wallflower aubergine ♥ district two ♥ fin

name ♥ Wallflower Fairamay Aubergine.
age ♥ Ten Eleven.
gender ♥ Female.
location ♥ District Two.
face claim ♥ Kiernan Shipka.
codeword ♥ Odair.
comments/other ♥ Okay this is officially my new favorite character. <333 And also when you see childish things like unicorns in this bio, keep in mind that Wallflower is ten years old and loves childish things like bedtime stories and unicorns. I also wanted to mention that Wallflower is a very deep thinker so like 14 - 16 are just her thoughts. I know it's long but that's just Wallie being Wallie. XD

many days fell away with nothing to show
and the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love
great clouds rose over the hills bringing darkness from above
and if you close your eyes
does it almost feel like nothing's changed at all
and if you close your eyes
does it almost feel like you've been here before

Sit down, Wallflower. Don't break anything. Don't touch the trophies, my mother always says when I go into the trophy room. The trophy room is a grand room on the top floor inside of my uncle's mansion. It is nothing but shelves, shelves, shelves. Shelves full of several trophies from the Labyrinth Game. Trophies and victory and glory is all that fills the room. Victory and glory is all my family cares about. The entire family - parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, grandparents, everyone. That's why my family has the Labyrinth Game, a rather twisted game designed by my great-grandparents in an underground labyrinth in the woods in order to prepare us for the Hunger Games. Yes, the game is twisted, but it's supposed to be fun.

I will be forced into the Labyrinth Game this year. Only ten to eighteen-year-old children may participate in the Labyrinth Game. It's for Aubergines only. Most families have game night. The Aubergine family game night is the Labyrinth Game. It is a family secret that's been kept for three generations and it will keep on being a secret, concealed from the rest of District Two. I doubt we'd be arrested (the Labyrinth Game is in the woods, therefor the Aubergines go there illegally), but I'm sure the rest of the district would want to participate. It's a blast, really, but it belongs to the Aubergines and the Aubergines only. It's our family legacy. Each of us have the responsibility to keep our bloodline going and producing more Aubergines so we can take home the Victor's crown.

People say we're cursed. They say the Aubergines are cursed because no matter how much tessera each child has (and the Aubergines are known for having lots of children), the Aubergines have never been Reaped. Not even one. For my family, being Reaped is a huge honor. Everyone else in my family, all of my siblings and all of my cousins, yearn to be Reaped. And then there's me, Wallflower Aubergine, the naive little girl, who is too young to understand. At least that's what I was told. But overtime, I have learned never to listen to other people. Maybe I am naive and I don't understand the glory and honor of being Reaped, but who are they to tell me that?

There's a lot of pressure on all twenty-five (counting all siblings and cousins of mine) of us Aubergine children to be Reaped and be the best Career we can. Even me, one of the youngest Aubergines, are pressured intensely. And the older Aubergines, the parents, do not alleviate our rigorous training often. Maybe once in a blue moon. I don't mind that much, except when I'm tired. But I'm a hyper child, so I channel my enthusiasm (which I have a lot of) and energy into training. Maybe children shouldn't handle knives and glaives, but my family doesn't see age when it comes to training. They have a saying.

"Training knows no age."

Then I said that the correct phrase was, "Love knows no age." But then my parents said I was wrong and that I'm too naive to know anything about the world. They say that, yet they still teach a ten-year-old girl how to use weapons. I hate being called naive. It's usually my parents who call me naive, but my parents are detached and a tad cruel towards their children, always expecting the best and only the best from us. I am the least-noticed of the Aubergines, the easiest to get rid of, the most excluded. Maybe that's why my name is Wallflower. The Aubergines have nontraditional District Two names, but for us, our names are traditional. The Aubergines are known for their strange names. All of us are named after nouns like valor, blithe, victory, glory, liberty, and justice (there are way more than that). In fact, those are names I have listed are my cousins' names.

