Winnie March District 12 [WIP]

My sleek pin-straight hair falls a few inches below my shoulders; the color is what I like to describe as light honey-cinnamon. However, most people call it plain red, which I find immensely unoriginal. I prefer not to wear my hair up, or in fact, do much else with my tresses then leave in down. On another note, my skin is pale with slight pink undertones, which does not tan, but burns easily. Covering only my arm are light golden freckles that I have always despised. I have been told that my face looks like one of a child’s – I’m still not certain if this is a compliment or not – my nose is small and slanted just right so when I turn my head to the side, it forms the shape of a ski-slope. Placed not too far apart upon my face are my haunting light gray eyes, whose lids are usually covered in silver makeup to make them stand out even more. My eyebrows are a colour somewhat darker than the rest of my hair. They form two delicate arches that require very little maintenance. And lastly, thin my lips are a light hue, similar to the shade of a newly bloomed pale-pink rose. I prefer to dress in loose blouses and dresses, usually in white or light colors, albeit they are almost always covered in a thick layer of coal dust carried by the wind, of saw dust from chopping wood near a small forest. My shoe selection consists mainly of a couple pairs of sturdy but lightweight black hiking boots.

I try to go for a walk outside at least once a day whenever I can find the time, which keeps me strong even when I am hungry. Due to the lack of food available in my District, I am a bit underweight, being 92 lbs. and standing at 5 feet, 3 inches. I used to be called names when I was younger by other kids who had more food then I, to mock my small frame. People underestimate me, though. For instance, since I have no older siblings and no brothers, it is my job to chop the wood that we use to fuel out stove. This is excruciating work, as I can be outside repetitively chopping all day on weekends and most hours after school. Nevertheless, because of my constant practice with handling an ax, this would be my most valuable strength if I were to be chosen for the Hunger Games. I do have weaknesses to outnumber my assets, though. One, being my sight is not as clear as most people’s. I am slightly near sighted, so looking out into over long distances can be difficult. Since my family is poor, we cannot afford glasses to correct my vision.

I am the eldest in my family of four. I have two younger sisters, Pip March, age nine and Isis March, age thirteen. Isis is the hunter and gatherer in the family, she brings home most of the meat and berries that we eat. Even when she is still so young, she has such a huge responsibility. When I finish chopping wood every evening, I will set aside a few piles of lumber to bring to the Hob to sell. Usually I will bring my sisters along with me if it isn’t too dark outside, so they can become familiar with the environment and perhaps win over people into buying from us. I have to make sure that they would be capable of survival together if ever I was sent to the Hunger Games.

My mother, Cheryl March, passed away giving birth to Pip, and ever since her death, Isis, being only four years old at the time, changed. Suddenly, she started to hate the things she used to love to do, she once told me at around age ten she began to experience vivid and terrifying dreams about our mother. She never did go back to being the old Isis I miss so much, instead, now of days, she doesn’t talk to anyone. My father, Will March, never noticed this change in my sister, though. He never seems to remark even the slightest thing about our family or the district that doesn’t have to do with coal mining, the job he spends most of his time at and often doesn’t come home for days at a time because of work. Basically, I have to care for this family if I don’t want it to fall apart.

I looked like my mother; we shared the same shade of red hair and skin tone. I admired her, even if we were never that close. She was kind to everyone, and never yelled at or punished me or Isis, and there had been quite a few times when we had obviously deserved it. My mother named Isis and me, she had picked out Pip's name also, but she said she wasn’t certain if she would or wouldn’t decide on another name as soon as she was born. She never did get the chance. I was called Winifred-- until after my mother’s death, where I decided I would go by Winnie-- as my mother preferred to call it more lady-like. Even when we lived in the poorest district, my mother always took pride in the few possessions we had and her family.

My mother first told me about the annual reaping and Hunger Games a few months before she died. I knew she didn’t want me to feel scared, but also to not feel as I was for certain never going to be chosen to participate. The fear of being picked was and still is the most challenging thing for me. However, as I promised my mother, even though I was only six and similarly to when I promised Isis, I would volunteer for her if she was to be selected. I only hope that Isis will make that same promise for Pip when she reaches the age of twelve, because I will be over eighteen by then.

My history has been rough for myself and my entire family, but it’s our past that makes us who we are today, and I rather like myself.

I will also be making Isis sometime in the futur, but probably not Pip.