Nightshade, JASON {UNFINISHED}

Personality:

Very daring, risk taking person, usually gets into quite a few fights as a result to his rebelliousness. Can be serious and a good fighter when he needs to. Even though he is poor like most in his district, he still tries to dress the best he can.     

Tobias Nightshade. Just a stranger from District 8 in his '30s, a man who didn't realise that one day he would meet the most beautiful redhead he’d ever come across in his very lifetime. And that shy redhead’s name was Marigold Eilowyn. Little did that pair of a tailor and a dress maker realise that one day they would tie the knot and that Mary would give birth to twins. One beautiful baby girl, and one devilishly handsome boy [cough cough, me]. This joyful couple would raise their children until they were just like their parents, living happily married and in a house full of children. But sadly, that just wasn’t the truth about life.
“One more push!” the nurse screamed to Marigold, who screamed and moaned in pain with tears filling her eyes. “And…? It’s a boy! Congratula— Oh my goodness. It’s. A baby girl too.”
Tobias held the baby boy crying tears of joy. “Where is my beautiful girl?” he asked, rocking his son back and forth. The nurse stared into the eyes of the new father.
"I-I-I," she stammered out, lost for words. Every single syllable was stolen from her mouth by just one sound. And that, was the sound of a heart failing to beat.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The heart monitor flared, gradually decreasing in speed. Beeep. Beeep. Beeeeeeep. I’m sorry Mr. Nightshade, the boy was lucky to have made it out. I am regretful to say that your daughter was strangled in the womb by the umbilical cord, and your wife, is dead.” 

And only from there did life begin to slowly spiral downwards. A good man, with unfortunate things happening to him. Life’s cruel joke on my old man. I suppose. Taking care of a child 24/7 while trying to work 24/7 was hard as hell. Some days Tobias would bring his work home, tailoring clothing for some of the finest of the Capitol while caring for a child was hard. I remember, the day I turned 5, he taught me how to sow, how to mend clothing with needle and thread. Sometimes, if he was in a good mood, he would let me off by giving me only the task of collecting his fabric and materials for him. And to be honest, some of the clothing I made didn't turn out half bad. And by the way, reader-from-whatever-district-you’re-from-who-happens-to-be-reading-this-for-some-apparent-reason, sowing is some hard shit. No really, I’m serious.
Anyways, moving away from the clothing aspect. It all got really bad a few months after I turned 7. One unfortunate day, dad was fired for bringing in some of his deliveries to the Capitol late. But I mean, who could blame him? A single parent with a child, no partner to help support you, a job that involved long shifts though gave low pay. No job probably made no major difference compared to when he did work as a Tailor. It’s not like because he was fired that he’s suddenly stops working. Heck, he has a 7 year old to feed, take care of and make sure doesn’t die before he reaches the age of 12! But sadly, it was all just too much for him. It was a Tuesday. 8 PM. I sat at home waiting for my father to arrive home with the usual. The leftover bits from a chicken and the bread he finds from the lady across the road. Yum, even speaking about it makes my stomach grumble at this very second. Chicken was my favourite.
Though when dad came home, he didn’t bring back what I expected. In both hands were empty bottles of brown liquid. "Daddy?" I asked him intriguingly with a smile painted on my face. “Did you salvage some extra chicken tonight?
My father said nothing and stumbled away into his room. At first, I didn’t realise what it meant. I walked up the creaking, practically unfixable staircase and walked down the hall, passing the few rooms in our house (we were one of the richer families in the District) like what should’ve been my younger sister’s room, my room, and the bathroom. Finally I reached his room. “Dad?” No response.
I opened the door, light flooding into his dark room. I eyed broken glass around me as he moaned loudly in annoyance.
“HEY! BUGGER OFF KID! CAN’T YOU SEE I’M BUSY HERE?!” He shoved to the floor outside, and slammed his door shut angrily.
That was the first time in my life he had ever touched or screamed at me like that. The rest of that night, I went to bed that night hungry, crying myself to sleep and didn’t care if anyone heard.
It got worse from there. I was eight. He had asked me to work later than my usual bedtime at 8:30. It was 10:47 and I fell asleep on one of the pieces of clothing I was in the middle of stitching up. “KID! You bloody idiot, get off your ass and work. You don’t make money by being a lazy little shit.” He whacked me over the head with a beer bottle, the glass breaking at the touch. I screamed, falling from the chair and onto the cold, cruel floor. I stared into his eyes with fear, his eyes staring back at me with drunk hatred. He ripped me off the floor like a piece of paper glued to a wall. “Get here, you good-for-nothing little shit. You stay here. If you move, I swear I will...” He walked over to his bedroom walking back to the kitchen with a marble backscratcher. Let's just say this ended with me and a bleeding back.

Codeword: oDair