So yes, I am a wallflower. I am named correctly. Most people say that one's name does not define them, but for me, it does. I like my name because it is special to me. It is unique - no one else carries it. I carry my name around proudly like my cousin, Glory, carries around her expensive trinkets and clothing and jewelry proudly. I value my name over a luxury item any day. When I say, "My name is Wallflower," I relish the flicker of surprise cross over the listener's face. I am different and I like to be different. I like to think of myself as a unicorn, like the ones I draw 24/7. I am always told that unicorns are immature and naive, like me. All I hear is naive, naive, naive. All I am is naive. I'm willing to accept that.

I hang my pictures of colorful unicorns on my wall. They cover the majority of my walls - you can barely see the paint color. I hang them all on my wall because the pictures are evocative to me. They may be silly scribbles to other people, but to me, they are precious memories of my childhood. Some of those pictures on my wall are from when I was a even more naive five-year-old or younger. Along with the unicorn pictures are posters of Victors of the Hunger Games. My favorite is Cricket Antoinette over all of them - of course she is, after all, she is from my district. Whenever I go out I hope to see her. I think I may have seen Cricket Antoinette maybe a few times, but I have never spoken to her. My parents say that naive children are not worthy of hearing the words of a Victor fill their ears.

I also have Lethe Turner's poster hanging on my wall. Oh, Lethe, such a brave, brave Victor. I watch her Games over and over again. My favorite part is the finale where she fought valiantly against Razor. Mace Emberstatt, Opal Shore, Saffron Lowe, Klaus Goravich, Julian Bryze (my second favorite), Peridot Myler (My cousin, Valor, gave me this poster and it has some faint kiss marks on it because Valor is obsessed with Peridot), and Topaz Ross on my wall. I have none of District Twelve's Victors - my parents would never let me. They have a weird grudge against District Twelve. I think they just dislike the whole district in general, or maybe they just don't like any of their Victors.

Cricket Antoinette may be my biggest role model, but her Games are not my favorite. My favorite Games are the 65^th Hunger Games, Saffron Lowe's Games. I don't care much for Saffron Lowe (but her hair is gorgeous), but the 65^th Hunger Games touched my heart. Hope Woodards' early death made me cry and Emery Moreno's death made me ball my eyes out for two hours. My parents shed some tears over Emery as well. Although she wasn't from our district, she was their favorite and my favorite in those Games. She deserved to win. She was a fighter and she went down fighting. That's how I want to die. I want to die an honorable, brave death in the Games while my parents watch and root for me until the very end and cry and mourn over me when I die. I would very much like to come back to my district alive and bask in the glory of my sweet, sweet victory, but I'd settle for a good death. Either way, dead or alive, I go back to my district.

But I don't want my death to be quick. I want to feel the world slipping away and the last thing I want to see is someone who loves me or the body of my dead enemy that I killed by myself. It's not that I want to die - I'm not suicidal. I want to win, but if I die, that's how I want to go. I want to make the arena mine. I will make the arena my kingdom where I alone will rule and no one else. I will kill everyone I have to in order to achieve that. It's what I was raised to do, and it's all I know. Fight, kill, deceive, lie. That's what I was taught, that's what I'm supposed to do. I am an Aubergine, after all.

I know some children who are terrified of the Hunger Games. Children who train and their parents were Careers, like them. I don't understand them; to me they are freaks. I don't classify many people as freaks, but these children who have nightmares about the Hunger Games are foolish. Their parents should knock some sense into them.

I am often seen as rude yet shy. Shy, because I tend to fade into the crowd without being noticed and I don't talk much at school even though my mind is bursting with ideas and things to say. But when I do talk, I usually say something rude because the only reason why I'd talk is to tell someone off. Other than that I keep to myself. As I said before, I am a wallflower. That's the best way to describe me. I just don't know how to connect with other people so I don't make friends easily. I like school although I don't talk. I am intelligent enough to feel confident about my grades and work.

No one acknowledges my intelligence though. Because I'm just naive. It's what I've been told my whole life. I am ambitious enough to want people's approval and to want people to know what I can accomplish. I am naive but I am not as naive as people say I am. Of course I am naive - I'm ten years of age. So I may be naive, but I act much older than I am - in a good way. I always have, even as a toddler. I think deeper than most kids my age, but I act just as childish as they do. My childishness is like a shield for me, so people don't think I'm even more different than I really am.

