Daphne Amber Linden - District 7

I never really liked the look of my face. My mother says that I always look angry. My eyebrows are set far to low on my brow so that I look like I’m always frowning. My eyes are small and inset, droopy with sadness. What could ever have happened to me growing up that made me look so sad all the time? It is not just the chronic sadness on my face that I dislike. No, it is also the tight squareness of my jaw, the large round nose, and especially the long flat lips. These lips were impossible, for they stretch across my face with no hint of happiness. Even when I smile, my face does not lighten the way it should. Perhaps this is why I grew up to be so serious in my actions and personality. I could not escape the serious look on my face, and so my personality grew to reflect that which I could not change. My favorite thing about my face is my many freckles. They dot my face, mainly across my nose, some of them larger and darker then others which are small and faint. I love to count them when I peer into the mirror or even when I peer into the pond and see my reflection. That is always a challenge however, as the moving water makes it hard to focus on the spots.

In a basic description of myself, I guess you would say I have light strawberry blonde hair, long which reaches half way down my back. It is straight most of the time, but during the rainy seasons it can get wavy and frizzy, body actually forming in the usual limpness. My eyes are a light blue grey, the color of the clouds before an on coming storm. They seem to reflect the wind as it comes blowing through the trees. I am tall for my age and for my family at 5 foot 7 inches. My legs are lanky, as well as my arms, but they are strong and lean with muscle. My long legs let me run fast, but not for very long. My arms are strong from cutting logs and climbing trees. It is strange how the thing I want most in the world is to climb tall trees up to the sky where I can hop on a passing cloud and drift away, especially when my family survives in the business of chopping those trees to the ground and slicing them into lumber. I guess you could say that I am under weight, being only 115-120 give or take a few pounds.

My clothes are plain, usually consisting of some form of rough pant and a long sleeve button up shirt with the District 7 emblem on the right sleeve. These are the basic work clothes we wear while chopping away at the trees. Boots cover our feet protecting them. I hate wearing the long pants and long sleeves. Luckily, being the youngest girl of many children, and having some older sisters that think that live in district 1, various “girlier” clothing items have been passed down to me. One of my older sister’s is handy with a needle and makes the most beautiful dresses when she can get her hands on some nice fabric. I have never received one especially made for me, and being taller than all my sisters, the dresses I do have are usually shorter then what mama would have me wear. Nevertheless, when I am not in the woods, I refuse to pull up those pants and button those shirts.

My mother has a singular pet peeve with me that drives her insane. Being the youngest, I get forgotten a lot, but I guess I leave little reminds of my presence here there and everywhere. Rarely do I not have my pocket knife in my hands accompanied by a piece of wood. I love to carve. My long fingers make it possible for me to gently but strongly grip the knife in order to carve all sorts of figures. My favorites are animals. I love to carve the mangy fur of the wolves or the quills of the porcupine. The downside is that I leave little wood shavings everywhere I go, in the house, on my clothes, in my hair, everywhere. It is enough to drive my mother crazy.

I guess if I was to be examine by a psychiatrist I would be diagnose with being a typical youngest child. By the time I came into this world, seven others had come before me. The noise and chaos of the house made it very difficult for my wants and needs to be heard let alone be taken care of. I am talking when I was a young child. Very quickly, I learned that self-sustenance is the easiest way to survive in my family. I was content to blend into the background, help myself if I needed something, and listen when told what to do. Compared to my other siblings, this made me the best-behaved one of the group. Instead of taking this opportunity to salute me, my parents found that it just made it easier to forget that I was there most of the time. In their defense, I never complained. I never shouted out for attention. I remained quiet, and still do to this day.

However quiet I am, un-opinionated I am not. I am very good at sitting in a crowd and soaking up all the information exuded within such a crowd. I was always the family secret keeper, as it seemed as though nothing could get by me, and little could. My listening skills gave me a leg up on my siblings sometimes. Even though I am still a great secret keeper, their was always that leverage one has when they know something they shouldn’t. My siblings could always trust me not to tell mother about the new beau Briony had or the fight that Darby got into last week, however a little kindness or a bribe always served their minds well to quiet them of any fears of blackmail. As for my opinions, I have many. I am able to think for myself, a trait I highly value in a person. I do not like to follow along with the crowd just because it is the judgment of the crowd that I do so. Though I am well mannered in most every sense of the word obedient, to blindly follow what your heart, never mind you head, screams against is not a belief I hold dear.

I highly value my alone time. In a house where it always seems as though there is some commotion of some conversation, to sit with a knife and carve something new, born out of the wood in your hands, is the most pleasant and sought after moments of my life. It is very easy to sneak away and have these moments when no one misses you at home. As for friends, I do not have many. I stopped going to school everyday when my family needed me to start working. It was then that any childhood friends I once had faded into either the forest or into their books. I rarely have time to keep up with my studies, and so I just go on with them as though they are something I must get over with. I have always envied those who continued their education to the fullest. To become knowledgeable in all things is an important trait to have, especially in the world we live in. It does not pay to be ignorant in times like these.

