{Simba Eleodora} {District 5} {Finished}

Simba Eleodora

Here is everything you need to know about me. My name is Simba Eleodora.I am a male. I am seventeen. I live in District 5. I am heterosexual. I work at studios. My favorite colors are Seafoam, Dead Grass, Rosey Blush, and Blue Suede.

Appearance

It's hard not to notice my face, even if you have to tilt your head back to look at it. I have a hard, oval-shaped head wrapped in very light brown skin. It rises high in the sky, making my head poke out in crowds. Being exactly six feet tall is every male Eledora's destiny. I've obviously reached my growing point; I won't grow an inch taller.

Framing my rather large head is strands of hair that are jet black. The wisps of hair frame my face in different ways every day. Sometimes they lay flat against my forehead, not having the ability to flip. Other days it will hug my head, wrapping around it tight, and I can flip it all day long. My hair is always long for most guys my age, but sometimes it dangles above my shoulders. When it is that length, it sprawls into a variety of waves of curls.

Resting in the shade of my hair are my two bushy eyebrows. They curve around two small eyes. The color of my irises are a shade of brown that is so dark it's practically black. They are framed by thin, short, black eyelashes that are barely visible. Beginning between my two eyes, is a long, thin nose. Stitched onto my face are lips unlike all my other limbs. Instead of being long and thin, they are small and full. Their shade is different from everything else; it's not brown or black, but a deep, rosey red.

My cheeks are very hollow, and the skin that stretches across my cheekbones is very thin. My baby fat has disappeared long ago, which means I can barely pull and pinch the skin like grandmothers love to do to their grandchildren. Of course, my cheeks have never been able to be pinched and pulled like that, except for when I was a baby. I don't mind though, I can draw the attention from my food-deprived cheeks. I blush very easily, so most of the time my cheeks are filled with a deep, red pigment. I think the color makes my cheeks look better, but you never know.

My upper body is nothing to boast about. The skin surrounding my ribs is stretched thin and tight over the fragile bones. My rib cage is very prominent; people always joke how one day my ribs will be able to cut through my skin. Often the shirts I wear cling to my middle, showing off my underfed body. I know how much my older brother despises this, so I often wear two or three shirts.

Dangling next to my paper-thin body are two elongated arms. Like all my other appendages, my arms are long and thin, seeming to extend on and on. At the ends of my arms are ten, slender, stretched, digits. I'm not really sure that they are good for anything, except that I can wrap my hands around objects further than most people. My grip is much stronger than people with short, chubby fingers. I can tell you that for a fact.

The shirts that my twig-like arms slide through are often hand-me-downs. I don't have many shirts that have been only owned by me. About three fourths of my shirts have originally belonged to my brother of my father. Even though the shirts are years old, a few are quite large and loose on me. I don't mind, though. I like the style of these older clothes more than the ones in the shops today.

The description of my legs is the same description of my arms. Long, thin, nothing is different. Because my legs are so skinny, people often assume it's because I'm weak and have no muscle. My legs are actually quite strong from stunts I have to do. It doesn't show, though. Muscles or not, I still have an A in gym.

Unlike my shirts, my jeans aren't mostly hand-me-downs. My father and brother weren't the same height as me when they were seventeen, so all the pants I have have only been mine. The ones I bought are really baggy; I don't want them clinging to my calves as my shirts cling to my ribs. I don't buy new jeans often; the ones I wear could fit me at least a good three years. I don't really care about the clothes I wear. I prefer to buy cheaper clothes so that my sister can get the clothes she wants.

As you can tell, I'm underweight. I weigh roughly around 135 pounds, give or take a few. The last time I went to a "doctor", she told me I was just barely underweight. I thought I was way underweight, considering I know guys who are 5'6" and the weigh like 30 pounds more than me. I'm not underfed; we aren't poor in any means. I chose to not eat that much.

Personality

I'm a goofball. Really. All I have ever done since I was little was cut up and goof off. I mean, life's no fun if you don't ever try to make it fun, you know? That's how I see things, so I always make sure I have the most fun in life as possible. It's not too hard for me. I'm a natural at having fun.

I never take stuff seriously. I learned that from my parents. Even though they were pretty crazy, they always took stuff too seriously. Look where they are now, buried deep in the ground. Dead. I guess I do take on thing seriously. My sister. I have to make sure she lives, every second, every minute, every hour, every day. She's the most important thing to me.

I have a laid-back attitude because of my work. I'm an actor. I love to act, whether it's in a small school play or for a movie that could air all over Panem. Most movies don't make it outside of Five, but I still love acting. I guess it makes me show my emotions more.

I have a lot of diseases, and they have helped shape me into who I am. I have epilepsy. Ever since I was about seven, I've had seizures, like most people who have epilepsy do. They've practically disappeared by now though. I also have staring spells, which means I might be staring at a certain thing, or person for a long time. I can get confused often, especially when people are talking really fast or in an odd fashion. Most strangers assume that I'm weird and try to avoid me, but people who actually know me work around my conditions.

I also have Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. It's connected to my epilepsy, but it brings more symptoms with it. Oddly, I have the opposite of most symptoms. For example, most people with FAS have poor socialization skills, but as you can see, that isn't true. I have quite a lot of friends and I get along great with people.

Another symptom that I have the opposite of is lack of imagination and curiosity. Everything seems to amaze me. I ask tons of questions, which can annoy people sometimes. I have a great sense of imagination as well, for I often help edit scripts for shows and movies, even if I don't have a role in it. When I was younger, I would love to play pretend. Most people assume that I don't really have FAS, since I have the opposite of most symptoms.

