Re: Prudence Ryall- district 3

Prudence pulled out the interview page out of the plain, yellow-orange envelope labeled "please answer;" she had received in the mail this morning. Her hand quivered slightly as she broke the seal, letting out the aroma of fresh ink. The document had neatly labeled questions with little boxes to put your answers in. She took a deep breath, knowing the endless boredom that lays ahead. "Alright, let's do this," she murmured to herself, hoping for motivation.

Tell us about yourself. Tell us your name, age, gender, district etc.

On February 17, in the year of the 40th hunger games. I was born at some hospital in district three. My name is Prudence Ryall, no middle name; middle names are a waste of ink in my opinion. Ink can be used for more practical reasons, like... economic records. If you haven't figured it out already, I'm a girl, and if you want to know how old I am you can do the math yourself. I'm sure it will benefit your overall health and stability; the answer is I'm seventeen if you really can't figure it out. (57-40=17)

What do you look like?

People say I have a sort of elfin look about me. I don't know why; the only reason I can think of is I have a little bit of excess cartilage on my right ear, making it look sort of like an elf's ear but not really. Moving on, I have platinum blond hair. It's not my natural color; I don't even think I can remember my natural hair color! It's pin straight, slightly shaggy looking and around chin length. My eyes are gray, nothing special, and I have short, stubby eyelashes. I'm not too proud of them, but I don't wear makeup; there isn't much around, making it expensive. I don't have that kind of money, though we might if my grandfather would just let me help him in his shop.

I'm pretty average sized height-wise, 5' 5'', but weight-wise it's a whole other story. I'm like a feather, just about to float away. If I were a tree, a five year old would be able to yank right out the ground with ease. People probably think I'm anorexic, but I'm not, although my grandfather insists I need to put on a few pounds. Maybe that would help me look more my age because let's face it, my breasts are just barely there.

Living with my grandfather, he doesn't work much so we don't have much money. For clothing, I have to use my grandmother's old clothing. You could be polite and call her clothes "vintage" or "retro," but seriously these aren't vintage, they're old, like moth holes all over them and beyond faded old. I do have some new clothes, which I pair with my grandmother's clothes and get my "old with a modern twist" style. One piece I really love are a pair of aviator goggles that my grandfather received as payment when he was starting out as a clock maker. He got them from an ancient man, undoubtedly dead now, so I can't even imagine how old they are. Sometimes, I'll wear them to school; that always gets me a few funny looks.

What is your personality?

If you were to ask around like, “Hello, how would you describe Prudence Ryall?” you’d probably get mixed reactions. Some people, like my teacher, would probably tell you that I was irresponsible and lazy. I don't think this is completely true, there are some areas in life, doing my homework being far from being one of them, where I am very dedicated, especially when it comes to my passion- mechanics. There's just something about the rhythm of gears mashing together while a pendulum swings, everything connected, nothing left out; it never fails to boggle my mind and make my heart melt like a block of ice on a sidewalk during a sweltering hot day.

Other people may call me anti-social; that one I can mostly agree on. I don't talk to people unless I trust them. Right now the only person I trust is my grandfather. Everyone else has betrayed me, like my mother and father, but we'll get into that later. There is only one exception to my "rule"; If I know something that nobody else knows in my class I will make sure the teacher knows what he's talking about. I guess I want the world to think I'm not just "some other kid from district three who's going to waste the rest of her life working the assembly line at a factory." Whenever this happens, which is usually when it's something about kinetic energy, I tend to get evil glares all day, but it doesn't bother me; I've had enough pain.

Because I don't talk much, not many people know this one; I lie a lot. It's not that bad, is it? I mean, everyone lies, cough cough, the president anyone? I guess there is no one reason to explain why the more than occasional fib comes slithering out of my mouth. One reason probably being my distrust of others, I'm just to scared to tell them the truth; They might try to dig to deep, probably hitting a nerve along the way. Another main reason is that I want to be successful. I don't to be "that girl from district three who wastes her life in the factory, making barely minimum wage." No, I want to do something, be someone; I want to be able to pay my grandfather back for all he gives me, which is to much to name.

Tell us your history.

I was born on February 17, seventeen years ago to my mother, Carol Ryall and whoever my father is. All I know is that my father was supposedly just "visiting" district three on a business trip; apparently he told my mother he worked for the government. So, they got together and nine months later, I was born. But before I was born, my father was sucked up by one of the capitol's hover crafts. I'm not sure what he did, but he obviously didn't work for the government like he claimed. For all I know, he is either an avox or dead. My mother went into a deep depression; I don't know why, he didn't sound like much. She eventually became suicidal, but before she could jump off our roof, she got taken away to an asylum or something for being "unstable", leaving poor little one year old me to go to a community home. I don't have the slightest memory of any of this.

Apparently, my grandparents somehow gained custody of me, putting me where I am today, at least housing-wise. We lived above my grandfather's clock shop, "Ryall Clockworks," where we repair and manufacture clocks for the government, as well as the general public. When I was around three, my grandmother died of lung cancer, probably from all of this pollution in district three. Since then, it's been just my grandfather, a stocky, hunch back old mad who has wrinkles that run a mile deep, a "perma cigar" in his mouth at all times, and glasses an inch thick that make his eyes look about five times bigger than they really are, and me. He works, and I sometimes help him.

He rarely gets customers anymore; not even the capital commissions him much. You see, he just repairs analog clocks; I keep on telling him, if he tried digital clocks, he could get more business. I could help him because I know all about the wires and computer. When I was around 13 I started working at the one of the many factories in the district, manufacturing calculators for the capitol so we could have a little more money. This is also around the time when I built my bike. I made it out of my grandfather's scrap parts. He keeps them in little drawers that are labeled in his shaky handwriting on parchment paper. I can now get places faster, which is good.

What's the codeword?
<img src="http://i41.tinypic.com/16h2ibt.png">

Prudence slid her form back into the envelope, re-licked it and sent it on its way, hoping it was sufficient.