Rosalette Thurmon, D3

This is going to be a bit odd, telling someone who I don't even know what I look like and all. It's making me a bit freaked out. Why the hell would one want to know about someone like me? Are you an undercover peacekeeper? I don't do drugs, I might drink, but I swear, I'm semi clean!

Might as well start from top going steadily down to the bottom, I guess. I have a general round structure to my face, with high cheekbones that jut out from under the skin, giving my face a bit of depth, and a slight nasolabial crease. That's a strange word, and I'm really just faintly sure what it means. My hair runs down to my shoulders, one real one at least. I'll get to why the other is fake later. My hair goes to a little past my shoulder blades, taking a few curls here and there. My hair is a dark, leaning more to the brown side of reddish brown. The red used to be more prominent when I was a child, which is in a way where I got my name from. My lips are semi full, not that I really care much about my lips anyways. I've never really kissed anyone and meant it. I've just been drunk when I kissed a poor fellow. I actually can't even remember the genders of everyone I kissed thanks to the alcohol. I hope they were guys. I'm straight, just so you know. My eyes are just an average shade of blue. Enough about my face. Moving on. I'm already bored with this, but I've been told I have to for some weird reason I was, at the time, too hungover to understand fully.

So, want to hear about my fake shoulder, arm actually, now, do you? Well, I was going to get to that shit next anyways. So shut up and enjoy. This part isn't for those with weak stomachs. it might paint a not so pretty picture in your probing minds.

When I was eight, some friends and I were playing around in the streets of my home District, District Three, during a rain storm. We had no idea that a more dangerous leg of the storm was on its way. We could hear distant thunder, but didn't think much of it. Then, the storm snuck up on us really fast. it happened so fast. I was running after one of the boys who had been playing with us, his name has since faded from my memory, when I was struck, straight through my right shoulder, by a white hot bolt of lightning. The bolt went all down my arm, scorching the skin, burning it away, before finally exiting my body at the hand. The pain was so intense that after about a minute of screaming because of the searing, white hot pain from my left arm, I passed out. When I woke up I was in a hospital, and discovered that my badly scorched arm had been amputated. The doctors were horrified by what they saw when I came in, so just chopped it off. Soon after they brought me a prosthetic arm, only the skin color was for that of a dark skinned person. If you haven't noticed, my skin is somewhat pale. It really, really stuck out. I threw a huge fit, and was able to get a new fake arm, but it was made for a darker skinned person. They told me it was ether that or no arm, so I was forced to take it, much to my utter displeasure. I've gotten used to it now, however.

So you want to know about what's in my head, too, do you? I really fucking hate information suckers like you, but I guess I have no choice. The basics are I love to party.

Shortly after I turned fourteen, I was introduced to the life of heavy parties, and I fell in love. I loved walking in, dancing my ass off, getting drunk, and just having one hell of a good time. I knew it was bad for me, but when it comes to fun for me, I don't give a damn if it was bad. Partying was fun, gave me a freedom I hadn't felt before. Nobody picked on me because of the arm issue, ether, which was nice. I can't really explain it. I often go out to parties, usually once every week or so. I try to dress in clothes that would appeal to some boys, to some not. I tend to look for parties that I know will have beer and dancing, and places to jump off of. I've broken many bones jumping off of high decks and such at parties after the beer has taken over. Pleasant, aren't I? After I started partying, I got addicted to beer. It was a really bad addiction that I couldn't control. Partying and beer seemed to become my life, and I was blind to how much it was killing me inside. I was slowly trying to wean myself, but it seemed like it wouldn't work. Finally I broke through, but still need a bottle about once every three days to keep me from going insane. I doubt i will ever fully break my addiction to the bottle or to parties.

I've always been desperate to have someone to love, and not just a random guy to make out with because I'm drunk at a booming party. I want someone to be able to hold, trust, and start a family with. When I'm sober, which is a lot more now than it used to be, I will sometimes curl up on the floor of my bedroom and sob, because I may seem like a drunken bitchy whore on the outside, but I am really actually lonely on the inside. I want a friend, but whenever I get out, it's for a party, and usually about an hour or so into the party, I'm drunk. Once the hangover passes, I feel like I am the only human in the world. Isolated, alone. It totally degrades the other sides of me. Drunk whore, and strong willed woman. Alcohol has destroyed what used to be me. And I fear I will never get that old me, that i destroyed with my own lust for fun, back.

I am a strong willed person. Never really been afraid of much, just spiders, storms since I got my arm seared off, sharp things that can chop off my other arm, and fear or turning back to hungover four days a week. Those are the main things that scare me in life. I don't tend to obey orders, which is why it's been so hard to wean myself of the heavy parties and alcohol, because I usually fail to listen to that smart side of me, that isn't plagued by the desire for drunken fun. I've always been a rebel, defiant and headstrong. I remember before the days that I really messed myself up, some people actually respected me. Now I'm just another what they think is a degraded drunk whore. I'm not, though. I know I'm not. it will just take the right person, the right man, to bring out what I used to be again.

You bastards really want to know everything about me, don't you?

I was born as an only child to Olivia and Park Thurmon. They weren't the best of parents. Dad worked a lot, and Mon was a crazy woman. Well, she wasn't before Grandma got killed, anyways, which was when I was six. Dad tried his hardest to get her help and raise me, but failed. Mom ended up killing herself in one of her psycho rampages. Dad was shattered. He started becoming distracted form his demanding job, always wondering where he went wrong. He married again, to a woman named Chessle, who didn't work and would, at least Dad hoped, would take care of me. She did anything but that.

Chessle would feed me, but that was it. When Dad was gone, she'd kick and punch me, insulting me. I could never figure out why she hated me, she just did. I was hurt that Dad would marry such a two faced bitch like that, but it wasn't my decision. I just had to live with it.

After the lightning strike, Dad fell ill and died. I was horrified to discover that I was going to be left all alone to be raised by my classic fairy tale evil step mother. Only, I wasn't. She was pregnant, and threw me out. She said I was the spawn of a devil (Whom I assumed she meant my Mother, for why would she marry a devil) and didn't want her child to grow up around me. That was when I was around nine and a half or so. I gladly left. I think I even flipped her off as I walked away. And there was one huge smirk on my bruised face.

I went to a friends house. Her parents accepted me into the family. They were kind people, always selfless and putting others before themselves. They became my role models until I befriended the wrong girl, and the partying began, which you already know about, so can we skip it? I don't really feel like revisiting it. I got addicted to partying and beer, screwed up my life. Sums it up. Now I'm looking for the right man to fix it.

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