Andrew Chandler--District Four

Name: Andrew Chandler
Age: Seventeen
Gender: Male
District/Area: District Four
Appearance:

A mother should always believe her children to be beautiful, but Andrew was something else.  He was handsome.  Like his father.  He was tall--at least six foot and tan.  He would surf after school.  He had light brown hair that he would let grow longer than it should be because he hated haircuts.  His eyes were blue and deep, like the sea.  He has always been quiet, but he used to be able to say everything with just a glance. His face was round and full because he was healthy.  My husband worked hard at sea as a fisherman and I ran the cafeteria at his school.  We were never rich, but none of our children missed any meals.  He used to joke around and smile.  I miss that smile.  Like he knew something the rest of us didn't.  He could have had any girl he wanted to be his girlfriend.  I always worried I'd be a grandmother too young with him, but now, that fear seems silly.

My son is dying.  He doesn't see it, but he's killing himself.  My heart drops every time I see him because he just gets consistently worse.  His face has hollowed and he's lost weight.  The poor boy is almost skeletal.  he cant hold those beautiful eyes open anymore, and he never smiles.  Its like his facial features are too heavy for him to hold up.  His hair was always scruffy, but now I wouldn't dare hazard a guess as to how long he's gone without getting it trimmed.  His skin has lost its color. And his muscles are gone.  I'm not a small woman, and I remember how a year ago, I got dressed up for church the day after a storm and he was able to carry me across a puddle so my dress wouldn't get wet.  He was so strong and sweet, but now, if he tried to pick me up, I'd snap him in two.  

I wish Andrew would dress nicer.  Like he did when he was younger.  It used to be important to him that he look good for the girls.  But now, his clothes are all too big and dirty.  he wears long sleeves and pants year round now, to hide from the world what he really is.  My son believes that he can hide himself from the world with baggy clothes and a fake smile, but that is simply not the case.  Andrew doesn't have the energy to pull of a charade like that any more.  It is painfully obvious that he is hopelessly broken.  

My son is scarred.  And not just emotionally.  His right leg was amputated after an accident a year and a half ago.  That's when all his problems started.  He uses a peg now.  He can't sneak anywhere because he clops around on his peg leg.  He's carved some pretty nice images into his leg.  Fish and waves.  Andrew always loved carving on driftwood and he's done a good job of making his leg look interesting.  But his leg isn't his only mangled body part.  Andrew's arms look horrible.  They are covered in scars and track marks.  I think he mentioned that there is even part of a needle in one of them that broke off once.  My son is addicted to opiates.  If you ask him, he will tell you that he only chips, or uses seldomly for recreation.  But I know that's not true.  Everyone knows.  All you have to do to tell is look. 

   
Personality:

My brother was my best friend.  He was magnetic.  Even though Andrew was always mischievous, it was impossible not to like him.  Once, he skipped class to visit mom in the kitchen while we were in school.  He was maybe thirteen at the time.  And he managed to distract her so much that she didn't realize she was reading the same part of the recipe over and over.  Andrew managed to trick mom into salting her clam chowder like five times and she didn't even notice until it was too close to lunch time to start over.  the whole school had to eat soup that was saltier than the ocean, and somehow, my brother managed to talk himself out of trouble.  He was a charmer.  I was the quiet brother and he was the talker.  We went to almost every school dance or church function with girls who were either sisters or best friends as dates who Andrew would ask out for the both of us.   

Andrew used to be funny.  He never seemed to take anything seriously.  He could make anyone laugh just by making a face or a snappy one-liner.  He still is funny now, I guess, but now, it's a dark humor.  My brother has become very cynical and defensive.  He is allot more likely to use his sense of humor to distract others from what is really going on than to bring joy to others.

I don't think that there is a risk that Andrew wouldn't take.  When we were kids, he was the one who would climb high into trees or swim out over his head in the water.  We used to surf after school.  It was a fun way to let off steam.  There was never a wave that was too big for Andrew.  I don't know if he was just trying to impress me and the other surfers, or if he really did need that rush he got from putting his life in danger.  

After his accident, the bones in Andrew's leg was completely destroyed.  Shattered to bits.  The doctor said that it would never heal and we had to have the leg removed.  Andrew was never the same.  It was like a part of him died with that leg.  He was depressed and lonely.  he lost a lot of weight while he was recovering and once he had his peg leg, he didn't attract the same attention from people--especially girls that he was used to.  I know that bothered him.  Andrew went from being loved by everyone to being the most popular guy in school to being the peg legged guy.  My brother lost more than his leg that day.  He lost his joy for life, his pride, and himself.   He quit surfing and stayed away from the water.  My brother started hanging out with a different group of people and chasing that high he got from the painkillers when he had his leg removed.  Before we knew it, Andrew was gone.  He was replaced by a zombie.--a shell of the awesome person he used to be.

Andrew isn't nearly as close to the rest of the family as he was before.  Mom and dad kicked him out of the house.  I'm the only family member who visits my brother regularly in his rundown shack that he calls a home.  I know he still is the same person I grew up with, but he has changed so much.  He would sell his soul for one more high.  He lies to everyone.  He asks us for money and promises he'll buy food, but I'm sure every cent I give him goes straight into his arm.  But the lies he tells to us are nothing compared to the lies he tells to himself.  Andrew is convinced that he is ok.  He thinks that his drug use, his self hatred, and his lies are all normal.  My brother is barreling down a path of destruction and it really sucks because he is making his best friend and brother watch helplessly from the sidelines as he kills himself.

