Ivy Gilligan District 7
Jan 24, 2019 23:15:50 GMT -5
Post by ivygilligan1121 on Jan 24, 2019 23:15:50 GMT -5
Name: Ivy Gilligan
Age: 16
District: 7
Appearance: People underestimate me. They think that because I am a girl, thin, and only 5'4 that I am not as strong as the boys. But chopping wood every morning, day in and day out, or lifting heavy wooden planks or pulling loads, has helped me build up my arm muscles and leg muscles. Once, when I challenged a boy on my work team to an arm wrestling match during our break, he was surprised to see the bulge in my bicep when I rolled up my sleeve along with the well defined muscles in my shoulder. When he grasped my hand he was surprised at the calluses dotting my palms, acquired from long days swinging the axe. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. What was he expecting? All children in District 7 were put to work, often outdoors, at a young age.
Maybe the boys think I am capable of nothing more than being cute. Probably due to the light sprinkling of freckles across my nose, a feature I think makes me look childish . After a long time under the sun, I'd hoped my skin would darken and the freckles would fade, but my skin remains pale. I've caught them staring at me at school during lunch or in the hallways when they think I can't see them. They quickly look away when I meet their gaze. Or maybe they think I am a novelty due to my gray green eyes,unlike many people in my district who have blue or brown eyes. I prefer to wear my long, thick, wavy black hair in a braid down my back to keep it out of my face.
As I am outside a lot for work, I prefer to wear trousers, a shirt and boots. I've always hated dresses. The heavy scratchy fabric is too confining; it feels like the fabric will rip whenever I reach for something or do any kind of strenuous activity. Plus you can't exactly chop wood while wearing skirts. If you trip over your skirts, your axe could go flying. But I have to wear an ugly gray dress to school to adhere to the dress code.
Personality: I prefer to my own company or being with animals. Animals don't judge. They're just there, always ready to offer love by curling up next to you or nuzzling your hand. I don't feel I really fit in. I don't fully fit in with the boys as I feel like I'll never be their equal. I don't mesh well most girls either, as I don't like small talk or talking about boys or clothes. But I do have a small group of friends, made up of both boys and girls, people I met on my schoo's axe throwing team. People who didn't really have their own group of friends, so we naturally gravitated towards each other. Those in our group don't see the need to fill every minute with chatter; they're comfortable with moments of silence. I am loyal to those I care about, always ready to give a hug or lend a listening ear. My friends say that's what they like most about me and offer the same in return.
The ones that are left that is.
In school when I am not with my friends, you'll find me under a tree in the school yard with a book. I like reading about the history of District 7 back when it stretched as far as a place called Montana and into a place know as the Pacific Northwest. Back when things were simpler. Before Panem. Before the Hunger Games. Two of my friends-Alice and James- were chosen during The Reaping then shipped off to the Capitol. Both were slaughtered in the arena-Alice quickly from a Career's blade across her throat. James succumbed to dehydration after days under the desert sun.
Since then, a hatred of the Capitol has festered inside me. But I don't let it show. I keep my mouth shut in school as teachers go on and on about the greatness of District 7, and how we are the most fit to win the games. They don't talk about how being deaf from working in the sawmill makes you an easy target in the arena. They don't see the injuries my mother and I treat in our work as healers: gashes, bones sticking out, legs, and arms crushed by falling logs, mangled by saw blades. Sometimes we've had to amputate limbs after gangrene set it. During lessons no ugliness is permitted, lest it kindle the spark of rebellion.
The unfairness of it all, makes me want to give back to others. I often interpret in sign language to fellow students in the class who've gone deaf thanks to shifts in the sawmills. I have a strong creative side. I craft walking sticks which I sell at the market every weekend in the square, or assist people with building furniture. I make toys for children too.
Making someone happy fills me with a warm feeling. It's something that the Capitol can't take from me.
And sometimes, at the end of the day, I escape to the woods with my sketchbook to capture the beauty of the towering pines, before they're chopped down and those in the Capitol profit from our labor.
History:
I have sawdust in my veins. I am the eldest daughter of a lumberjack Michael Gilligan and Sarah Hale-she took his name after marrying him-a craftswoman. My younger sister, Sage, came along three years later. I held an axe before I could walk. My tiny fingers naturally settled into the smooth grooves in the handle. My earliest memory is of my father placing his large hands over my my small ones as I gripped the axe, helping me raise and bring it down onto the block of wood.
When I was older, I ventured out each day with the other men, women, and children our breath coming out in clouds in the frosty morning air, to chop down trees, carrying saws and axes. My voice joined the hundreds of others, singing old District 7 folk songs in time with the thwack of the axe against wood, a distraction from the monotony of our task. I still go out to chop down trees, an axe or saw on my belt and a steaming cup of tea between my hands. I still sing when working from time to time.
After my mother gave up making furniture, she became a healer. Soon she couldn't cope with the large influx of patients so Sage and I joined her. When I am not helping my mother or Sage, I go into the forest to renew the supply of medicines. My mother also taught Sage and I what plants were and were not safe to eat. I consider healing another way to give back.