One symptom I actually have is that I have no coordination at all. You could be standing right next to me and gently toss me something, and I couldn't even have a chance at catching the object. I've never played any sports because of this, which is why I don't have an A in gym. I don't mind really. Not being athletic brought me to acting.

One other symptom I have is lack of memory. I don't remember much things, which can sometimes irritate people. I always have to write down important things, such as assignments and meetings with friends. Most people don't realize that I have memory problems. It's something I've lived with ever since I've had seizures. I don't really mind any of my symptoms. I wouldn't be me without them.

History

My brother was five when I was born, and I guarantee you, he was the happiest big sibling in that whole hospital. My parents were crazy, and I know he must have been happy to have somebody to share that with. My parents were obsessed with lions. They practically worshipped them. It was like they had a religion of lionism or something.

My brother had been named Aslan, after a lion from a book from before the dark ages. My name, Simba, came from a lion from a movie that was even older than the book with Aslan. When Aslan was born, he was given a small lion doll. I was given a flat, ugly lion that I can only describe as a waffle. It was given the name Mufasa, a lion from the same movie as Simba.

My dad told me I obviously got FAS because of my mom. She got drunk often in the first couple of months where she didnt know she was pregnant. My mother never apologized to me about it. She was proud to have a son with diseases that he could fight. I know from my parents that the signs of epilepsy came first, and after a few seizures, FAS began to show.

I don't remember much from my childhood, but my parents did, especially my mom. Once she learned she was pregnant, she knew FAS would have to pop up sooner or later, and she knew about the memories fading away. Everyday she would write down the things I did. Nothing exciting ever happened. I would play with Aslan and Mufasa. I would go to pre-school occasionally. I would eat, drink, sleep, etc. etc.

I was five when my baby sister, Ariel, was born. I was at school, sometime in my second week, when it was happening. My teacher allowed me to leave and go to the hospital. I remember how hard I ran, how fast I ran. I remember coming into the waiting covered in sweat and breathless. My father was so proud that they had a girl, and that she would have two wonderful big brothers. I was told they named her from a lion of a "god" from centuries ago. She was given a lion also, but I don't remember its name.

When we brought her home, I finally saw my house as it really was. It was orange and yellow and brown in every room. Whether the color was on the walls, the carpet, or the furniture, it was there. There were vases, chairs, lamps, and all sorts of trinkets in the shapes of lions. It was odd, but I never questioned it. It was our lifestyle now.

My mother told me I loved my sister, Ariel, and that Aslan did too. She said that we were the best big brothers any parents could wish for their little girl to have. I know that me and Aslan sheltered her from the world. We never wanted our precious sister to be hurt. My parents barely made enough money to support everybody, so my brother told me all about tessera and how we would have to take it to live better.

I was too young to get any yet, and so was my brother. We barely scraped by those two years before Aslan get sign up for tessera. When Ariel turned two, I agreed to give her most of my food as long as Aslan would be the one to buy the tessera. Aslan agreed without arguing, and we never told our parents of our plans. He started giving me his old clothes that my parents tried to sell. Slowly, our life got better.

Aslan and I did excellent in school, which made our parents swell with pride as we passed through the grades. Ariel started pre-school when she was three just like we had. We were a happy, big family, but it wasn't enough for my parents. When Ariel turned five, they were given the news that they would have another baby. My brother was concerned; he thought it would be odd being fifteen years older than this new sibling, and he wondered how much longer his parents would be doing this 'new baby ever five years' routine.

It took them a while to pick out names, and once they had the names narrowed down to two for each gender, they were given the news that the baby was a miscarriage. My parents were devastated for a couple months, but they quickly got over it. They had to worry about their son who was at the perfect age for being reaped. Even though Aslan had signed up for so much tessera he wasn't reaped. When I turned twelve, my parents were terrified that one of their boys would be reaped.

Neither of us were reaped, and when Aslan finally turned nineteen, they relaxed a bit. They still were serious and tense, and that couldn't have prepared them for what would happen a few weeks after Aslan's birthday.

My parents died of an unknown cause. Ariel and I had come back from school and found them lying dead on the kitchen floor. There was no blood, no wounds, nothing. It seemed like my mother had died first, and then my father clung to her, not ready to give her up. I've always thought they were stressed and that they died of a stroke, but nobody knows for sure. We were unsure of what to do, so we just sat on the kitchen floor next to them, crying until Aslan came home.

Aslan shouted at us. He asked why we didn't get anybody. Ariel was only nine and I was barely fourteen. We didn't know what to do. Medical personnel rushed in and out, and finally, after a few days, they removed the bodies and closed the case. Since Aslan was a legal adult, we still lived in the same house and pretended life was normal. I still gave Ariel most of my food, and I still wore most of Aslan's clothes. We sold some old baby clothes and toys, and soon we had enough money to feed us everyday, every meal.

I started applying for roles that would bring in money, starting small. I always kept my money hidden, though, in case something happened to Aslan and he couldn't take care of us. My siblings knew about my plan and they didn't mind. They agreed it was for the best to let the money accumulate under the floorboards.

I watched as my brother and sister grew older and mature. My brother told us he wouldn't get married until Ariel turned eighteen and could support herself. We all agreed we didn't want anybody intruding on our quiet lifestyle. When Ariel turned twelve, though, Aslan almost considered breaking that promise. He wanted to get away from us so he wouldn't feel all the pain that would come if either of us were reaped. I reminded him of how he was never reaped, even with his large pile of tessera slips, and that convinced him to stay. I brought back my king of the jungle.

Other

I really messed it up this time didn't I, my dear?
Tremble for yourself, my man, you know that you have seen this all before
Tremble little lion man, you'll never settle any of your score
Your grace is wasted in your face,
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck
Learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck