Monica Berne - District 3 [DONE]

MONICA "LITTLE BEAR" BERNE



For all my life, all of the piddly twelve years I have been on this planet, I have lived in District 3.

Motorcycle's in the parking lot
Revving their engines and it just wont stop
Matches the noise screaming in my head
Houston I think we got a problem

LITTLE BROWN BEAR

I guess I look alright. I'm only twelve so I'm not expecting a perfect body or anything, but I'm not exactly the cutest kid either. I may as well describe myself, so that you can understand what I mean. My appearance is a little odd, a little different than the other people. For one thing, my hair is a coppery-brown, like the colour of the ground cinnamon that is a common seasoning in the Capitol. How do I know of cinnamon, you ask, when I don't live in the Capitol. Well, I'll explain that later. I generally like to keep my hair shorter, about shoulder length, and put it up into a bun. My mother gave me one of those giant clips to keep my hair up with, and there's a small topaz bear on it. I never learned where my mother had gotten it, she hadn't said and I hadn't asked.

My eyes are brown like my hair, but darker, almost a muddy colour though they can have hints of amber in them if the light hits them just right. I'm not the biggest fan of my eyes, but people have said that they look like the eyes of bears. Bear eyes, to go along with my bear clip. I have a sensitive nose and sensitive ears, giving me the ability to hear and smell things others wouldn't. For the most part I pay no mind to it, but at times it can come in handy. Unfortunately, it can also be a hindrance, like if I have to take out the trash or work in a particularly poor-smelling area. Like I said, though, I've learned to live with it.

When I open my mouth, even for something as simple as a smile, people notice an oddity. The four pointed teeth, canines I've heard them called, are usually only a little longer than the incisors and molars in the majority of people. However, for me the size is a little different. My canines are longer and sharper than average, for no other reason than they are. They have always been this way, and there is no explanation for it. Another odd thing about my teeth is that I lost my baby teeth really slowly, and I still have a couple left. If I remember correctly, one is on the bottom and the other is diagonal and up from it.

My neck is a little short, I guess, and a bit thick for the rest of my frame but it's not overly noticeable. It certainly doesn't make me look like the models that are always being shown off on the TV. My shoulders are narrow, and I don't really have any muscle on them. I don't have much muscle on me at all, not that I need muscles to do my job or my school work. After all, when had you ever seen an electrician carry anything heavier than a roll of wire or cord? That's beside the point, I was telling you about my looks, details on my life can wait.

Where does everybody go when they go
The go so fast I don't think they know
We hate so fast
And we love too slow
London I think we got a problem

BE BEAR BRAVE

I have thin arms, but they aren't fragile, they just aren't strong. My torso is thin, which is nice I suppose, but it might also be a bit too thin. The rest of me might be too thin as well. Like I mentioned before, I don't really have any muscle on me, and I also don't eat that much. Not on a regular basis anyway. I'm getting off topic again, where was I? Oh right, my mid section. I know I'm just developing, just beginning the complicated process of puberty, so I'm not surprised that my chest isn't large. The fact I have any kind of chest surprises me, I thought it would be non-existent, just like my muscles. I'm not one to get caught up in that kind of thing, though. I don't care whether I'm attractive or not. I'm young, and boys are stupid.

My legs are long though, longer than what you would expect from my somewhat-compact body. I take long, swinging strides when I walk, a very efficient way to travel in my opinion. Like the rest of me, though, my legs are thin to the point of being called skinny. I've built up a bit of muscle on them, enough that I can walk for a long time without worry of sore legs the next day or to be able to run for large distances. This was from when my mother was still with us, when she and I would take long walks around District three as my father worked.

As for clothing, I dress plainly. My only vanity, other than the bear clip in my hair, is a tiny silver necklace that sit around my neck. On it is a tiny bit of flattened metal with a paw print pressed into it. My father had made it one day at work with some of the excess wire he had fond laying around. He had said it was as simple as melting the wires and pressing the design in the molten metal, but I treated it as though it had been bought with his blood. The chain was another thing of my mother's, from a necklace my father had bought her before they had gotten married. The pendant she had worn on it was buried with her, but I'll explain that later.

