Emeralda Clarke, D6 FINISHED

To start, I am somewhat tall, around 5'8 with deep tanned skin. I've never really considered myself to be of a darker skin tone that most of the sun deprived people in my district, I just always thought I absorbed sun better. Maybe I do have a darker skin shade after all. I'll leave that to you to ponder about, okay?

My face is somewhat narrow, with high cheekbones. My hair flutters down my back, going to my upper middle back, and is dark brown. My hair is very messy and unkempt. My eyes are a dark sparkling green, from which I a told my name comes from. People say my eyes are the best thing about me. I would like to agree with them, but then I would become to full of myself and I'd turn into a wreck.

I'm very, very skinny. I've never actually been officially diagnosed with anorexia, but I've always heard little voices tempting me not to eat anything. And I usually don't eat much, if anything. Back when I was a child I didn't eat much, but now, since I have my own daughter and food is hard to put on the table, I usually only eat after my daughter, Rubiya has. I want her to be able to grow up with enough food. She's already pretty messed up, she doesn't need another mental disease. I am also prone to sudden and quick, but violent seizures. I've had them since I was a child, and they just never stopped. I hate them. I ended up breaking a bone in my arm once from one of the little episodes. Unfortunately, I've passed this on to my daughter as well.

I've always been one for a good, lively conversation. I'm a people person. I was that kid in school who wasn't popular, but always had a ring of friends that she just adored beyond belief. I have a great sense of humor, too, even though sometimes, when I'm trying to impress someone, I'll say the wrong thing, and I end up so embarrassed that I want to cry. I don't have much confidence, I never have since I was a child. I was broken down by my ruthless older sister. She tore me down day after day after day. Until she killed herself.

Since then, I've been having violent anger attacks. I'll go into fits of throwing things, punching the wall, getting drunk, and even beating my daughter, if the rebel is even around. I don't mean to do any of this- it's just, well, I can't explain. I've always been flawed when it came to self control. if I wanted to cry, I'd bawl. If I was mad, I'd throw fits of rage. If I was embarrassed, I'd cry. If I was happy, I'd skip around the room screaming. I've gotten myself better under control today. Now a days it's my daughter that makes me go insanely mad. She just never stops causing trouble, and it just pushing all of my buttons.

I have always wanted to have a family of my own. Only I imagined a perfect family, and that is far away from what i got. I always wanted to make good money, live in a good house, have a loyal, loving husband, and have three or four well behaved kids. I ended up being a single mother with one rebel daughter, living in basically a two story shack, and can barley put food on the table. I'm a maternal type person, loving little kids and babies, just kids in general. I remember babysitting a lot in my younger days to earn some extra money. I love kids. I will feed any that come to my door while my daughter isn't watching. She's filled with gluttony. I've always wanted to be blessed with the chance to get another baby, one that isn't such a disgrace like Rubiya. I still love and care for her though. She is, after all, all i have left of my true love.

I was born as a fifth child. All my brothers and one sister were all far older than I was. I was an "oops" child, which means Mom and Dad didn't mean to have me... I just was made from a little slip they had. They barley got by with six people in the house, and seven, even one extra mouth, was hard. Dad worked his ass off trying to bring in money while Mom was forced to stay home and take care of her kids. When she would go off somewhere else, by the time I was four or so, my nine year old sister Vikke was tearing me down. She would fill my ears with crap, tell me that Mom and Dad found me in an old garbage can and just took me in because they pitied me. That I didn't belong, I was useless, I had no point on this earth. Then she would actually use her fists and legs to beat me up. My self confidence dropped immediately.

As I got older, I tried to avoid Vikke more and more, and it worked. She became absorbed in this one boy, fell in love way too young. When he was reaped Vikke went to hell with herself. She knew he wasn't going to win. She cried and cried and cried, until finally, she ended her life right before she thought he was going to die. only, he didn't. He won the Games, but it was too late. Vikke had not waited. Mom and Dad were devastated by the loss of their daughter and blamed the boy. They pressured him so much he felt ashamed, they finally convinced him that somehow, he had killed their daughter. So he killed himself.

It turns out he was the son of a peacekeeper. Word got around that they had pressured him that it was his fault, and the boy's peacekeeper father killed Dad and sent Mom away. By then the oldest child in the family was 20, and taking care of the rest of us. My oldest remaining sibling was 16. I was only ten when she died.

I got older. I would still turn back to Vikke and wonder why she was so mean to me, but move on to a different chain of thought shortly after. I didn't care. She was just that- a bitch. Nothing more. I got older, never reaped, and lucky. I never knew anyone who was reaped. I had an easy time with the Hunger Games. They never bothered me.

It was after the reaping that I was eighteen, I went out to a local bar to celebrate no longer needing to worry about the Games. I met a guy named Rigel Clarke, who was also eighteen. We became fast friends, and soon boyfriend and girlfriend. When we were both twenty, we married.

I was so happy. I finally was living with my one true love in our own house, with no siblings plaguing me. It felt good to be free. Shortly after our wedding, it turned out I was pregnant. Rigel and i were both overjoyed. it seemed it was a year of good luck. Nine months later, our daughter, Rubiya was born. She was healthy, which was even more good luck.

When Rubiya was around five or so, Rigel and I were fighting. I was sobbing every night, begging him not to leave. I can't remember anymore why he wanted to leave. I think I forgot on purpose as to why. One night, our fight got so bad he stormed out. It turned out I was unaware he had serious anger issues. I was left in my house, dumbstruck, and crying my eyes out. I didn't want him to leave. Rubiya came down the stairs from her bedroom and asked me why daddy left. That night, we both curled up on the couch by the door and waited for him to come home. She missed her daddy, and I missed my husband. He never did return.

The next morning I found out that he had been killed. He went to the same bar where we met and drank and drank and drank until he passed out. he never woke up. Rigel's body fell victim to an overdose of alcohol, in a way. I was shattered. I didn't know why he could be so stupid. He was a smart man who tried to avoid the bottle, just like I did, yet it ended his life early. Maybe he was just blinded by white hot fury. I liked to think it was that way. I didn't want to think he knowingly used the bottle to kill himself.

I eventually was kicked out of the house when Rubiya was seven. We couldn't afford the house anymore. Without Rigel supporting us we pretty much had no money. We had no choice but to move into basically a shack. Two rooms. One for sleeping and one for everything else. She didn't like it and neither did I, but we had to. As Rubiya got older and started going to school, I think she was around ten when the teachers first brought it up that she was disrespecting them, causing trouble, getting into fights, cussing, making fun of other kids, not doing her work, vandalizing, all of the bad stuff. I was disgusted. I started trying to lay down the law with her, but she refused to listen to me. She has never been tamed. I have a rebel for a daughter. She didn't turn out anything like I thought she would. I was terribly disappointed, but she was all I had left of Rigel, so I didn't get rid of her or stop loving her. Good mothers don't do that.

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