Aspen Asano D7 {Fin!}

In every district, there's that one single girl that captivates everyone, making males trip and lose their balance, causing females to envy her surreal beauty. One girl that seems to do everything perfectly, never skipping a step or missing a beat. The girl that has all the boys wrapped around her delicate, pretty fingers. The very girl that little children admire and pretend to be. Well Aspen Asano, is definitely not that girl.

Well let me describe myself for the sake of future generations. I have a petite, oval shaped face that sports pale as winter skin. As often as I try to soak up the sun's golden rays, my heritage rejects the sun-kissed tone that I wish I could have. My golden-toned mother says that my complexion is a gift, making me look like a china doll, ever so prim and pristine. But what is a gift if you wish you didn't have it?

My light brown hair is almost always in a somewhat deshevled state. Silky, sleek locks are not a part of my inheritance. The uncontrolable mess branches out of the top of my head, refusing to be tamed. But honestly, I'm not too concerned with the way I look, I am not vain. It matters to me, not what is on the outside, but what lies on the inside of a person. That is where true beauty lies.

My eyes are the only thing unique to me, something that is purely mine. The almond-shaped brown eyes that are common to the district, are flecked with gold, giving it a certain shimmer. Perhaps this is the only thing that makes me "beautiful" on the outside. At least, it's the only physical trait of mine that I can, in fact, take pride in.

Thanks to the tradition of the district, I was named after a tree. Aspen has turned out to be quite a fitting name for me. The tree who's name I bear, is a tall, slender creation, such as myself. I'm taller than most of the girls that surround me, standing at 5"10. My slender frame also reinforces my mother's "china doll" description. If I were to be dipped into a lake and then weighed, I doubt that I would even weigh a meager 100 pounds. Mother jokes saying, if a big gale were to blow through, I'd be swept away with the leaves. Sometimes I believe her.

Okay, so I'll admit, I'm no hero. As much as I wish I could be brave, I cower in the face of the slightest problem. The most dangerous thing I ever did involved me telling my mother I wanted chicken for dinner instead of pork. With that said, it's only obvious that I associate with those that seem powerful and strong willed, for my protection you know? You can't blame a girl for wanting to be safe in today's troubled society.

What am I into? By that do you mean, what I like to do in my spare time? Well for one, I like to write poetry. There's something about it that makes me feel, free. I don't have to censor my thoughts or curb my tounge when I express myself on paper. It's liberating to be able to speak my mind, not worrying about what others say or think. I feel like I can truely be, well me.

I can be somewhat of an introvert, never speaking until spoken to. That's the way my mother raised me, and it severly crippled my ability to make aquaintences. I'm supposed to be this living image of perfection to my mother, and it's exausting. "No elbows on the table Aspen, stand tall, shoulders back Aspen, speak quieter Aspen." The constant nagging of my mother never ends. The way she conducts herself, you would think she was the wife of the president of Panem himself, not the mayor of a small, forgettable District.

I guess one could say that I have lead a "blessed" life. Well, as blessed as a citizen from District Seven could get. My father has been the mayor of District 7 before I was even brought into the world. Well, he's not technically my father, but he's the only one I've ever known. Only a few months ago, on my 19th birthday, mother revealed a secret that they have been keeping from me for so long.

Mother and Father came home one night to find a small, whimpering child wrapped in a blanket, placed on their doorstep. That child was me. She showed me the note that was tied to my arm, she had saved it, for some reason. Yellowed and worn, the small note explained how my biological mother, who remains unnamed, had too many children to care for. I never questioned why mother and father looked so different from me, but soon it became clear.

Now I walk the streets gazing at every woman wodering if she could, in fact, be my long lost mother. Could some of the teenagers I see pass by actually be my siblings? Perhaps I'll never know. But for now, I focus on my schooling. Mother says that if I'm ever to take over for Father, I need to be well educated.

Along with revealing that I was adopted, Mother told me something else that she was previously keeping from me. She had given birth to a girl only to see her die from unexplained reasons. Only a mere six months later, she found me. Maybe this is why she had been so eager to take my under her wings, but I'm nonetheless grateful.