For the most part, I wear tights or skinny jeans, both forms of pants having some sort of rip or stain on them. As for my top, it's generally a t-shirt, usually looser fitting especially on the bottom. The colours I wear vary a bit, but it's not as though I have a lot of clothing to choose from. My favorite shirt is a kind of turquoise, or greeny-blue colour and fits tighter at the top than the bottom. I only wear it when I'm not working though, to save it from getting torn or marked. I have an old shirt of my mother's, that's faded to near-white even though at one time it must have been blue, which I wear when I help my father. My shoes are either old, pounded out runners or equally used sandals. What I would like, I must admit, is to have a pair of sturdy boots that I can wear for almost any occasion. They would be so much better than the worn down shoes I use now.

And when I think about it
I just can't think about it
I try to drink about it
I keep spinning

EVEN AS YOUR WORLD SPINS

So now I guess I'll tell you about myself, as in how I act and think. I already told you about what I look like, no point repeating myself. Well, I'm kind of solitary. I generally keep to myself, unless I'm around my father. He's really the only one I speak to, especially now that my mother is gone. When I do interact with others, I can be a bit standoffish. At times I can snap at people without meaning to, or I might get annoyed at someone who really isn't doing anything that should bug me. I admit, I'm not the greatest company, I can be a bit rude. Really, though, it's as much of an act as it is me. I don't want to push everyone away, but it almost seems like my life is meant to be lived alone. How would I know, though, I'm only twelve.

I'm generally pretty tolerant of others, but when they go too far I'm usually the first to lose my cool disposition and make a sharp retort. When I'm pushed I'm can act bigger and braver than I am, I have to. If I let them see that I'm just a scared little girl they'll take advantage of me. As I'm only twelve and they're all at least fifteen or sixteen, though most are eighteen and up, I can't show that I'm actually nervous about them. I've been teased, by a couple of the younger guys, that I look really odd when I get angry, and that it's more funny than scary. Then the others told them about the one time I had actually gotten angry and they shut up. It seemed they now thought that I was scary, and not funny.

The story of what happened will wait for later, but it was what really earned me my nickname. Before, only my dad called me "little bear" in the way that father's do. Then I was pushed too far, and now my nickname refers to the real bears that are sometimes found in the forests around all the Districts. Sometimes, I can understand why bears would do what they supposedly do, even if I don't always like it. It's as though I can think like a bear sometimes. Not that that is the problem, it's the things I can sometimes find logical that make me nervous.

Ave Mary A
Where did you go
Where did you go
How did you know to get out of a world gone mad
Help me let go
Of the chaos around me
The devil that hounds me
I need you to tell me

Child be still

FIND THE BEAR MIGHT HIDDEN WITHIN

I'm not like some people, always trying to claim everything for themselves and leaving others with nothing, but I'm not about to let myself be walked over by people of such a type. If someone attempts to take what is mine, they better be prepared for an encounter. For all that I may not be territorial, I still have to protect my things. Especially the things that belonged to my mother, for they of everything hold the most value to me.

I miss my mother, and I know I will continue to do so until I join her in whatever place she's in now. Losing someone is harder than anyone who hasn't experienced it could believe. It stings particularly strong for me, because I watched her die, and because I was only five at the time. I will explain more later, but what you need to know now is that my mother was one of the two most important people in my life, the other being my father, and she was ripped away from me while I was still in need of her care. It's not as though I am saying that my father didn't do a great job of raising me, but there is nothing like having a mother to hold and sing to you.

I have to mention how stubborn I am, it's just something that I can never forget because I continually am being defiant and obstinate towards my ideas. Sometimes I wonder is my stubbornness was what held me to the opinion that my mother would survive, and what lead me to be strong for her. If that's the case, I am sure it's not a bad thing. Not always, at least.

