Victoria Spiere (District 1)

The first thing I see when I wake up in the early afternoon is me, in my big gold-framed mirror hanging on my wall. I try to smile at myself, but I'm not exactly fond of my smile. I have bleached teeth, but there's a huge gap in-between the front two on the top and bottom. It's a family trait. Now that I'm eighteen, I could probably get it fixed without my parents consolation, but I'm too lazy. I'm also afraid of doctors.
My hair is long and usually rumpled in the morning. That's why I fix it immediately. It usually still doesn't look satisfactory after that. Normally, it's curled and piled on top of my head. That takes awhile. My natural hair color is a mystery to me. My parents had it dyed pink moments after I was born. Once I got to the age where I realized that it was not at all classy, I had it re-dyed light brown. Recently, I felt the need to dye it again, so it's mostly light blonde. Excepting the roots, which I've been too lazy to touch up, and are now silver from the last time I re-dyed it. Which was two months ago.
Makeup is my life. I died my skin ivory. My lips have been surgically enhanced, and are usually covered in dark red gloss. I change my colored contacts each day. because I can't stand their normal mud brown color. Eye makeup takes me twenty minuted to apply in the morning. I don't mind, sometimes that's the most fun part of my day.
I curve the liner around my small, squinty eyes. Brown, maybe, or silver. Usually black. A brush of glitter here, a flick of the wrist and a coating of mascara. I like to feel my hair perfectly in place. I like to watch myself gets dressed in the mirror when I slipped the heavy fabrics over my head and fasten the tight cinches a feel the dense weight of materiel pull on my body. I like the touch of a ring slipped on my finger, or heavy jewelry weighing down my ears.
Anything that sparkles or shines is automatically on my wish list. Chunky diamonds and silver studs. Real furs and feathers. Rubies and designer dresses. People call me prissy, or snobbish. But aren't we all here in District 1? Who are they to talk? Especially about me.
I'm very slender with some curves, which I'm proud of. Although, I'm constantly trying to lose them, I guess that makes no sense. Everyone tells me I'm too skinny. My mother says that only fat I have on me is on my butt. I know she's just saying that to make me feel better. I hate exercise with an unending passion. My dog is probably stronger than I am. Then again, he's a pretty big dog.
I have a long, thick scar on my calve from when I fell down the stairs. I was being klutzy on purpose, hoping this boy would catch me. Obviously, he didn't. I picked at it, never having bled before. I'd have to wear such boring long skirts to cover it, so I go ahead and wear what ever I what. However, I'm constantly covering and crossing my legs back and forth, trying to cover it.

As I've already mentioned a few times, I'm lazy. It's not that I don't care--okay, fine--I don't care. I really don't. Not about school, or my parents, or anything.
People say I'm lazy, inconsiderate, uncaring. Their favorite is selfish. Like I care. Sure, it hurts. Sometimes I cry. Then I remind myself how much better I am than them.
The only thing I'd actually admit caring about is my friends. They keep me alive. I'm never bored around them. They're the only people I smile around. I try not to--I really don't like my smile. But I really can't help it around them.
Like I said, I'm afraid of doctors. Which makes no sense considering my mother was a doctor (briefly, before she got bored with it. We have similar attention spans) and the about of work I've had done on my lips, nose, and rear. I'm fine with going under, it's looking up into weird masks and hearing beeps and seeing needles that drive me crazy. I suppose you could say I'm paranoid.
I'm paranoid about people. I don't know what they are going to do, or say, or what they think about me. I spend all my time trying to figure people out.
Boys call me a flirt and a tease. Mostly they just say I'm easy. They're wrong, I just like getting what I want. When I'm done with it, I don't care if someone else thinks so.
One of my favorite things in the world is food. I love chicken with blue grapes and chataine sauce. I like decadent chocolate desserts and rich breakfasts. My favorite is strawberries with syrup. I could not live without food. Well, no one could. But still. I take a bite of egg bake with cheese imported from District 10 and just about float away to heaven. It's really bad, considering I hate exercise and I need to lose weight. Which is why I love those big expensive parties where you can eat all you want and throw it up afterwards, then eat some more. My friends do it too, which is why they are so much nicer than my mother.
That's why I like the Hunger Games. Lots of betting and parties and interesting television specials. Sure, I feel sorry for the poor souls who are sent in, but what are they compared to the glory and riches of the Games? I would never want to compete, though. No good food, bad water, dirty clothes. Dying would be almost bearable if it weren't for that. Mother and Father wanted me to train for the Games. They gave up after awhile, I have no prowess whatsoever. No skills, no strength. I'd be killed in the bloodbath. I've never taken out a tesserae. That's the difference between me and my friends. They all want to go out there and compete. I just want to sit back and watch the fun.
Of course, when I see the tributes all dressed up riding around and eating like kings before the Games, I get a little bit jealous. Not to mention all the fun things lavished on the victor and their district. But it's not worth the pain and dirt and all. Even I know that.

I grew up in a wealthy District 1 family. My mother used to be a doctor before she retired at age twenty-six. She gets bored easily. She's currently on her seventh marriage, and not to my father. She's setting a rather bad example for me. I have a half-brother named Patric. I barely know him, he finds me boring and immature. Well, I think he's a snob, so he really doesn't count as a sibling. He calls me Vicky, which everyone knows I cannot stand in the least. He also treats me sort of like a pet. I treat him like and imbecile, even though he's kind of intelligent.
My father works in inter-district trade, which basically means smuggling. I never missed a meal, or a snack for that matter. My parent told me I was the most beautiful girl in the world. I believed them for awhile. Now I know how ugly I am. I just cover my imperfections with makeup now. I know I have plenty of imperfections on the inside, screaming at me to notice them, but I just drown them in alcohol and morphling until they shut up.
I have no real siblings. I'm kind of disappointed about that. I always imagined siblings as these unbelievably close friends. People who will never go behind your back and always are they're for you when your having a bad day. My friends aren't like that. They're really more fair-weather, except for a few. Jessi and Jessi, namely.
Jessi is a pretty popular name in District 1, apparently, because both of my best friends are named Jessi. Jessi Pinkhart is the Peacekeeper's son. He's a total goofball and kind of annoying sometimes. But he gets things done and is a total party animal. I've got him saying things about me before, about how easy I am. about how I'm a totally airhead. I try to forget about that. I just try to remember that, without him, I'd only have one true friend. Jessi Halleick is the daughter of one of my mother's old friends. She's, like me, is obsessed with makeup. We often have competitions to see who can wear more. However, the only thing she's ever had done is her nose and has never touched her hair. It's the same dull black straw-like stuff that it was when she was born. Except now she has bangs. She is my best friend in the entire world and we will keep on being shallow together for our entire lives. Although, personally, I think she's more shallow than I.
When I get older and am done with my partying years (never) I'd like to get married and be a stylist for the Games. I can just see myself now, standing in front of a huge crowd, waving. "Introducing, Victoria Spiere, Stylist for the District 1 Hunger Games Victor!" His or her name would be unimportant. The makeup curving around their features, clothes wrapped around their body, the light of victory in their eyes. That's what would be important. Sure, plenty of people would hate me. That's alright, plenty of people hate me now. I would be lounging on a chaise like I do now, except I would be the center of attention. Delicately holding a flute of some imported drink, laughing as the jealous nobodies watched my reverie.