The satisfaction on my patients' faces gives me the hope I need to go on. To, like the plant I was named after, to climb and persevere.
Other
Age: 16
District: 7
Appearance: People underestimate me. They think that because I am a girl, thin, and only 5'4 that I am not as strong as the boys. But chopping wood every morning, day in and day out, or lifting heavy wooden planks or pulling loads, has helped me build up my arm muscles and leg muscles. Once, when I challenged a boy on my work team to an arm wrestling match during our break, he was surprised to see the bulge in my bicep when I rolled up my sleeve along with the well defined muscles in my shoulder. When he grasped my hand he was surprised at the calluses dotting my palms, acquired from long days swinging the axe. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. What was he expecting? All children in District 7 were put to work, often outdoors, at a young age.
Maybe the boys think I am capable of nothing more than being cute. Probably due to the light sprinkling of freckles across my nose, a feature I think makes me look childish . After a long time under the sun, I'd hoped my skin would darken and the freckles would fade, but my skin remains pale. I've caught them staring at me at school during lunch or in the hallways when they think I can't see them. They quickly look away when I meet their gaze. Or maybe they think I am a novelty due to my gray green eyes,unlike many people in my district who have blue or brown eyes. I prefer to wear my long, thick, wavy black hair in a braid down my back to keep it out of my face.
As I am outside a lot for work, I prefer to wear trousers, a shirt and boots. I've always hated dresses. The heavy scratchy fabric is too confining; it feels like the fabric will rip whenever I reach for something or do any kind of strenuous activity. Plus you can't exactly chop wood while wearing skirts. If you trip over your skirts, your axe could go flying. But I have to wear an ugly gray dress to school to adhere to the dress code.
Personality: I prefer to my own company or being with animals. Animals don't judge. They're just there, always ready to offer love by curling up next to you or nuzzling your hand. I don't feel I really fit in. I don't fully fit in with the boys as I feel like I'll never be their equal. I don't mesh well most girls either, as I don't like small talk or talking about boys or clothes. But I do have a small group of friends, made up of both boys and girls, people I met on my schoo's axe throwing team. People who didn't really have their own group of friends, so we naturally gravitated towards each other. Those in our group don't see the need to fill every minute with chatter; they're comfortable with moments of silence. I am loyal to those I care about, always ready to give a hug or lend a listening ear. My friends say that's what they like most about me and offer the same in return.
The ones that are left that is.
In school when I am not with my friends, you'll find me under a tree in the school yard with a book. I like reading about the history of District 7 back when it stretched as far as a place called Montana and into a place know as the Pacific Northwest. Back when things were simpler. Before Panem. Before the Hunger Games. Two of my friends-Alice and James- were chosen during The Reaping then shipped off to the Capitol. Both were slaughtered in the arena-Alice quickly from a Career's blade across her throat. James succumbed to dehydration after days under the desert sun.
Since then, a hatred of the Capitol has festered inside me. But I don't let it show. I keep my mouth shut in school as teachers go on and on about the greatness of District 7, and how we are the most fit to win the games. They don't talk about how being deaf from working in the sawmill makes you an easy target in the arena. They don't see the injuries my mother and I treat in our work as healers: gashes, bones sticking out, legs, and arms crushed by falling logs, mangled by saw blades. Sometimes we've had to amputate limbs after gangrene set it. During lessons no ugliness is permitted, lest it kindle the spark of rebellion.
The unfairness of it all, makes me want to give back to others. I often interpret in sign language to fellow students in the class who've gone deaf thanks to shifts in the sawmills. I have a strong creative side. I craft walking sticks which I sell at the market every weekend in the square, or assist people with building furniture. I make toys for children too.
Making someone happy fills me with a warm feeling. It's something that the Capitol can't take from me.
And sometimes, at the end of the day, I escape to the woods with my sketchbook to capture the beauty of the towering pines, before they're chopped down and those in the Capitol profit from our labor.
History:
I have sawdust in my veins. I am the eldest daughter of a lumberjack Michael Gilligan and Sarah Hale-she took his name after marrying him-a craftswoman. My younger sister, Sage, came along three years later. I held an axe before I could walk. My tiny fingers naturally settled into the smooth grooves in the handle. My earliest memory is of my father placing his large hands over my my small ones as I gripped the axe, helping me raise and bring it down onto the block of wood.
When I was older, I ventured out each day with the other men, women, and children our breath coming out in clouds in the frosty morning air, to chop down trees, carrying saws and axes. My voice joined the hundreds of others, singing old District 7 folk songs in time with the thwack of the axe against wood, a distraction from the monotony of our task. I still go out to chop down trees, an axe or saw on my belt and a steaming cup of tea between my hands. I still sing when working from time to time.
After my mother gave up making furniture, she became a healer. Soon she couldn't cope with the large influx of patients so Sage and I joined her. When I am not helping my mother or Sage, I go into the forest to renew the supply of medicines. My mother also taught Sage and I what plants were and were not safe to eat. I consider healing another way to give back.
The satisfaction on my patients' faces gives me the hope I need to go on. To, like the plant I was named after, to climb and persevere.
Other
