Brinelynn Alania Campbell ~~ District 4

My looks don’t matter much to me. I’m a tall thin girl. Not thin like dying or starving… because I’m rather well fed coming from my district. And not thin like scrawny. I’ve worked really hard at getting my body in good shape. I’m by no means grotesquely muscular, but I am strong. At least on the outside. But this isn’t what usually gets me noticed. My trade mark is my hair.

I have shoulder length red hair. This would be otherwise unremarkable, if it weren’t for the uncontrollable curls. I’ve been likened to a birds nest before. At which I’ve shot them dirty looks from my seaweed green eyes. My skin is smooth and unscathed. Except for a thin white scar on my palm. I acquired it from a fishing hook as a child. A lot of people around here have something relatively similar. Other than that there isn’t a lot to comment on except my clothes.

I really don’t care much about how I look clothing wise. I don’t like things to be too stuffy or clingy or itchy or anything like that. I like my clothes to fit and be functional. I hate shoes. I’m much faster, land or water, without them. They are rather hindering when trying to climb on rocks along the water or up rigging on boats. There isn’t anything else that’s super remarkable about my outward looks. Most people are turned off by my personality… Really a pretty face is my only shot at being liked.

Personality:

I trust only that which I can count on to be 100% accurate. Like the tides or the migratory patterns of crabs during mating season. Which I’ve studied quite a bit. Science is something that makes me feel comfortable. It makes the world seem real to me. So watching the things in the sea thrive is the second best thing in my life. The other, is knowing I’m the biggest pain in my parents side. In district four a lot of children my age train for the Hunger Games. Albeit illegally. I of course, am one of them.

This stems mostly from the grief I get from my parents. They wish I was a boy. In their mind a boy tribute for the games would be so much better. He’d be faster and stronger and smarter. Or so they think. It amuses me that they think so little of a daughter, yet still expect so much of me. Needless to say we don’t have a pretty happy shining family. Even my brother thinks they are nuts and he’s so much sweeter than I am.

As for people outside of my family there are only a select few that I’m willing to consider talking to. It really all depends on how you approach me. I’m a firm believer in first impressions. Unfortunately most of the world is terrible at them and I’m frightfully quick to judge and more often than not, I’m wrong about them. Stubbornness runs rampant in my family and I am no exception. I am however a bit of a romantic, which I’m pretty sure doesn’t come from either of my parents as they hardly even smile at each other. I can and will make friends and once I’m comfortable around someone I can be pleasant to be around. So long as you stay on my good side.

History:

I was born to man who works on a crab boat and his wife who is infamous for her crab cakes. Naturally. They of course wished desperately for a boy so as to have a shrivel of hope to cling to. Under the impression that a boy would be more likely to come home victorious and not be the one sacrificed for the annual reminder. It was simply fate that I turned out to be a girl. My first accomplishment in driving my parents mad. I don’t look at the games the same way my parents do. They fear it, hate it even. I understand that it is a political finger hold in the society of Panem and that the Capitol takes pleasure out of seeing us off each other like wild animals. These points are clear to everyone. But I choose to focus on them.

Discouraged with having a daughter as a child, my parents set right back to work on having a boy for their family. My brother is just shy of a year younger than I am. We’re pretty close. We don’t fight a lot. And we’ve trained pretty well together. My biggest fear is that we’d both get reaped and have to kill each other. I’d be devastated. But we’ve come up with a pact that seems like it will work rather well. Should one person volunteer, the other will not. Our parents thought it was so that we never leave them alone... They are wrong.

I’ve done well at keeping my nose clean so far. It’s pretty easy when you don’t talk to very many people. Never the less I’ve gone to school, trained, and learned to fish. Just like a good little girl. But inside, half of me wants to go into the games. For a change. Or a purpose. To prove something maybe? Or to end the humdrum. Though, that seems stupid. I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone to die. I don’t want to kill anyone. The other half of me wishes more than anything that we were a sea full of thoughtless fish. No one would hate or hurt or starve. No one would take pleasure in our untimely demise. We would just keep swimming…