Bernice Amias

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Basic Information
Name: Bernice Amias

Age: Thirteen

District: Six (Three, Five)

Gender: Female

Personality: Bernice is a young girl with the bravery of a soldier and the kindness of a flower. She has self-denial and self-pity as she doesn't consider herself pretty or smart, although she's both. While she is intelligent, she still hasn't mastered common sense, constantly doing far more complicated things than necessary. Bernice isn't good at making friends, always messing up by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, but is good at making friends with those who have suffered as much as she has. While she is constantly underlooked, she shouldn't be since she truly doesn't care what she does as long as she survives.

Weaponry: Bernice hasn't trained with weaponry at all prior to the Hunger Games, so she relies entirely upon what she learned in training. She easily adapts to knives, as they are practically the most basic weapon there is. She's able to throw throwing knives as well as fighting in melee combat with them. If not knives, she is great at making traps from what the textbooks taught her and uses them to, not only trap tributes, but to hunt. While she isn't the best hunter, much more a gather, she does have a lot of help with traps to kill the game.

Appearance: 

History:  I wasn't supposed to be born. I never was supposed to be living. I should have never had this outcome in life. I was supposed to be aborted. I was supposed to be killed before I was even born. Yet, I wasn't. And sometimes, I wish I was because my life was pure hell. I never had a mother or father or a place to call home. Just a temporary residence. Nobody knows when I was exactly born, except for the fact that I was left in an alley on a cold night with no blanket. I was supposed to die there as well. But Bertrice Salvatore saved me. She was in charge of a local orphanage and was out on a walk when she heard me crying. I'm both happy and upset that she saved me. Happy since I'm still alive, but upset for the same reason. I've always wanted to be dead, every since I found a letter that was with me when Bertrice found me. If I was supposed to be aborted, then why wasn't I? If I was supposed to die in the alley, then why didn't I? Why, when I'm only thirteen years old, did I end up volunteering? Simple, because I was supposed to die from the start. But now. . . I don't.  When I was three, when I first learned to read and read the letter from my parents, I attempted to commit suicide. I had the knife pushing against my soft wrist and saw the blood trickling from the small cut. In just one swift movement, I could have cut a major artery and I wouldn't be here today. But. . . I couldn't. No matter how much I wanted to, I could never force myself to do it. Part of me regrets my decision that day, but only part of me. I'm grateful that I was able to live a few more years, able to experience friendship and have good days instead of bad. But our lives are just a ticking clock, and the clock will eventually stop. And we will no longer breathe. After the little incident with the suicide, I went to a psychologist, Mrs. Bianca, since I had a "suicidal" mind. Honestly, I didn't mind talking to someone, because I was finally able to tell someone anything and they couldn't say I was crazy because I was paying them not to. On top of that, I always played a game with her, where I would see how much knowledge she could actually teach me. I came up with lies that I was scalping pigeons and eating dead rats near the sewers and wanted to see how she would handle it. But she caught on in weeks, and the game totally lost purpose. She eventually said that she got rid of all the suicidal thoughts in my mind and that I no longer needed to come to her. But I came anyways, since I finally made my first friend. But when kindergarten started, life was tough. I was constantly picked on by the younger children just because I liked to hang out with Mrs. Bianca. The other children always had their small cliques which I never fit into. I was never a cool child, or a nice child or a nerd. I was just. . . me. I was the lost orphan who was never supposed to live to see the sun. And I was the only child who fit that clique. In first grade, things just got worse. Since I was a year ahead of my class, I was vulnerable and easy to beat up. And with having a best friend be an elderly psychologist, it was almost impossible for someone not to joke about it. I tried making friends, but nothing ever worked. I tried, but I would somehow mess it up. When I was six years old and entering the second grade, a new student transferred to my school This girl, Maybell, was the daughter of a wealthy Capitol man who moved to District Six in hopes to create better transportation between the districts, like teleportation or tubes that would bring us to the other districts in a matter in minutes instead of hours. While her dad wasn't as successful as he planned, and due to his failure, was unable to move back since the president never wanted to see him again. Maybell and I became the best of friends, we did everything from going to the mall together to having sleepovers together. But we weren't the snobby girls who would spread rumors, we were the kind ones that faced difficulties. On day, a day I never imagined would come, Maybell's father adopted me and Maybell and I became sisters. I felt like the happiest girl in the world and nothing could ever make me feel pain again. But shortly after I was adopted, Maybell's dad revealed that he had cancer and had roughly four months to live. I didn't know what I should do, I only had a few more years with Maybell's dad―or should I start calling him Dad?―before both of us would become orphans. The four months came slowly and dreadfully. While he survived a week longer than he should have, he eventually died. But the worst part out of all of this was that Maybell was sent to a different orphanage than I. Since I was a year older, being ten years old, they claimed that I was able to go to a foster home instead of orphanage. From that day forward, I never saw Maybell again. I was forced out of school by the foster mother and only became more intelligent by spending long hours at a library, reading chapters in textbooks to advance my knowledge. I went through grammar textbooks, history textbooks and even science textbooks, and every book, I felt my brain getting smarter. Maybe not like a genius, but after being out of school for some time, I needed to catch up. I gained a steady routine of going to the library for five hours every day and ending it at the foster home doing an assignment from the textbooks. I memorized the periodic table, learned the victor of the first fifth Hunger Games and the common design for the Hunger Games. Probably not things that we would learn in the schools, but things that fascinated me enough that I went through the entire textbook in a matter of weeks. Finally, the day came where I volunteered. In my first year of the reaping, I wasn't reaped and I didn't even watch those Hunger Games since I was too fascinated by the textbooks. However, when I was thirteen, I knew the female tribute who was reaped. Her bright blonde hair still shined like the sun and her blue eyes still sparkled when she was upset. And she was my sister. Her name was Maybell DeVenni, and her father adopted me. The thought of her dying brought tears to my eyes and my mouth spoke before my brain could even think. I didn't even recognize the words I was saying until I started walking up on the stage. I volunteered, but my death, if I die, won't be because I was supposed to in the womb, it'll be because I saved a friend. And there's no greater feeling than knowing you're doing something for a good reason.

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Height: Four Feet, Eleven Inches

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