Jaden Eissac, District Seven [FINISHED]

If anyone is brave enough to come close to me, he or she would see that I'm not all that unusual. There are also traits of mine that some people would call... beautiful? - is that what people would call normal looking kids? - sorry I'm not quite fond of that word. No one would ever call me that, it's always freak or weirdo. I just got use to it - even if no one would call that to my face or else I would punch the living daylight out of him - . First of all he or she would notice my silky smooth, dusky hair. Which wouldn't amaze him or her for obvious reasons. My evenly spaced fore head, not to small not to big either, just normal. Onto my bushy eyebrows. Notice how I emphasis on the word bushy, I know everyone - if not everyone most - have it - and don't you dare lie to me, or else it would just prove how insanely absurd you people are - so I take that as normal. But do you see those people with really appealing looks have less hair in their brows. It looks like a perfect curve. If I had that people would surely think I'm normal. Right? wrong no matter how much I change my looks, I will always be the freak. And I don't care - okay maybe I do it gets lonely sometimes but I just can't handle people who act peculiar - about what they say about me. Now onto my most beautifully ugly trait, my eyes. The windows to my insane soul. Beautiful because of it's murky as the night sky. Ugly because it's humongous. It's the only part of me that shows any emotion - if you don't count my speeches- what so ever. I try to keep my phobias hidden. But my stupid eyes just reveal them, like how an avox reveals food to it's masters on a silver platter. My soul is the food, My eyes are the cover of the platter which avoxes can easily pry open. Next is my elongated nose. I find it quite amazing how I only see little people with elongated nose, some of them are from the capitol. Do you think I could live a normal life there? Nah? didn't think so myself either. I would get more paranoid - maybe even crazy, now that's a scary thought - there than here in my insane district. Well for my scarlet lips I have my parents - or should I say parent? - to thank for that. Back then I was a happy and normal child. Playing in the out doors and all that until that faithful day... You'll learn about that later. Behind that cherry lips are rows of white teeth. Unusual again for a reason that I see most people with imperfect teeth. Usually crooked or either yellow or even missing teeth - it's kinda freaky, goes to show some are mental enough to knock their teeth out - or tooth.

My chest, my skinny chest, I say it's skinny because every time I stretch I see ribs but i do admit I have a belly just like any other normal person. My build up is just right, not that fat nor that thin. My arms and legs might look like twigs - which is strong enough to hit really hard - but with much more meat in them. My height is five feet ten inches. Yes, I am a giant. Most people find that intimidating, but no one would dare pick a fight with me or even make fun of me for the reason that I get easily angry and loose my common sense. I know that people talk about me behind my back, about my looks and they say something like:"Look at that tall freak with bulging eyes. he looks like Frankenstein" - whoever that is - I bet that's a monster. Okay fine call me monster, a freak, an outcast, or what ever rude comment you can say about me. I try to change my looks - like style my hair and all that - but still no one comes near me or says hi. But I don't care I have myself and my sanity - for now- , but I want friends to share every secrets I have. My fears, my feelings, everything. But I guess no one would ever accept me as a friend or even as an acquaintance. Changing my looks wouldn't help. I have to change everything about me. That is something that could be done, but I choose not to, and I think I wouldn't be able to handle it. I might even go crazy - NO NO NO! It can't happen it, just can't - and that's one possibility I'm not open to.

Black. Yes black, that is the color that makes calms my system. Blue, as serene as the ocean that I never got to see. These are the only colors I wear. Okay maybe not but it's the colors that calms me. You will never see me wearing anything without the colors black and blue. There is just something about them that soothes my nerves, it stops me from becoming jumpy. If I start to loose my immensely short temper all I have to do is look at the colors and I relax. If I start to become paranoid because of my fears, all I do is stare at the colors until I feel better. But neither of those colors would make me normal, it even makes me seem crazy to people who see me staring at the only colors that help me keep my nerves, nothing could.

