's false). I hate to say this, but I would leave anyone, even my own parents, to die so that I could live. I'm that selfish. I feel remorse for all of the bad things I've done. And it's not like I've killed anyone (like those heartless Victors). I could never bring myself to kill anyone, actually kill them myself. I could never stab a knife or a sword into someone's heart or shoot a bullet in their head. I feel guilt, and I feel despair. Jealousy is what I feel most of all. The only things I've never felt are grief and anguish. And I'm sorry to say that I've got no valid excuse for who I am. It is who I am and I can't change and I won't ever change, even if I want to. If I've learned anything, it's that people can't change.

When I turned twelve, everyone would laugh at me at school because everyone compared me to Esra. You should be more like Esra! They said. Esra is so beautiful, like a cute little doll. The most common thing that was said was Esra is so sweet! Why can't you be a little angel like her? Oh yes, perfect, perfect Esra, better than selfish little Capone. HA! Never! Esra can never be better than me. Not many people seemed to like me, especially because of how sardonic I am. In revenge, I befriended my former bullies, and then stabbed them in the back after they told me their secrets. Then I persuaded the majority of the people I knew that I hadn't told their secrets, and I blamed it on someone else who was close to them. I got away with it, too.

At the age of fourteen, I was satisfied with my social position in school, and my grades, which were very high (higher than Esra's, to my delight). My parents praised me for my intelligence by giving me a brass lightning bolt pin to represent power, the industry of District Five. I wasn't very grateful for the gift. Why would I want a stupid pin? I wore it anyways, just so they'd be happy (not that they deserved to be). To my dismay, day by day, Esra grew more beautiful (and stupider) than I could have ever imagined. But as Esra grew, so did I. I got prettier, but I also grew bitterer. Esra became more popular in school, and she had more friends than I, which made me quite jealous. But after clawing through the pages of her diary, I found that Esra was jealous of me. She was jealous of my grades and my ability to persuade people (and probably still is, I think. I haven't read her diary lately). That information made me feel much better.

Three years passed by and I'm seventeen. Esra is twelve. From the bottom of my stone heart, I sincerely hope that Esra is forced into the Hunger Games. I cannot fathom why I wish this upon my own sister, but I do. I do, I do, I do. Other than my age, nothing has changed, except that Esra's gotten prettier and I'm smarter. Esra is still an annoying attention-stealing brat, and I still resent her. I am irked by the new attention Esra receives from boys her age. I see them when we walk down the street, hand in hand (I pretend to like her), stare at her, practically drooling. I hear them whisper about her, and I hear the girls scoff with jealousy. Of course, this makes jealousy broil inside of me, but I must trap it in a jar and put it away for later, when it will be useful. I have vowed that I will live to see Esra's downfall.