clawprints :: diary of monica berne

I suppose I should really give my information. It's not often that I meet anyone new now, is it? At least, not for anything private, work always has new faces appearing the moment that another one disappears, and then the same explaining why there is a girl at least 4 years their junior working in exactly the same place, and damn right deserving it. It's not even like I'm that ladylike now, nor was I really ever. My hair is cut short now, unlike all the little pictures in the frames that litter Father's room with Mom and I and himself in. I guess that is what happens when all your growing up is watched over by a man. Not that it's a bad thing, I adore him more than anything else.

Anyways, my name's Monica, Monica Berne. It's not like anyone calls me by that, it's either Berne or Bear, after Father's nickname for me. Little bear. He's never really called me Monica unless I'm in trouble, which is happening less and less. I'm 12, and I live in Three. Barely anything happens in Three, just that everyone unless they are super rich goes to work in factories like the one I work in and the one that Father helps run. Being twelve isn't fun, you're too old to be considered a kid, and too young to be considered being adult enough to work. And to top that off, the reaping is just thrown into the mix, and makes it a scary fact that my name will be in a glass bowl and it could get pulled out. Father says it's impossible for me to even get near the person's fingers, but I really doubt that.

There really isn't much for me to say, this weeks been really boring as a whole. If something interesting happens, I'll be sure to let you know, Claw. That's what I'm going to call you now, Diary, Claw. It's because of this necklace thing that Father gave me. My only bit of jewelry that I have, and it must have cost a lot of money, particularly in Three. It's the only comfort that I have, that I know Father's nickname is always with me. Nothing ever really happens these days, which is both a good thing and a bad thing. It doesn't really help that I only really talk to father these days. Soldering and stuff isn't really a profession in which talking is common, I suppose. Repetition of the same damn actions makes it boring I guess. Urgh, I really should be going to sleep, and getting ready to write anything interesting in you, Claw. It may be quite some while before anything interesting happens.

G'night Claw!