Theodore Deux ~ District 1

Name: Theodore Deux
Age: 15
Gender: Male
District/Area: District 1
Appearance:

Theodore is around average height for his age, and rather slim. His skin is a light bronze, his hair black and wavy. His eyes are a deep hazel riddled with lighter lines. His glasses - large, bold square frame lenses, bringing the horizon into focus. His vision is less than perfect, undesirable for a career. On a common day Theodore can be seen wearing his favorite white jacket, black jeans and classic white checkered sneakers. Casual but not intimidating, undesirable for a career.

A slender child he was, his shoulders broad with a prominent collarbone. His mother often wondered if he ate enough, in between his training of course. His presence was gentle, but uninviting all the same. His handshakes were firm, but so delicately planned the anticipated enthusiasm expected from a chance meeting could never be found. He was cold and aloof, like a specter. His footsteps lacked the drive and motivation to be anticipated from a person of such youth.

Theodore rarely smiled, but he frowned often. His eyes would tick or shift at the faintest sense of movement. His palms were not soft in the least, yet they lacked the calluses and bruises collected by artisans of violence and war. For a career, he most certainly did not look like one. Looks could be deceiving.

Personality:

I watched her work. A scratch, a prick, a cut. She made those scarves, as soft and as nice as they were - with her rough overworked hands. I could swear that machine was aging her, every rap of the sewing needle, adding a day to each fingertip. My mother was dedicated to providing the capital with only the finest. Someone had to, as my father had disappeared long ago. I wasn't the most "presentable" of children, but this was at least partially by choice. My mother did what she could to provide what little I had asked for.

On this particular occasion I'd received a kitten. It was a small calico cat, with white paws. My mother had given it to me only yesterday and as I made my way upstairs I anticipated the comfort it would provide me after a tiring day of career training. It was asleep, in a shoe box I had decorated for it. I put my index and pointer fingers together, stroking it's back gently as it slept. As I was about to wake it I thought; how naive this creature must be. How naive I must be. This specimen of innocence was born only days ago, and I've been in this cruel world for years. How could it possibly learn anything from me? I would probably just abandon it in it's youth, never to return. And it would but suffer, longing for my presence. Navigating the harsh, unforgiving wilderness of mortality - alone. That wasn't fair, was it? I pined for it to understand. But of course it couldn't, it was a cat after all. I lifted the small box, tilting it to the left. The little ball of fur slid forward, slamming headfirst into the side of the narrow box. I heard it's neck break on impact, snapping like a rotten toothpick. Yet it still made noise. So I shook that little shoe box back and forth, back and forth, like a cradle in a sea-storm. By the time I stopped it was but a mangled quadrupedal mess. I picked it up, it's head hanging limply, and brought it to my face. "Still warm" I said. I put it back in the box, curled it up, wrapping the small towel back around it and brought it downstairs.

"Mother, I said, "He didn't wake up." My eyes watered, and she stepped forward to embrace me. I rested my head on her shoulder and she stroked my hair, kissing me on the head. "I'll get you another one. I'm sorry Teddy, I know you were excited for another pet." How strange it was, she never even looked into the shoe box. I turned my head to gaze at my reflection in the hall mirror. This cycle was bound to repeat itself, as it had in the past. I can't say I have regrets though, becoming a career was my choice after-all.

Maybe she was just stupid, or desperate. She kept presenting me with benign, cherubic little animals despite her awareness for my lack of control. I loved killing, subduing. I felt like a god, deciding the fate of smaller, weaker creatures on a whim. It was sick and sad, but I loved it. The more I watched others suffer the closer I felt to them. Euphoria, to pick and prod at someones psyche until they gave you not just a glimpse, but a full view at the inside of their head. Others have seen me cry, more often than not. So why is such a luxury reserved for them. I want them to feel how I feel, to suffer in the same way I have. Killing - an art form. Something bound to happen. I suppose we're all just swimming against the riptide, waiting it to carry us home into the sunset as silhouettes. I felt like a pendulum, swinging back and forth. I was gentle, I meant well, but my hands could only perform one task. To strangle, to stab, to strike...to kill. I loved being hit, hurt, beaten by others. It proved to me they cared enough to take action. the anger in their eyes as they tried to damage my facade, my physique, and I theirs. "Stronger than I look," my father would say before he took his leave. I miss him. I miss everyone. "You're the only one I've got left," I'd say to my mirror, "And I, you" he'd respond.

History:

Theodore Deux was born in district One to a seamstress of great skill and a watchmaker of great patience. A humble and quiet home the Deux's had maintained. Luxury items, for the Capital, that was their only focus. It had consumed them as a glutton would a meal. But one day hope arrived. A child, Theodore Deux, was born. Unfit to train as a career they said. Blind as a bat they gossiped. Yet such a child was determined to succeed. The glasses were never truly necessary anyway.

Great intelligence was a versatile weapon, and Theodore "Teddy" Deux utilized it quite well. Reading by the age of two had been a formality, not a chore. Academia, though polluted with capital propaganda, proved very useful towards both life and training. At the age of 8, Theodore decided he wanted to be a career. Downtrodden by the absence of his father and lack of direction, he admired the passion of bloodshed the games had brought. He could almost taste the sweet tears on the faces of children from other districts as they were chosen for the games. And yet, he was not eligible until the age of 15, such a disappointment. Tragic, simply tragic.

The plight of the feeble minded, he would recant in solitude. Acquiring companions had not come easily to him, in fact it hadn't come at all. His worldview was a barrier, his deepest indulgences a secret, and it isolated him. The strength of self reliance conflicted by the weakness of such a narrow worldview. Now, the humble age of fifteen, Theodore trains in anticipation of being chosen for the games. Calm and confident on the outside, soft and fearful within. Death is more than likely, but it would be a remarkable alternative to regret.

Codeword:Codeword: <img src="http://i41.tinypic.com/16h2ibt.png"> [/blockquote]
Comments/Other:

Comments/Other: tell me what needs editing and I'll happily oblige. ^.^