History:

Well I'm glad you got to talk to my mom and brother.  Aren't they just bundles of joy, telling you all about how I'm some  kind of monster living on nothing but morphling and pure evil?  Look, I love my family--love 'em to pieces.  But when it comes to me, they are nothing short of delusional.  I've seen real junkies, people too consumed by real addiction to even function.  I may get sick when I go a day without smack, but I'm no addict.  My mother gets the same way if she can't have coffee in the morning, so i really don't see why my family thinks that I'm the one with the "problem."  Anyway, I'ma set the story straight.  They've told you what I do and how I look, but left out the why.  That's what I'll tell you about.  

My name is Andrew Chandler.  I'm seventeen, but old for my age.  I've felt more pain than I'd bet you ever will, seen what people do when they are trapped with nowhere to go, and I've traveled all over this district, running with some of the roughest people our great nation has to offer.  I was the second child of a fisherman and a lunch lady.  I'm told I was a good baby, that I didn't cry or fuss to much, but I'm calling BS on that one.  I've never been good, so I find it hard to believe that I was anything less than unruly as a babe.  Anything less than that would simply be a disappointment. I've got a reputation to uphold and I was born to be bad.  

I suppose you're expecting me to say my childhood was stormy and troubled, but really, it was the opposite.  My family was a typical, middle class District Four family, relying on the ocean for food and income and sticking together through thick and thin.  I was especially close to my brother.  The phrase "thick as thieves" comes to mind when I think about us.  We were the terrors of our teachers and parents, playing pranks, telling jokes, and more often than not, breaking the rules.  In school, everyone wanted to be our friends, because we were cool.  We knew what was what, and we knew how to have fun.  When I still could, I loved to surf.  There was something about feeling the wind in my hair and knowing that the wave was totally controlling my fate and I was just along for the ride was exhilarating.  

I never had a steady girlfriend.  As a kid, I liked my life to be more than a little chaotic.  So the consistency that would come with a committed relationship seemed like an unnecessary tether, that would pin me down if I gave it the chance.  So girls came and went quickly.  It was important to me that they knew that they liked me more than I liked them, but man, do I miss the attention of a woman.  In terms of my social life growing up, the only constant was my brother.  And that was good.  

So I know you've heard about it from my family, but I'll tell you exactly what happened to my leg.  It was a Tuesday, I think.  After school.  A storm was on its way, so the water was choppy, but we wanted to get some surfing in that day in case we'd have to go a few days without because of the storm.  Not to mention, I always loved the sea when it was unpredictable.  It made things more fun.  I was there, of course.  And my brother.  There were a few other guys in the water and maybe a girl or two, but most of the girls didn't want to get in the water, so they stayed on the beach and called to us to be careful.  That just made me want to be more reckless.  You know, I had to impress them.  I'd wipe out every now and then, but That really wasn't anything.  I remember being on the top of a huge wave and the wind catching me off guard.  I fell from my board and got tossed around a bit at the mercy of the waves.  I tried to get up, but they were rolling in too fast and I couldn't catch a break.  There was a big rock that would jut out of the water that sometimes we would climb up on.  My knee hit the rock first.  I could feel it cracking as the rest of my leg and my torso smacked against the rock.  I passed out after that first impact, but before my brother could pull me to safety, I had hit rocks and stuff three or four times.  I broke several ribs, and my arm, but my right leg was mangled until it didn't really look like a leg any more.  Maybe if I was a capitolite with access to better medical aid, it could have healed, but the only thing my doctor knew to do was cut it off and replace it with a stick.

The one good thing about my accident was that it introduced me to morphling.  Somehow, my parents managed to get me on a morphling drip to ease the pain and it worked wonders.  When it was in, I felt better than normal.  Like I was invincible.  It was warm and comfortable and...perfect.  I'm here trying to describe it, but morphling is the best thing I've ever felt, so it's hard because I can't compare it to anything else.  But without it, I was in so much pain I couldn't think.  I don't know if thought of morphling more as an escape from the pain or as a destination in and of itself.  

Once I recovered, of course, they took the morphling drip away and I felt so sick.  My body hurt all over, not just my leg.  And I was cold and hot, and shaky and sweaty and everything just sucked.  I still needed it.  I've heard on the Games how District Four is seen as pampered, but especially for someone who isn't already in excruciating pain, morphling is incredibly hard to come by.  But I was desperate.  I found friends who could get me drugs, and I felt better. 

My accident was a year ago.  I guess it changed me a lot.  It's hard to be as confident as I was without my leg.  I'm clumsy, ugly, useless.  The list goes on.  Two months ago, my parents found charred spoons and syringes in my room and put two and two together that I had continued using after the accident.  They kicked me out of the house and I moved in with a few of my more open-minded friends.  My family may call me a junkie or an addict, but even though, I've reached a point in my life when I would inject almost anything if it will let me escape this painful nightmare that I have been living, I disagree.  Drugs do not control my life.  I use them to cope and they help me.  Addicts have a bad relationship with their drug, but morphling is perfect for me.  It is the only thing in the world that makes me feel good anymore, and in my humble opinion, that can't be that bad of a thing.  
 

Codeword: Odair 
Other:  Well, this is my first application, so any advice would be very much appreciated.  Thanks for reading.  Face Claim is Tim Pocock.