ebony. d2.

I'm not one to brag, but-

Just kidding, I totally am.

My Grandpa always said if you've got it, flaunt it, so don't mind me if I do. Someone's got to be the best of the best, right? They don't have two victors every year, and why should they? There's only one winner. Second place is just first loser or something like that. I can't help it if I'm talented! 

Don't look so sour. Honesty is the best policy and it's the one I live by. Some call me blunt, others a nasty piece of work, I shrug them off. If you can't swallow the truth that's fine. Just don't go spitting it up in my direction.

Then there's the other half. People who want to celebrate my achievements like they're their own, as if vicariously living through my success will make them feel like they're worthy. Credit is due where credit is due, I get that, but just because you teach me how to do something doesn't mean you've done it - it means I've done it and you're a washed up someone who coulda maybe done this twenty years ago, but worse.

Truth is I'm so god damn bored all the time that I don't mind that they want to take credit for my victories. They can have them. It all becomes so terribly routine and I much prefer a challenge. I told them that - it took twelve years for them to listen. Nobody has any fun if we all know who's going to win so I think that's why they bumped me up a few years at school, got me going to Career training for a few extra hours in the afternoon, let the others my age duke it out. They didn't do it for me, they did it so the other kids' parents wouldn't stop complaining about how Ebony Martinez always wins everything and why won't you let my kid shine for once? Fair's fair until you're in the Hunger Games so good luck with your participation awards and your coffins, I'll be walking out of that arena with my life. 

Was that too harsh? Probably.

You might expect all this child prodigy success story crap to stem from strict parents who demanded success but my parents aren't anyone special, certainly not the type to pressure me. Two kids who got married the second they aged out of the reaping without knowing what life was actually like, had a baby, realised being an adult in this world is a bit shit, both decided they wanted to try out life by themselves, got divorced, yawn. My Dad got remarried and his new wife is okay, nothing special. I got his dark curly hair and long nose. Mom's still on her own but she's doing just fine. I got her freckles and hands and wonky teeth. A nice blend of both parents, who both support me and love me on their own - separately. Yawn. I'm nothing special, and yet I am.

Seems as though I've got a talent for being unexpected too, huh?

I'm tiny, spindly, the smallest one in my class but I can still throw a spear like an 18 year old from Four. I'm not the most flexible thing which is a pain, but I'm fast, light on my feet. Fight choreography is a little clunky but I can pick it up quick enough, long limbs piercing through the air, brown skin coated in kids-sized training gear. They put me at the front because I'm short in my class but among kids my age I'm near the taller side of average. I've got big feet for my proportions though, boys sizes sliding on easily right before I take to the floor.

I'm not just good at fighting - I'm good at the theory, too, matching dots and colours of plants to things that can save me and things that'll kill me. I'm not stupid - brawn doesn't get you through the games. Brains do. Good thing they aged me up in classes too, a double-threat. If I were the 16 year olds I'd be shaking in my boots too.

I'll entertain you for just a moment by listing the small amount of things I'm not good at. First off, brushing my hair. There's so much of it, clumped together in tangled pieced every time I wake up. Managing it every morning is a challenge in itself and I know I said I liked those, but no matter what I do it's like this every. damn. morning. Ponytails are great and all and yeah, I kind of look like I have a mutt tail on the back of my head, but it does the job - if my hair tie doesn't snap in half first. 

I also can't cook for shit. I burned a salad once. To be fair a stray lettuce leaf caught fire on the toasted sandwich maker but having to explain that to the Peacekeepers who rushed into our house with water hoses was embarrassing as fuck. What kind of child genius burns lettuce? At least it was unexpected. That's on-brand for me. 

I'm also terrible at admitting my flaws. Does that make me a narcissist? Probably.

But at least I'm great at being one.