~Wicca Finley~ District 2 COMPLETE

My past is a big jumbled up ball of fire. I had a happy life. My parents were very old, and they died before I really got to know them. That just left my sister and me. She was older, by ten years, but when they died she wasn’t quite old enough to support herself and a child. So, we lived with our aunt and uncle for some time. Nice, quiet folks with a knack for reading. Always had a tidy house, you had to finish all the food on your plate. Very strict in that annoying parent kind of way. When I was ten, my sister twenty, we finally moved out. She could not stand them either, and she knew she’d work as hard as she could to get us both out of there. I’m grateful for that, really. She was a great sister. Yeah, was.

We lived together in our small little house for over three years. She worked and I went to school. I was too young and fragile to work in the mining areas with the rest of them, although I thought otherwise. I tried to convince Penny, my sister, to let me go, but she’d never let me. Instead, I’d ditch school and climb. Every hill and mountain within a walkable radius, I climbed. Lots of dangerous journeys, and plenty of close calls, but I always felt immense pride when I reached the peak of a mountain. It gave me a sense of being queen of the world, a concept I’ve always been quite open to. Not in a princess-make-believe way, but in a real, desired world that exists only in my head. I try not to dwell on it, but the thought of it really does excite me. Who doesn’t like having complete control?

Three years. The end of those was both dark and light at the same time. I was thirteen, only a year or so away from Penny allowing me to work in the mines. All was well. I managed to do some minor housework for people around the district and make extra money for the two of us. Seems like a happy story, right? Well, those never last. It was quickly ended with the jerk of an arm, my arm, knocking over a candle. Setting everything ablaze. I was out of the house in seconds, but Penny wasn’t as lucky. Our house was kind of separated from the rest, so it took a while for people to finally notice the smoke and come running. They find a small, helpless girl, trembling in the dark nighttime air, her warmth vanished, even with the huge fire crackling away in front of her. Her eyes were dark and saddened, staring in a single direction, the fire burning permanent images into her vision. That girl is was me. And I knew from that very moment, there was no going back.

I became an outcast. My aunt and uncle took me in once more, but there was no helping me. I attended school when I wanted, but that was useless. I hardly paid enough attention to learn a thing. I usually used my time more wisely, returning to the highest mountaintops and imagining what it would feel like if I were to just fall. Fall, off of a cliff and into an earthy oblivion. I knew ending my life wouldn’t be good enough though. That wouldn’t end the pain, but rather keep it as an eternal gap in my person. No, I could not finish without righting the wrongs. There was too much to correct.

Upon this realization is when I discovered the act of bringing pain. My own wretched pain, which would temporarily cease its swelling when I inflicted it upon my fellow humans. I watched houses burn, brought down in a blaze created by my deft hands. I spent hours perfecting my techniques. Sneaking, setting fires, and escaping to a watchful resting spot became my expertise. I remain uncaptured, unsuspected, and elusive as ever. My fiery will to live and watch and control keeps me going more than anything else.

Who am I? A girl. A Career. A fighter, a dedicated person, a striver. I am a lot of things. I’m not perfect, but I don’t want to be. I want to be who I see myself as, and go where I want to go. Nothing can hold me back, from anything, and everyone knows that. They know who I am. Not always what I work for, no, but they know I’m determined. No one messes with me, at least not directly. Confront me; I’ll beat your ass down personally. I can guarantee that. Don’t believe me? Ask around. I’ve done it before.

You’ll never see me back down from anything. No goal is unattainable to me, no matter how difficult it may be. I strive and I work to reach the highest mountaintop. Literally and metaphorically. I own you, I own this foul place, and I own those who are higher than me. I refuse to believe otherwise.

I sound fierce. I get that a lot. And I am, really. I like it, it’s who I am. Didn’t I say I want to be myself, who I want to be? I hold true to that. So, in that case, I also try to be… nice. If that’s the proper word for it. I’m at least not cruel or bitter – I’m fierce when I have to be and strike when the moment calls for it, or when I want to. I often talk to people like a scolding mother talks to their uncooperative child. If you ever find me being nice to you, consider yourself lucky. Some people actually quite enjoy my presence, thank you very much.

I do everything to make sure people are afraid of me. That can be a challenge at times, but I’ve learned to manipulate and get my way. I hate the fact that I’m such a jumpy person. It makes me look weak. I get startled easily, and then I get mad because someone just saw me being that way. There’s another thing that comes fast. I get pissed off really quickly; blow my temper at random times. I swear I’m like a volcano. I blow up at my “parents” a lot. They give me reasons to be angry and annoyed. I don’t listen to them, anyways.

People say that some of us hide things. Deep, personal secrets that you can never let anyone know. Well, I definitely have some secrets. There are things about me I have never told anyone, and possibly never will. Those are the dark ones. The ones that might possibly get me in a load of trouble. I’m a real sneak, though, so catching me isn’t easy. Plenty of those dumb Peacekeepers know from experience. I’m hard to track, and hard to catch. I think I’d be good in the Hunger Games. At least I’d have a chance.

My manipulative side is interesting. I use a number of things to get my way. Charm, good looks, seductiveness, and plain words make the top of the list. Once I get a good read on what people are like, I know how to make them do what I want. I pick a strategy and bring them down faster than a building can catch fire. It may sound a little far-fetched, but I’m good at it. Continuous nights of finding and controlling people like a dark puppet master can do that to you. I’ve also got a very charming personality. Well, not overall, that’s for sure. If I’m not trying to detain my screams, I can flash a cherry-lipped smile and a flirty wink if I have to. Boys are so easy. You can get them begging on their knees in no time, really. Most of them are just looking for a good time. I suppose I have that in common with them.

I like to make people’s lives a living hell. Some people just get it too easy; too much money, too nice of a house, too good of a job. I don’t like that. If some of us are going to suffer, then we all get to suffer, too. I don’t always pinpoint an individual’s good fortune and aim to ruin exactly that; sometimes just one bad event is enough to make everything good go haywire. I know that personally. I’ve felt it and seen it in action numerous times.

I don’t like to follow the norms of society. That’s pretty obvious. But I like to make sure I stand out in a crowd, so I dye my hair a beautiful yet natural looking red. Red, to match the fires I cause. The dyes aren’t cheap, but I save money to buy it. There’s really nothing else to spend my money on, so I have a small stash of the stuff. Often I’ll use a deep red lipstick to match, and it also stands out very well against my pale skin. I like to do my job in beauty, you know.

Besides the fiery highlights of my appearance, I am very plain. Boring is probably a more fitting word, actually. My face is nothing too beautiful. Plain and oval-shaped, with full lips made for kissing. Perhaps those are kind of attractive, but I’m really nothing that would stand out in your memory, besides the red hair of course.

A lot of the teens from my district are athletically gifted, because of Career training. I’ve always tried to avoid training, though. I’ve built a good amount of muscle in my arms and legs from climbing so often, and I can run miles with relative ease. Besides that, my body is no wonder. I’m rather short, barely a few inches past five feet.

I have long, nimble fingers that are very adept at many things, especially creating fires. I have more than a few burn marks lining them, so I like to keep my hands hidden most of the time. They could arouse questions that I don’t have answers for. My hands are also rough and calloused, which tends to happen to climbers. I wish they were softer, because who doesn’t love touching soft things?