Broken hearts all around the spot
I can't help thinking that we lost the plot
Suicide bomber and a student shot
Tokyo I think we got a problem

BECAUSE YOUR HEART IS STRONG

I'm all my father has left of what used to be a happy family. No, my mother didn't die in some horrible accident, if that's what your thinking. She didn't even have some big argument with dad before she left, nor did she go missing. Anyway, before I tell you what happened there, I'll give you some information that my dad shared with me, as I was too young at the time to remember it.

I was born to my two parents at home, a natural birth, the way my mother wanted it. My father, in love with my mother as he was, didn't object despite his thoughts that it might be safer for her to have me in a healer's house. No, don't worry, my mother survived my birth, much to both of their reliefs. I was supposedly born as a fairly light baby, which I suppose was pretty normal to a mother who only measured to about 5'0" in height. I was healthy, and happy, and thus my parents were happy too. I grew hair relatively quickly, but it stayed short for a while. It was almost bristly, apparently, though it was a marvelous shade of brown.

Four years of joy passed, even if the odd scrape or bruise brought tears to my eyes. Over all, it was four good years and I hold the few memories I retain from those years dearly. But then, in the beginning of my fifth year, I noticed a change in my mother. She suddenly was starting to do less and less of the walking she had so loved to do. Often times, she used to take me in one method or another, and, having quickly learned to walk as I did, I would do my best to walk with her rather than be pushed in a stroller or carried. It was that stubbornness coming into play.

But now, she was getting slowly weaker. It was hard for her to manage half of her normal distance, and she would walk slower than normal especially on the way back. Young as I was, I didn't know what it was hinting to, just that it was different. It was nearly a month after I first noticed changes in my mother that my father did. Perhaps it was because my mother always passed off his questions with a reply about just being tired or perhaps having the flu. It was nothing to worry about, according to her.

Except it was something to worry about. When my father became suspicious of the various signs of weakness that the sickness was drawing out of my mother, he called in the local doctor. After a full check-up, the doctor announced that my mother was sick because of something called acute organ failure, in this case it was her kidneys. In all likelihood, she would die. Unless we were lucky enough to catch the District three hospital with a transplantable kidney, however the chances of that happening, especially being as poor as we were for how much it would cost to even be put on the waiting list, were slim to none. As a young girl, though, I could only believe that my mother was the strongest person ever, and that she would survive.

But for that they have gotta pill
If that don't kill you then the side effects will
If we don't kill each other then the side effects will
Cape Town I think we got a problem

AND YOUR CLAWS ARE SHARP

At first the symptoms were only slight and relatively easy to deal with. She would feel tired, or weak, and would simply lie down for a while and be well enough to function again. However, as time wore on she got worse. It got to the point where she would spend all day in bed, and only get up when she was too uncomfortable or when she had to go to the bathroom. This fluxuated day to day, and sometimes she would be up what seemed like every two minutes, while other times she wouldn't have to get up for many hours.

What scared me the most was when I went to see her once and she didn't recognize me. She told me I reminded her of her daughter, and that she was sad that this was happening to her because she knew she wouldn't be able to spend enough time with her daughter. I tried to talk to her, to tell her a story or anything for her to just think about rather than her illness, but I could see she wasn't focusing. She had a distant look in her eyes, and she would stare at nothing. Stubborn child that I was, I would continue to talk or read to her until she either fell asleep or my dad got me. Maybe I actually did help her in some respect.

The next thing that happened to her was a couple months after she was diagnosed. She had tried to get up to go to the bathroom when she found that she couldn't move her legs. It wasn't even that it was difficult, or that they had gone numb, but she had no movement in them at all. Father quickly summoned the same doctor that had performed the diagnosis and she quickly assessed my mother. Quietly, she said that this was yet another symptom of kidney failure and it would happen off and on, sometimes occurring in one or more muscles. As well, she said, there would be muscle cramps and possibly swelling, therefore she would be best off staying in bed unless there was a need for her not to. She gave us a bed pan and showed us how to care for her, before saying that she would look into a kidney transplant. She warned that it might be too late for one anyway, even if she were able to arrange one. The look she and my father shared was one I will never forget.

