Wisdom Ash ~District 6~

You do not know the life that I know- I am different than you in many more ways than one. I wish you could live one day in my shoes and maybe then you would know how it feels to be me; how it feels to be Wisdom Ash. I live in District 6, a place full of Doctors who should be able to fix sick people- because apparently I am sick. I wasn’t born sick and I wasn’t even born here, no; when I was born 17 years ago in the Capitol I was a normal baby- healthy but, small. My mother and father were ecstatic with my birth- the fact that they had given birth to a beautiful baby girl was a miracle in itself; the Doctors had told my parents it was almost impossible for them to conceive but they did. They showered me with gifts and the most expensive clothes, dyed my hair bubble gum pink and pierced my ears so I could wear sapphire earrings. I was a normal baby, I learnt as other children did but then I began to slow; around the age of 2 my development came to a halt. I wouldn’t talk and wouldn’t walk- I wouldn’t do anything.

My parents were concerned- naturally- so took me to the Doctors, who immediately began to run tests and such. They tested and tested and tested again; I did not improve, I got worse. The nothing began to become something again but it was the bad kind of something; I would cover my ears and close my eyes, bang my head against the floor and move about until I could move no more- it was very frightening for me and my parents. The doctors began to piece my puzzle together, but it was taking too long; my parents relationship began to fall apart, shatter into a thousand pieces like a glass of wine. Arguments began to be thrown between my mother and farther, the two people who were once so much in love were beginning to develop hatred towards one another. Eventually, the news came- the doctors diagnosed me with Autism. I was a brilliant mind, trapped in a broken brain and body; I was a human inside but the Doctors and my mother viewed me as a freak, as different.

This was the last straw for my father- he was sure that I was never his at all, that I was not his flesh and blood. How could something so different, be related to me? He used to say when they thought I was listening, when they thought I couldn’t understand. I wanted to tell them that I could understand, but they wouldn’t listen to the words I tried so desperately tried to put together. My mother tried to beg him to stay, that I was really his and that I was his and her little miracle; but he would take none of it and he kicked us out before the dawn of my 4th birthday. Alone and afraid, my mother wandered the streets of the Capitol- desperately looking for a means of escape- we had nowhere to go, my father was the one with the money; the house, the car, the clothes. By winter, my shoes had nearly worn through at the sole and my flimsy dress was useless against the winter cold; it is what took my mother.

We had survived the first few, we managed to sneak aboard one of the commercial trains to one of the less affluent Districts- District 6; but when we got there, there was nowhere to go. I woke one morning, we had been sleeping in a flood drain; it was dry and void of much water- only streams ran down the center of it. We had made this our temporary home, my mother had hoped to save enough money to get a room at one of the factories for the winter; but it came early and I woke that morning to find her body frozen beside me- her coat draped over me in an attempt to get me alive. I knew what this meant, and I wanted to cry but my body, my brain wouldn’t let me; it just made me stare at her corpse, unmoving and emotionless. We were not the only family sleeping in the drains that night, others tried to help me by giving me what little food they had- but my mind refused to even look at them; my body would not accept the food they handed me. Eventually, they grew scared of me and what I may do- I was still hitting my head against things and screaming loudly like I had when the symptoms began- so they took me to the Doctors.

Being less developed than the Capitol, the lower class Doctors of 6 came to the conclusion that I was mentally deranged and I needed to receive urgent medical attention. You see the only there are no mental instatutions in the slums of District 6, the very slums that didn’t want me so they shipped me here; apparently they don't want people like me. That was almost 9 years ago, I have lived in a home for so many years receiving treatment after treatment after treatment; at least the Doctors here know what is wrong with me, but it doesn’t make my life better at all. They still treat me like I am an animal to be tested on- I have received so many drugs that haven’t worked or made me sick, it is unbelievable. The issue is, that no one can understand me. Not even you.



I am no different a person than you are- I look the same on the outside but my brain, its wired differently to yours. It’s over sensitive to sound, touch and even taste; an issue for someone who lives in the hustling bustling District 6 and I dread to think what I was like back in the Capitol. I hear 100 conversations all at once, they all infiltrate my head and my brain hates it; it is something it can’t handle- 100 voices merge together into noise and it stings my ears, makes them feel like they’re bleeding. Touch is not too bad- though I try to avoid physical contact with others; not that I want too but a hug to my brain feels dangerous and painful, just clothes on my body is makes me ache enough; I can’t wear wools or scratchy fabrics because it literally feels like 100 nails are being dragged across my skin. While those are the two senses I have a huge issue with, taste is often a problem with me- spicy food taste spicier than they should, sweet foods are nearly always sour and some drinks taste like the dirt on the ground for me.

My brain is a vibrating ball of nerves and energy- that’s what the affect is of the rewiring you see. It needs to be occupied; it feels things you don’t usually feel. For example- people find themselves frightened by me when I begin to bang my head against the wall or the floor, they back away and stare at me as if I am a creature of the unknown. I can’t help it, my brain feels like if I do not bang my head, it will explode; so I have to bang it to stop the feeling; I also flap my arms to get rid of a different feeling to my head. When I am sat still, there is a fire that spreads over my arms and legs and I feel like I am being cooked alive- that I must move to put the flames out. Occasionally, the feeling changes and it feels even worse- it is the feeling of ants spreading across my skin and my body, biting and nipping until I cannot take them no more and I must fling them off. I can’t help my actions, that is not who I am.

An encyclopaedia to the Games is what I am. Despite my appearance of being stupid, dumb but I am far from that; when I want too, and only when I want too, do I read the History of the Games. When I first came to District 6, I knew a few basic words on paper and through my therapy sessions, I learnt more but the issue was- I couldn’t communicate these words to people and therefore the sessions were eventually stopped. From what words I knew, I picked up a small book about children who go on magical adventures. Yes it was a picture book but it made me want to read more. Eventually they bought back the English lessons, and minus the not talking I learnt more and more words that would allow me to read nearly all the books on the Hunger Games that the care home has ever owned. I remember every strategy, every kill and every tributes name from 1-60th; and I am now yet waiting for the addition of 62nd Games video clips and fact files.


I look like any other human being- I am a brain within a skull which is adjourned to other bones, which are then covered in layers of muscles and stuffed with organs such as a heart or the lungs, all wrapped neatly in a thin layer of skin. The only difference between me and you is that I have fair warm coloured skin but it is not pale enough to be stark white like some of the woman in the Capitol desire. I may have had that albino type skip at one point, but spending hours of my life in the sun has darkened my skin slightly; making me fit in more with those of the Districts. My eyes are natural, which is lucky because I know some Capitolese have their eyes mutated at birth to be odd shades of green or purple; but no, not me, my eyes are simple shade of chestnut brown.

My hair, at one point I believe, was a bright shade of bubble gum pink- and for a long time I still had the remnants of that colouring in the tips of my hair but since it has been cut away- leaving me with a naturally acorn brown hair. It is slight wavy and falls to just an inch below my shoulder line- it is nothing fancy and there is no fringe or layers to frame my narrow face with thick lips and thin nose. Though my skin has its issues with spots, I also have the issue with being covered with bruises from hitting my head or arms against things when I can’t control myself, sometimes my hands have cuts from where I have scratched myself and not even realized. Throughout my life, my weight and height have varied. When I was still living in the Capitol I was well fed and growing quickly, though I can’t remember how tall I was back then; but when it came to being on the street, I lost a few pounds and became no more than skin and bones. I began to suffer malnutrition at one point, with my belly enlarging some until I was 8 and I got sent to the hospital. There I was bought back to health, I am no longer malnourished but my height has suffered the lack of food- and now I stand at a tiny 5 foot 1 and a half, which is shorter than most girls my ages are.

Codeword: Odair