Well some people have these beautiful, normal and vibrant personalities. Others have this cheery and loud persona that people just can't get enough of. Well all this crazy nature just puts me on the edge - It terrifies me - I could never cease to worry about people getting insane. Why can't they just act normal, to act like their own species for once and not like animals in the wild - which also scares me - being loud and all that animalistic behavior. I just find it creepy, we were designed to be more advance than animals, but we seem to be acting more like them than of being us. Which sums up all this to one word. Insanity. Yes my biggest fear is insanity. I get paranoid when I see people acting bizarre. Imagination doesn't help either, I get more paranoid because of this. I may imagine the person screaming at me for no apparent reason and suddenly he or she would attack me. Stab a knife to my stomach or they rip it open and pull my inner organs out and feast on them... See what I'm telling you. That's why I distrust people.

I do want you to reach out to me, but at the same time I would think for how long you would be normal before you get crazy and kill me. Don't get me wrong but we are truly humans so because of that there is a possibility that we become insane. Just like me because of my little phobia I get paranoid, because of paranoia I slowly but surely become insane. That's why I put up this strong exterior, this short tempered side of mine that beats up people who act unusual, this unique persona. To keep myself from becoming crazy and from fearing myself. It helps me concentrate on what I need to become to avoid insanity. On what I should be. I did get better on keeping this act. You could usually find me punching someone acting crazy but, inside I'm shaking, shaking bad, shaking like a little chihuahua.

But if I keep this up, my whole life would become a lie. A big fat lie to hide my insane true self. But if I don't I become insane and start to fear myself, which should never ever at all cost happen. If it does happen, I just don't know what will happen to me - I'd probably die of hunger or a peacekeeper would shoot me for suddenly punching him or her for no apparent reasons or I become a street rat - There are plenty of possibilities but then again none of those would be good. But you know, the side that's winning, is the side that I fear the most, The one I never ever would learn to accept. Some times I catch myself arguing with someone, someone invisible, about weather or not this person is crazy. Only to find out that I was arguing with myself. I would then scold myself for doing that, but again I would stop and realize that I'm talking to myself.

With nothing else to do I cry. I break down, I'm a soft person on the inside, weak if you must, at those crazy times, I become vulnerable to insanity. It's a crazy cycle that happens to me everyday. I just can't handle the thought of what happened to my mom would happen to me. I just can't handle knowing that I will become insane sooner or later. That I have no escape from the insanity. My whole life would be enveloped with fears. The fear of insanity and the fear of wild animals. I haven't talked about this fear of wild animals to you yet so I'll begin now. Well this is more of a distress, but then again, both words are synonyms so.... Oh who am I kidding I'm terrified of wild animals. I think that both of my fears are connected. I fear wild animals because you just don't know what they would do, just like insane people they're very unpredictable. See both of them are similar.

I'll stop with the depressing thoughts of my personality. Now, I would tell you about my soft side. The side that I never ever show people. The side that is carefully hidden in a pile of tuff skin. My vulnerable side. The side I only show my parents and my friends - if I could even keep any - I'm the type of person who could care for anyone in need, especially my mom - if only people would let me show that, but it's also fine that they don't because I might get to weak to fight my insane side so I'll end up crazy - I also love to talk to people, which is really awkward since I don't have that much friends, they all think I'm a freak. I think, No Iknow that of I had friends I would learn to trust people. I would get less scared of them. They could even teach me how to face my fears.

You know what the funny thing about history is? You can't change it. No matter how much you think of things you could have changed in the past, but you can't. Everything that happens in the past is forever stained there. Like a bad stain on a white shirt. That's why I never talk about my history - as if I'm gonna tell a bunch of crazy people - It just makes me cry when I remember my past. All the happy moments, the sad moments, the crazy moments - Oh, God please no - I didn't even have anyone to talk to about my past. Maybe I should open up more to people - no never trust people they would go crazy - yeah like that's ever gonna happen. But you are lucky that I'm gonna tell you about my past. It's top secret I don't wan anyone to know about it, because they'd really feel sorry for me and I don't want any of their grief. Or maybe I do - I'm becoming crazy already - Stop. I'll just tell you.

Seventeen years ago, In a house hold of a happy family a boy was born. His parents were Joshua Eissac and Jeniffer Eissac. They were both normal and happy adults with enough money to have a child. The father works as a lumberjack in district seven. The mother is a washerwoman to the people of district seven. They named their son Jaden, which obviously is me but I know you knew that, a healthy looking boy with black hair just like his dads and pale, almost ghostly, skin like his mothers. Both parents were really happy with their boy.

