Jack Venimport D7 {fin}

Name: Jack Venimport

Age: 18

Gender: M

District: 7



The name’s Jack Venimport. Not much of a thinker, but I’m quite the talker, so allow me to introduce myself.

Walking down the streets of District 7, that’s where I’m from, you’re sure to see many fellows who look like me. I fit the typical lumberjack model. Now, I’m not trying to brag there. I certainly don’t think I’m a model, haha. What I mean is I’m just like all of the other lumberjacks here in District 7. I’m pretty tall and lean, with some decent biceps that I’ve gotten from working as a lumberjack for two years. I know that’s weird for someone who’s 18, but I’ll explain in a bit. Just be patient. Anyway, I’ve got the tall and lean look done, and that also goes with my curly dark hair to deplete the lumberjack look. Of course, my wardrobe contests almost entirely of them plaid shirts and jeans the majority of lumberjacks wear, so I fit right in at work.

The only thing missing is a beard and some ruggedness. My hands are pretty worn from all the chopping and carrying I do, but my face looks like it could belong to someone Mary-Jane’s age, if not Nick and Tina’s. Mary-Jane, MJ, is 16, and the twins are 13, so you get the picture. I could probably grow the beard if I tried, but my parents and MJ think it won’t help me find a nice girl. That sounds like something I’d have to think about, so I prefer to just follow their advice instead. My round face is what makes me look young though. My pale inflection and blue eyes work together with the way my face looks like a circle to create the image of a child. Hopefully, it’ll change with time, though I’m told some girls like men who look young, so maybe I shouldn’t worry. Then again, it’d help me fit in at work. There I go, thinking again. I’m no good at it, so I’ll leave it alone.

Back to talking. As you can tell, I like to do it a lot. Maybe it’s because when I talk, I don’t have to think. I can just let the words spill out of my mouth, even if sometimes they’re not the right ones. Actually, that’s what I hear a lot – I don’t think before I speak. People tell me that like it’s a bad thing, but I think the alternative is worse.

After all, I didn’t drop out of school because I was bad at talking. I dropped out because I was bad at thinking. The folks in charge spoke to my parents and me, but mostly them, and decided I would be better off using my strength, which is actually my strength, to be more, I think the word they used was conductive, to the district. That was alright by me. I didn’t much like being in school anyway. I know I’m not smart, but I didn’t like being reminded every day.

The guys at my job are a little quiet for me, but it’s OK; I wouldn’t be able to hear them over all the noise anyway. I like the job overall. I’m happy. My family’s happy, and that makes me even happier. I like making them happy, though I really like making anyone happy. Really, I’m just proud I was able to follow my parents’ wishes to make a proper living. They want me to do that and not follow in their footsteps.

You see, my parents made all of their money through drugs. They have a huge business working through it. Strangely enough, they don’t actually take drugs much. Or, well, alcohol, cigarettes, and marijuana don’t count, right? Those aren’t their main products, so I don’t think so. The only way they grew addicted to the hard stuff was with their time. They’ve spent so much time on their business that they’ve barely had time for us. Sometimes I think they love the business more than us, which is why they named us what they did, as a thank you to the goods. But then I tell myself to stop thinking. Nothing good comes from it. Funny story, by the way. My parents say they wanted to name me after cocaine, which makes them their most money, but couldn’t think of a good name. “Cock” obviously wouldn’t work, so they chose “Jack,” the closest one they could think of. Funny how I’m now a lumberjack right?

Anyway, all of their drug money let us live a nice rich life. Our house is so huge, sometimes I can’t believe only 6 people live there. That’s my parents, me, and three siblings by the way. We never have to worry about clothing or food, which makes me think the drug business is the best one to go into. But my parents say no. They say to stay away from everything that has to do with them. Too dangerous, they say. Well, OK. They’re smarter than me and have done this their whole lives, so I believe them. Sometime I’m curious, but their word is final. No drugs for me. I know you might not believe me, but I’ve never touched any of it. None of us kids have.

Well, that’s not exactly true. If anyone asks, that’s what you tell them, OK? Promise me. Because if word gets out, my parents will be really mad. And I don’t want them to get mad. Because if they get mad, MJ will get mad. And she’ll get mad because I lied to her and spilled her secret. Do you understand? I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone I saw her leaving the house with one of Ma and Pa’s bottles under her sweatshirt and one of those cigarette boxes sticking out of her pants, but now you know. So don’t go telling anyone, because that will be really bad.

If you’re worried about MJ, then don’t be. I’m her older brother, so I’ll deal with her. I care for her and want her to be safe, so don’t you worry. Don’t even think about what I said anymore, actually. This is what my parents meant when they said I talk too much, so I’ve really got to stop. Just promise me you won’t go yapping away about this, OK? Otherwise, you’ll bring trouble, and I’ll have to deal with the contemplations.