Thistle Cardo - District 10

Appearance:
Short cut, curly hair rests on top of an oval shaped head, with dark skin and brown colored eyes.

I'd like to say that i'm a standout amongst any crowd. I'm not, though. No, i'm not bad looking, not at all. But i'm not ugly. I don't think I am, at least. I'm more of just, there.

Of course, that tends to help in what I do and how I do it.

My eyes are a chocolate brown, like the color of rich milk chocolate. I had the luxury of trying that once. You'd be amazed what some of the richer folk have with them. People say that my eyes constantly look tired, like I hadn't slept in days. That is true, to an extent. I don't sleep much. I don't sleep much at all, in fact, because far too often one of my siblings has a nightmare and guess who's there? Me.

I'm pretty big for my age, far too big for some of the things I do. I'm talking about stealing, but i'll get to that later. My hands betray my age. My sisters like to constantly tell me that they're "old man hands", as they're covered in wrinkles and constantly look like they're going to snap whenever I bend them. Though, they never complain about them when I lull them back into the warm embrace of sleep with a song from my harmonica. They never complain about them then.

I'm fairly strong. By no means as strong as some of the other boys my age in my district but still, working in the fields has it's advantages in building your strength up.

In short, I look normal, but like everyone, theres things about me that are different. Everyone's different.

Personality:

I'm a big teddy bear.

No, not like those damned teddy bears from the games. I don't rip people's throats out. I'm more of a nice guy with a harsh exterior, like a candied chocolate. You break through the shell, you get that chocolate that melts in your mouth and releases a burst of tantalizing flavors for your tastebuds.

Let me clarify. If I don't know you and you suddenly start talking to me and trying to get my attention, i'm not going to give it to you. You have a better chance of hell freezing over than actually getting my attention with those types of acts.

So how do you get my attention? I've found throughout my life that I hate being ignored. Which is quite ironic, considering i'm the one usually doing the ignoring. I absolutely hate when people use my own game against me. If I ignore you and you don't try to get my attention again and again, i'll probably end up trying to get yours.

I guess with that being said, I like seeing how my actions affect people. So, if I don't get a reaction from my actions, i'm like putty in your hands. I guess thats a pretty big flaw in me.

I'm not like the other big brothers. Yes, I love my siblings. Yes, I want to help them and I want to see them grow up to have a good life, but I wouldn't lay down my life for them. Call me selfish, call me an asshole who doesn't deserve to live, call me whatever you want. But I like to think of myself as logical. And I want you to ask yourself this. If you're thinking of me as an asshole, think of the person closest to you. Would you die for them? Would you die for your father? Your mother? You're probably thinking you would. You're lying to yourself. You wouldn't. I learned that sacrificing yourself for others is only a helpless act of stupidity and false bravery.

Of course, i'm not all bad. I'm nice enough to people. I'm fairly friendly if you actually get the chance to talk to me, if I let you.

But it's for you to decide if i'm just using you or if I actually like you.

Choose wisely.

History:

My life can be summed up by a single stupid and idiotic death, with some backstory following it.

My father died when I was young, very young in fact. A stupid death. One that shouldn't have happened and I blame my father and his idiocy for all of it. Funny thing is, the man who stabbed and killed my father was actually trying to rob my parents and me. I don't remember it at all, but I guess my father decided trying to be a hero was more important than being in his son's life and ended up getting stabbed through the neck and twice in the chest. He proceeded to die surrounded in a pool of red-colored stupidity.

And that was the beginning of the fucked up and crazy story I like to call 'My Life'.

I was the only son of that man who died that warm June night, my Mother would later decide to re-marry and pump out several more children, all girls (Oh the drama I have to look forward to with them." My father's death, besides launching me and my mother into a black hole of being dirt poor and barely scraping by, also awakened a certain something in me, and it's stayed with me my whole life. In some ways, i'm kind of glad he died (That is terrible I know) because it changed me as a person. And honestly I think it was for the better.

Although I don't really talk to my step-father or even like him that much, he did end up bringing some good things into my life. The first was intelligence. My father could read and write pretty well, I don't know what he saw in my mother but he did end up teaching me to read, or at least tried to. He wasn't rich by any means. No, he was almost as poor as my mother, but he learned how to read from his father and he figured he would pass it onto me. I believe the first book he gave me was The Grave Digger's Handbook. I was grateful, really grateful for it. Though, it'd take me about 6 years to even get through the book, as it took me that long to learn how to read and write.

At the end of those six long years there came an action, more of a habit if anything. One which some would call a bad thing. I consider it just the opposite.

I craved books. I craved literature because that's all I had to look forward to. Maybe I wasn't trying to look for anything else. Maybe I was just too focused on books to notice anything else. I don't know, nor do I really care all that much.

I believe my first stolen book was some book about the Capitol and it's achievements. It was a pretty useless book, but it was still a book. I don't know what drew me to snatch that pretty little thing from one of my peer's bags that he'd left in the fields, but i'd still done it. And i'd ran. I'd ran with speed that I never knew I possessed and when I got to the small cramped place we called home I hid it, I hid it under my pillow until nightfall came, when I read it with some near broken book light under my covers, away from every one who could catch me. I was so young, so innocent. So stupid, ha!

Things continued like that for many many many years.

Over time, the objects became more and more valuable. Stuff that I could sell for money to feed my family was always good. Books were a rarity, and i'd always freak out when I had the chance to snatch one. I believe my book collection, to this day is made up of ten books, my favorite being The Book Thief. I like the name, it definitely fits me. My greatest object? A shiny gold harmonica that I snatched from some rich man's bag. It's clean, I cleaned it thoroughly. He didn't need it anyways. This is the harmonica that I use to lull my siblings to sleep when they have nightmares, when they can't sleep. I'm pretty good, if I can say so myself.

But of course, all that stealing eventually got interrupted by work in the factories of District Ten. I had expected that, of course. I was smart by this time. I was always smart for my age, still am. So, I pushed thievery and stealing to the side, and replaced it with work that was actually legal and allowed my family to eat. But it was always there, the urge to steal. I like the thrill it gives me, but I like even more to reap the rewards.

Because if you can do the action, you damn well deserve the rewards.

Codeword: Odair
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