I have always had a serious attitude about everything. Before my grandmother died she used to say that I was an 80-year-old woman trapped in a child’s body. She went on to say that this woman had lived a hard life and had forgotten how to laugh and smile. I would always smile for her when she said this, though I knew it was just a reaction to make her feel better. I rarely had much to laugh and smile about. My face was usually stuck in serious mode. I concentrate hard on my cravings, so hard that I sometimes give myself headaches, but when I finish and feel the smooth, light wood on my fingers, a rare grin embraces my lips. However, these moments are privet moments. In everyday life, I try to seem as though I am not unhappy all the time, and truth be told, I am not. I love my family, as tedious as they are, and I love the little freedom I have. I guess the correct word would be thankful, and it is not natural for me to show this thankfulness. It is a slippery ground that I walk, trying to feign emotion when I do not know how to express it outwardly.

My mother was from a wealthier family in District 7, although those living in the district know that the wealth of district 7 in nothing in comparison to other districts. Nevertheless, her family was able to provide a very stable upbringing for her. However, a sickness swept over her household when she was just turning 18. Her three brothers and father died, and the family lost much of what they had. Her mother hired her out to work in the lumberyards as most of the population if district 7 did. It was here that she met my father, a tall and slender ax man. Before long they were married and moved into a small cottage on the edge of the village. My parents must have loved each other very much, for from them came first my brother Daniel, then my sisters Briony, Sage, and Wren, then my other brothers Darby and Drake, my closest sister Ilsa, and then finally me. The small cottage teemed with life by the time I was brought into the world. Each of the sexes had their own bedroom, and my parents a separate one for themselves. After eight children, my mother’s body broke down and she had no more. After my birth, she was weaker then she had ever been. She rarely went out to the forest anymore and could not wield the heavy axes that are often required. Instead, she tended the home and her many children.

In the usual youngest child fashion, I was mostly forgotten among my parents and even my siblings. Since I didn’t speak up and command attention, I was not given it. I never wanted it so I always saw it as a blessing. My childhood was happy. We never truly staved or wanted for anything. We even received gifts every now an again and I was always happy to receive hand me down clothing or toys from my siblings. However, I was happiness in a cotton dress, pigtails in my hair, knife in hand carving a bear, sitting on a log as my father was yards away working. I enjoyed my time with my father, even though it was usually just time spent in his presence. He rarely had time to have a conversation for he was either working or too tired. After all, think of all the children he had to support. However, when my father did have something to say it was worth paying attention to. Of course I paid good attention to everything around me, but his words seemed to draw you in. I believe that if he had the chance he could have been a great orator or announcer.

Growing up around trees and in the forest, I quickly learned how to handle a multitude of sharp objects but clearly favored the art of my knife. I was not overly strong so the axe, the most common tool of District 7, was not my forte. However, well all knew how to handle one if we liked it or not. Another thing I became increasing good at as a child, and greatly enjoyed for the thrill it gave me, was climbing trees. I loved to try and challenge myself to climb as high as I possibly could before either I ran out of branches to scramble up or I got so high, the height made me dizzy. The later was rarely the reason I would descend from the heights. The air is so much clearer up high. I like the feeling of almost being able to reach out and touch the clouds. It feels freeing, like you can grab hold of a cloud and drift off and away. Another trait life in the forest and lumber business has taught me is balance. A game my siblings and I play often is who can balance on the log the longest. We challenge ourselves to perform tricks on the logs, even as they are moving. My sister Wren is the best at this, winning most often with her quick feet and flexible body.

All of my sisters, with the exception of my closest sibling Ilsa, are gossip lovers and boy crazy. Ilsa is crazy for attention and is known in our house for throwing ground shaking temper tantrums. My twin brothers, Darby and Drake are both the beefy jock types. They love getting into fights, gambling, and tempting their chances of getting held in the stockades for a day. I find them very boring and stupid. Of all my siblings, I was closest to my oldest brother Daniel. He was kind and passionate. He often writes stories, which I love to read, and loved him reading them to me even more. But that was years ago.

You can imagine the fear my parents go through every year with so many children whose names go into the drawing. With my mother not working and their being so many of us, it is a challenge to keep the lifestyle our parents want for us. It was decided that at the age of sixteen, each one of us would take out a tesserae. This would make the chances of a Linden child going to the games even more possible. It wasn’t until my first reaping that the worst thing possible happened. The last name of Linden was indeed called, first name Daniel. My brother was quickly escorted away. When the family was allowed to wish his fairwell, there were so many of us packed into the small room that it was hard for me to say what I wished to my eldest brother. I received only a short hug before we were escorted away. He did not last through the second day before he was eliminated.

Ever since that specific reaping, my first, I couldn’t help but dread hearing one of my siblings names, or my own name being called out for all to hear. My mother and father had been hit hard by the loss of their first born son. I could not imagine that loss of a second child. With out Daniel and the impact that his death took on my father, it became harder for my family to maintain a acceptable state of living. My eldest sister was no longer in the lottery, married, and was widowed with one child after a tragic accident in the woods. She now lived with the family again, added yet another growing mouth to feed.

Because only the youngest four siblings were still eligible for the reaping, even though my sister Ilsa and I were not yet sixteen, it was decided that a tesserae would be added early. I could no longer concentrate on school and education and spent my time working in the forest. On the side, I tried to sell my carvings, but rarely did they fetch any thing worthwhile. My family would survive, and I was prepared to sacrifice everything to see that happen.

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