Selkie Blackmore {}{} District 4

My silky and soft, slightly fuzzy blonde hair reaches my lower-upper back. My pale, pale oval face holds the biggest frown you will ever see. The lips are pink and smooth. My small nose is slightly freckled, and my eyes are a piercing green. On Reaping day, I tie a white ribbon in my hair to form a bun on the side.

I am skinny, with not very much muscle to me. I'm a bit short for my age, and considerably underweight. Nonetheless, I am long-limbed. My hands are not very pretty, but I can twist the fingers into all sorts of places. It's really cool in my opinion - but others seem to get freaked out. I normally wear a dark blue shirt and some jeans, but occasionally I throw on a jacket if I need it. On Reaping day I wear a black dress that reaches my knees, stockings, and even shoes!

People mention I am quiet, and I am, but I'm not awkward or anything. I don't laugh as much as most people, a matter of fact, I'm one of the most pessimistic people you will ever meet. In any situation I find something to cry about or be upset about, or simply a down side. It's hard to get me to smile, but those who have become my friends know how to do it: letting me sing. It is my only major talent and the only thing that keeps form from falling apart inside.

I sing less than I speak, but when I do sing, it is beautiful, and soft, and can go on for hours. I make up my own songs and sing them as the words come to me. My sister says I sing in my sleep. I am an industrious worker, and honest to a fault. My thoughts are steady and I stay on track. I am forgiving of people's mistakes, but very gullible.

Supposedly I am modest, but in my head I am always singing and being recognized. Just not on the outside though. I feel embarrassed easily. I am much more of a listener, and don't like to put my oar in. Sometimes though, I feel like my life is an open book.

Both of my parents are dead, but in life they were known as Charity and Mathew. They were lovely people, I admit. They helped other people in need even when they themselves were hungry, and put my sister and I before themselves. My sister - Anice - is a talkative angel that I cannot help but adore. She is two years older than me but we act the same age and are close as two peas in a pod.

My parents survived until the year I was six. Unfortunately, it went too far and my mother died of the hunger. My father died only a month later from pneumonia. In the community home, I decided I was going to be another grey stone in the wall. I did it very successfully, to a point my only friends were two. In my better moods I could make friends, but in my usual depressed mood I find myself being followed by these friends who try to cheer me up. Only two remain - the ones who truly care.

I was ten when Anice went to her first Reaping, and scared stiff I certainly was. I remember her holding my hand, and the other girls that walked there with us. When we got back she surprised me with a muffin, and I ate it too fast. I felt sick for an hour or two, but it was worth it. It became kind of a ritual. After every Reaping she would get me a muffin, and after my first, she gave me two. But my second in the bowl only produced one.

There was a boy. I was only twelve, and I did not know what love was, but there was a boy. His name was Edgar and I thought he was the sweetest, most handsome boy I'd ever met. For a few months we flirted, and he made me feel happy again. He was more wealthy than most, and played the piano, too. At his house I felt better than ever in my life. He would play a tune and I would sing for him. As young relationships go though, it ended, and I was left heartbroken and pessimistic as ever. It took months for my sister to convince me to sing a word.