Fisher Wallace: District 4

Appearance:

I’m not the biggest kid in my grade, but I’m a lot stronger than I look. I’m lean, very little fat on my body, but I wouldn’t say I’m sculpted to perfection, I’m just…average. I guess if I had to classify my body type, it’d be lanky, which really helps me swim. My hair is a dark brown, I don’t do anything to style it, but I like cutting it short, it doesn’t get in the way as much.

I’m only thirteen, but my face looks even younger. My parents say that I’ll always look younger than I really am.

I’m five feet tall, give or take an inch; I think I’m just less than seventy-five pounds. I’m light, very light. My eyes are a really light brown, but sometimes when it’s really light out, you can see a reddish-brown ring around my pupils…some people say they remind them of a solar eclipse, I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

I think I’m pretty easy-going, especially for one of the Careers. Everyone’s always so focused during “fitness training.” That’s what we call Career training in order to seem like we’re not defying the Capital’s rules. But for me, the Hunger Games are disgusting. The Capital sits by and watches kids kill each other for sport, to remind the Districts that we’re nothing without them, that if we were to revolt, we would be crushed just like District 13.

I can’t help but feel like we’re better than them. The people in the audience during the opening ceremonies look foolish, silly. I guess that’s something I’ve grown, a superiority complex. Maybe it’s because training has always come so easily to me.

Girls. I love girls, and when it’s my time to volunteer for the games, the hardest part will be killing the girls. The girls in the district tend to treat me like a little brother; I think it’s because of my baby-face. I don’t have the strong, ripped muscles that the other Careers have, and well, that annoys me.

I’ve got a group of friends, but I can’t help but hate them. They love the games. They love the glory and riches that come with the games, but I hate it, I hate it all.

I’ve been training as long as I can remember, and I’ve never had any problems. Just because I hate the Hunger Games, doesn’t mean I don’t want to be good at them. I may one day have to be in the Games, and when I do, I want to win. I have no death wish.

The other Careers resent me, and they always will. My natural talent combined with my hatred for the Games makes me an easy target. Or it would, if I wasn’t so good with knives. Tridents and nets seem to be the weapon of choice for the other Careers, but knives…knives are light, they’re quick, and they can fly far; Knives are perfect for a boy like me.

You see, I’m quick, quiet, and clever, but I’m not strong, not at all. I can run and swim faster than most of the others, but I’ve never been really good at climbing, too much upper body strength involved. But put a knife in my hand, and I can hit a target from long distances, whether I’m moving, it’s moving, or we’re both moving.

I don’t speak to my parents much. They want so badly for me to enter the Games and win, mostly they want me to get rich and famous so they can gloat. My parents gross me out more than anyone.

I like to fish, it’s one thing that will help me in the arena that doesn’t involve killing someone else, and hell, it’s in my name. I think eating so much fish contributes to my slenderness, but I don’t mind, a smaller body means a smaller target. I remember catching a school of red snapper in a net trap by the river. We got to keep a few after selling the rest, and man, do I love red snapper.