When I was seven my dad brought me to work with him. I learned about how to cut lumber evenly. My dads co-workers were really friendly and helpful to m. Some even remarked about my being cute. After some weeks I got pretty good at cutting wood. Then I saw a furry bunny hop towards me. I ran and screamed towards my dad begging him to take me back home. He said no and that it was just a bunny - he didn't understand no one would - He held my hands out to try and touch the bunny. I tried to fight him but he was to strong, I did what any scarred little kid would do. I screamed at the top of my lungs until my dad took me home. At home he scolded me about embarrassing him in front of his co-workers. I told him that it was his fault and that if he hadn't forced me to touch the "beast" I wouldn't have screamed. That was the day we learned about my first fear my fear of wild animals.

After that little incident my dad never brought me to work ever again. But he does try and help me get over my phobia. Every time he does that, I feel more scared. But as the weeks go by I learned that I could fight my fear. I could come 3 feet away from an animal before I freak out and runaway, But at least I improved. My dad really helped me in conquering my fears - some what - .

Then when I was eight. My dad said that he was going to work, like the usual. Then the day ended and me and my mom waited for him because we were accustomed to eat dinner together as a family. After waiting for 30 minutes, my mom started to worry. She was getting paranoid and kept saying what if something bad happened to my dad. But I knew my dad is strong nothing bed would ever happen to him. Or so I thought, After two hours of waiting there was a knock on the door. My mom hurriedly approach the door thinking it was my dad. But it was a peacekeeper, he said something to my mom and I saw her cry. She bid good bye to the peacekeepers and shut the door. After that she came to me and hugged me really tight. And she said the word I thought I would never hear:
"DAD IS DEAD."

Do you now that feeling when you lost someone you loved and it feels like your whole world is crashing down on you? No? Neither did I until that day. But it was really bad for my mom. After the burial she wouldn't stop crying. She'd lock herself in her room and not come out. When I tell her to come out to eat she would just scream go away. I leave the food at her doorstep. When I come back it's all empty. The cycle has been like that for two years.

But then, when I turned ten, I went down from my room to do the usual, I inhaled the fragrance of fresh eggs cooking. I rush past down the stairs to see who was cooking. I couldn't believe what I saw, it was my mom. I was amazed to see her back to normal. I hugged her tight and she smiled at me, a big smile that I thought would make everything better again but it didn't. It only made things worst for me.

"Darling take your seat over here."
"Okay mom"
"Oh, and could you call your father to come join us here"
"Mom, dad is dead."
"Don't be crazy darling he's over there in our room."
"Mom he's dead for sometime now!"
"NO! He is not! He is I our room dressing up for his day to work, like he always does. I'll go get him myself."

She rushes up the flight of stares comes back down bringing my dads bag.

"See I told you his here."
"No, mom that's his bag."
"No your dad is wearing his bag! Now don't be rude like that in front of your father."

That's when I realized it, she has gone mad. I explained to her that dad has died. I saw the tears well up in her eyes and a look of surprise, as if to say that she hasn't heard of any of this. But I thought all she would do is cry and cry but she didn't. She hurriedly took a knife out of one of the cabinets and pointed it to me. She accused me of killing my own father. I couldn't say no because I was afraid I was afraid that my life would end right there in the hands of my own mother. She threw the knife towards me and luckily it only cut through my arm. She then screamed, a blood curdling scream that seems like she was possessed, and she ran to her room. I was still in the dining room stunned about what happened. That's when I developed my fear. My fear of insanity.

My fear didn't keep me from taking care of my mom. After that incident, I went into her room determined to not let my fear obscure me from being a good son to my mom. I went in a little shaky, scared because she my try to kill me again. I woke her up and told her to sit up because I would feed her. She followed my instruction which made me happy because I thought that she would improve. I feed her and tell her about everything that happened in my day, she would never hesitate to listen - but then again that is the only thing she can do - to what I have to say. But there is still a part of me, No, a big part of me that fears her insanity. This is what I do to her until today. You might think that because of this I slowly learn to cope up with my fears , but the truth is I never will. My fear is going to be there until the day I die.

To those who are wondering on how I could have feed myself in the time my mom became insane. The answer would be that I took a part time job in cutting wood for my district.