Ahmanet Oasis | District Six {FIN}

I have lived on my own for as long as I can remember. An orphan; a child with no parents. No siblings. No family. At least not any more. When my parents were around, my mother got pregnant by accident, and they determined that they couldn't care for both of us. Therefore, it came down to giving up one of us to foster care, and they had determined that it would be me, since I'm older. I, however, didn't agree with this. I knew that the only way to prevent them from giving me up was by getting rid of my baby brother, so that's exactly what I did. I killed him. Unfortunately, it landed me in the detention center for a long time, until they determined me cured enough to return to society. When I was brought back to the District, though, I found out, to my severe disappointment, that my parents didn't want me because of what I'd done. That was when I then was put into a foster home.

Being alone is something I've always enjoyed. They never put me in a foster home for long, as I was seen as too violent towards the other children. Before I was put out on the streets, though, they put me in the detention center for a while. I remained there for months before the deemed me 'cured' and put me back in the foster home, which, in turn, didn't trust me and returned me to the streets once more. I've remained there ever since, finding shelter in some of the most obscure places.

I've been told I look like my mother. I hate being told that. I never did like her, and besides, she wasn't all that attractive from what I've seen in pictures anyway. She was a cruel person; not that I'm not. I don't like people, for the most part, and I've been called a jerk or a bitch quite often. Everyone, of course, has a good side, though. I may be mean, but I still care about my few friends that I have. I also will occasionally feel guilty about being physically or emotionally harmful to others. Not all the time, of course, as it depends on who it is, but I do sometimes. The fights I get into have covered my fists in scars, but I don't mind it all too much.

Standing at approximately 5'6" tall, I'd say I'm of an average height. It makes me glad, since it means I don't stand out too much compared to some of those in the District. Although I like attention quite often, and a lot of it, I don't want it when I don't ask for it. My friends shouldn't be drawn to me just for my looks. They should be drawn to me for who I am. Besides, if they only hung out with me because I have nice, dark, long hair and beautiful hazel eyes, and something were to happen to effect those features or any other features of my appearance, who knows if they'd still like me?

Living on the streets luckily doesn't effect the way I look all too much, aside from the clothes I wear. I still keep myself clean and my teeth brushed, since I'm able to do those things at friends' houses, but I can't afford new clothing very often, which has caused me to resort to stealing from shops. The few nicer clothing items I have, as well as most of the food I obtain, have been taken from other people when they're out of their homes, or from shops when the shopkeeper isn't paying enough attention. I keep both my food and my other items in a concealed area in an alleyway of the District. Although, occasionally, when I don't have enough food, and can't manage to steal any, I have to sometimes eat what people have thrown at. Unfortunately, from time to time, I'm not able to get anything from people because they're paying too much attention to what's around them and would be likely to notice me.

The few friends that I do have are mostly guys. My closest friend, Bryan Samuels, lost his brother to the 74th Hunger Games, and since I don't really have any family myself, we've been able to connect on that. Though, I don't see him as any more than a friend, and luckily, he feels the same way as I do on that particular topic. We're just friends who comfort one another. Sometimes, he even brings me food and other surprises to help me out, which is greatly appreciated.

I can still be a good person, even if I'm not nice to everyone. I'm nice to my friends, and I think that's what really matters. If you're nice to those that treat you well, they're likely to do so in return. That's part of why I don't find a point in being nice to the assholes of the world. They'll just be terrible to you no matter how you act towards them. In the end, I figure I'll just hang out around the people that treat me well. There's no reason to associate with the trashy people of the world.

Everyone is afraid of something, whether they like to admit it or not. For many people, it's a death-related fear. Being reaped. Dying in your sleep. Being buried alive. Falling to your doom. Some other type of terrible demise. Surprisingly, I don't have a death-related fear. If death comes to me, it is welcome, as it's obviously shown up for a reason. Personally, I'm terrified of other people dying for me. I don't feel that those I care about should die in my place. They deserve to live just as much as anyone else, and they shouldn't be giving that up to save me. Besides, I don't even know if I'd want to be saved. Death would be quite the adventure.

When I wake up from wherever I slept the previous night, I get dressed and put on whatever stolen jewelry or other accessories I feel like wearing that day. I eat a very small morning meal, not wanting to waste my food that I've worked so hard to obtain. Lastly, I explore the streets, taking what I need and conversing with my friends until nightfall. When the sun goes down, I return to my sleeping spot or find a new one, and crash for the night. My routine is simple, and I don't think it'll ever change.