Zaira Brezanae, District 12

Name: Zaira Abigail Brezanae, or Zab for short.
Age: Sixteen.
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 12
Appearance:

I'm short, I know that. I have no idea the exact number, inches and feet and all that. I'm also scrawny, much to my mother's dismay. I'm talking ribs showing scrawny, and nobody is suprised by that fact due to the whole lack of food thing. I don't get much sun, another big suprise, so naturaly I'm pale as...something pale.

My eyes are grey, which is a huge shocker with me being from the seam and all. I have my mother's hair color, strawberry blonde to the point its pink. She should have just named me Sue. My hair is...I like to call it beyond help. My mother calls it frizzy, or overly curley. It gets in my face constantly, so I keep it tied back with a rope. I have this weird birth mark on my left thigh...it kind of looks like a cloud to me. Or a lumpy thing. Theres also this mole on the back of my neck, it bothers me to no end and I think its gross. My face is almost perfect though. I'm joking. I'm not exactly a model, there is this annoying pimple that keeps apearing on my nose. I'm going to chop it off next time I see it.

I tend to wear a jacket all the time, even if its hot. Its an old, baggy, ragged jacket that stopped zipping up a long time ago. I pair it with my favorite ugly green shirt and baggy black pants. I hate shoes, they hurt and are annoying, mostly because they are hand-me-downs. I like to go running around without them, making my feet all scratched and dirty, like I like them. Don't worry, I wear the shoes when its too cold to go out without them.

Personality:

I speak my mind, and I get a bit smart-mouthed. I'm not the most lovable person on earth, but I'm not heartless. I enjoy making friends, I'm very loyal. I never break a promise, but I will lie to you if I want or feel it is needed. I like to get to the point, Dragging on isn't somthing I would normaly do, unless I'm confused about something.

I get annoyed by small things, such as moles on my neck or frizzy hair in my face. I hate sour things, and sweets taste wierd to me. But I love bread, its my most favorite food in the world. I don't eat much, even when there is food. I like to share everything with everybody, unless its something I want just for myself.

I have a strange love for cats. They make me happy, I don't know why though, my dad was a dog person, and I'm more like him. I have my father's emotions, meaning I get mad very easy and I try not to cry in front of others. Although, I did get my mother's soft spot for children. I can't stand seeing anyone younger than me getting hurt.

History:

There's not much to it. To me, anyway. Short version is my dad left and my brother died. But that sounds stupid, doesn't it? Here is the long version. Although I warn you, its no different than a vast number of other people that live in 12.

My dad was the love of my mother's life, so she was obviously messed up. But I never met him, so it doesn't bother me that hes gone. The only reason I know so much about him is my mother talks about him every chance she gets. I know she misses him, so I don't complain.

My mom was pregnant with me when my dad left us. My brother, being only five at the time, didn't understand why dad left, so he grew up angry at the world and very angry at me. I think he hated me, and blamed me for dad leaving. I think it was because he didn't want to live in this dump district anymore, but thats just me. My brother ignored me for most of my life, only speaking to me or looking at me when needed. Its not like I cared, I would have taken an arrow or a bullet for him if he hated me or not. He was my brother, no matter what. I like to think maybe he liked me a little on the inside.

When my brother went to work in the mines, it was like I knew he was doomed. Every time he went down in there, I never expected him to come out. It was like with the reapings, I always expected to have his or my name called. The twisted part is, he died on my fourteenth birthday. When my mother collected me from school that day and told me there was an accident in the mines, I knew just by the look on her face that my brother had not gotten out safely. Still, we sat outside the mine opening for almost three days. I left on the night of the third day, giving up. My mother didn't come home until hours later, crying and throwing a fit, screaming about being left behind again.

So, now I'm sixteen, my mother is a crazy drunk, and I used to have a cat named Biscuit. I'm not sure where he is now though, I havn't seen him in a while. So far I've made a total of zero friends. That is all I have for my history. Eh, I'm young, I havn't even had a history yet. Come back in about twenty years, I might have more to tell you. Who knows, maybe I'll even have a trip to the Hunger Games to talk about.

Codeword: Odair
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