Another month passed, much worse than any time before, and my mother never got any better. She only got worse. Because of her being bed-ridden, she had to be sure to turn every so often to try and prevent bed sores. As it was, it was hard for her to sleep on her back, or even her side, and would end up tossing and turning constantly in an effort to get comfortable. Her joints swelled up slightly, only adding to the discomfort, and she would grow short of breath easily, even with how little activity she was partaking in. My father knew the end was near, as did my mother, when she could think straight. I, however, had not given up yet.

That was, until it happened. She went still in the night, suddenly stopping her normally ceaseless thrashing against her pain. My father went in to check on her, coming back out with the most forlorn look I have ever seen. He came over to me and picked me up, carrying me, still sleepy-eyed but quite aware, into my mother's room. She lay on the bed, her breathing shallow and a pain in her eyes that I had never seen before even when she had the worst cramps. My father placed me on the foot of the bed, and sat in the chair beside the bed. I crawled over to my mother and lay beside her, not sure of what else to do. My mother leaned her head against my temple and her skin felt both exceptionally cold and hot. It was then that the hope I had stubbornly clung to failed me and I was left with nothing but a dying mother and tears enough to fill an ocean.

If the darkest hour comes
Before the light
Where is the light
Where is the light

GIVING UP ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH

I cried and pressed myself against my mother, remaining there long past the time when her breath stopped and her body went silent. My father came to kneel beside the bed and held one of my mothers hands in his, while his other hand stroked my hair. He said nothing, and there was nothing that he could have said that would have made me feel any less lost. I had just watched, felt, heard my mother die. I felt as though I had been taken from my home and thrown into the wilderness. It was only because of my father's deep and continuing love for me that I made it back alive.

It was only a couple weeks until we buried her body. In her hair was one of the two bear clips she had given me, and my father had placed the pendant he had given her in her hand, which was clutched in the other and laid over her chest. The chain was around my neck, with one of her other pendants on it. I didn't cry at the funeral, for all that there were unrelenting tears pushing at the corners of my eyes. I had to be strong for her, and for my father. I couldn't cry anymore.

We never truly got over her loss, and I don't think we ever will, but even still it was only a few months before we fell into a sort of "new normal". For so long, our normal had been caring for my mother's every need as she lay dying. Now that was gone, as was she, and we had to reorganize our lives around something else. Not once did we ever try to push away her memory, but instead we had to push away the fact that she wasn't here, for otherwise our lives would be nothing but loss and mourning.

Under this "new normal" I began to learn about my father's work, and by the time I was nine I could solder as well as any sixteen year old. It was then that my father began to bring me around his work. At first, there was little resistance since I stayed out of the way, was quiet and was always under my father's supervision. As I grew more accustomed to the place, and he had become confident in my abilities, I began to help him with his work, and he would sometimes leave me unsupervised even as I worked with industrial soldering irons and wires required for crucial machinery. A fuss was raised then, until they saw my work was of no less quality than that of the apprentices. I officially became my father's apprentice at the age of ten.

Along with school, I work with my father. We had become inseparable since my mother's death, and this remains true. I am now in the same league as the eldest apprentices, although they try to disclaim that. My father tells me that I will have no trouble when I need work, and that it would be easy for me to just stay in this company. Who knows, maybe I'd even become the boss one day. But I didn't put my hope in that. I merely wished to do a job I enjoyed, and work with my father until he retired, when I could them support him. If I rose in the company, I rose in the company. Family had become the most important thing in my life, starting from the year I turned four.

Ave Mary A
Where did you go
Where did you go
How did you know to get out of a world gone mad
Help me help me let go
Of the chaos around me
The devil that hounds me
I need you to tell me

OTHER

This character was designed using knowledge of Brown bears. She is merely based off of them, but does not have any genetic mutation or added DNA.

FC: Mary Jo

Lyrics: Ave Mary A by P!nk

Words
22 - Introduction
1066 - Appearance
677 - Personality
1825 - History
3590 - Total

Child be still
Child be still
Child be still

odair