I think what separates me from most people is my compassion. I care too much. I care too much that my parents and everyone around me thinks I'm silly and nothing but a child who can't accomplish anything. My mother has always told me, "You care too much, Wallflower. Not caring makes you stronger. Caring makes you weak." I think she's wrong because love is powerful, more powerful than the brute strength my parents wish I had. Love is the most powerful thing in the world. It is so powerful that not even death itself can destroy love. Love is what we should always hold dear. Love and hope. Those are the two things you need to win the Games. And I have both love and hope.

But if I want a chance at winning, I'll have to win the Labyrinth Game first.

♥ ♥ ♥

All this time and I've been away in Wonderland (that what everyone calls my mind) while my mother has been screaming at me to shoot the target. Her screams of anger fill my ears and yank me out of my thoughts.

"Wallflower!" she screeches. "You were in Wonderland again, weren't you?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation. My mother is an impatient woman.

I draw back my bow, pulling far too hard on the string. My mother seems to notice, too, because she's frowning at me in disapproval while looking at my hand that's on the arrow that's about to fly towards the target. Before she can say anything, I let my arrow fly and it hits right above the bullseye. My mother rolls her eyes. I think I hear her mutter, "You'll never win the Games."

Rage broils inside of me and rises into my chest. It's so powerful and it compels me to pick up the arrow and shoot the bullseye. And I do. I pick up another arrow from the rack and position it on the string of the bow. I pull it back, taking a deep breath. I aim the bow towards the center of the target and I imagine letting go of the arrow and watching it stab into the target. You can do it, Wallflower.

But as I think this, the tip of an arrow - not my arrow - cuts across my cheek. I feel the arrow rip through the soft, fragile skin on my cheek. I don't allow myself to scream, not in front of my mother, so instead I whimper as the sharp pain sizzles throughout my cheek. My hand automatically flies to my cheek, trying to cover up the wound. I can feel the warm, sticky blood on the palms of my hands. A shriek closes around my throat but I swallow it. I'm in the training room, I can't scream.

"I'm going to wash this off," I say quickly to my mother before dashing away to the bathroom.

I push open the door with both hands and I hastily shove the door closed behind me. I grab a paper towel and run it under water from the sink. I remove my hand from my cheek and I examine the cut. It's shallow, but deep enough to make me feel pain. I dab the cut with the wet paper towel, just to clean it up. While I clean of the cute, I look at myself in the mirror. Really look. I almost never do.

I have a narrow face that's devoid of makeup and a narrow nose to go with my narrow face. I have medium skin that's marred by a few pimples (I didn't think I'd get them so early) and of course the long, thin cut on my face from the arrow. Straight, choppy honey-blonde hair spills over my shoulders. There's a slight halo of frizz around my hair if I don't tame with with hair products. My roots are darker than the rest of my hair but it gets lighter and lighter as it goes down.

My eyes are round and wide and lined by ridiculously curly, long eyelashes. The irises of my eyes are muddy green mixed with streaks of brown that form a circle around my pupil and extend to the edges of my iris, only showing a few strips of the green in my eyes. This color is called hazel. Above my hazel eyes are a pair of thick, uncontrollable eyebrows that I can never seem to tame. They want to be wild, so I let them be wild - I gave up on plucking them a long time ago.

I sigh as I move on to my torso, which is tiny like the rest of me. From head to toe, I am tiny. I have a tiny head and tiny feet. Tiny, tiny, tiny. Even when I can't see my entire body, I am so small. I am short, only 4'9 (and a half!), and I have a slight frame that makes me look even smaller than I really am. I look so childish minus the faint acne. I will relish the day I turn twelve. That's when people will stop looking down on me and treating me like a little kid.

"Wallflower?" I hear my mother call. I don't answer, so she repeats, "Wallflower?" I still don't answer. Instead I just keep cleaning the cut on my cheek gently.

how am i gonna be an optimist about this
how am i gonna be an optimist about this
we were caught up and lost in all our vices
in your pose as the dust settles around us
and the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love
great clouds roll over the hills bringing darkness from above

posting ♥
D3E086 - main
fbe4b0 - dialogue
e2a76f - other dialogue
C36241 - thoughts
f7ffbd - emphasis