Dear the Public,

As I lay here dying, stung by thousands of tracker jackers, and I find the need to tell my story. I can barely write from the pain and the seeking of my fingers, but my daughter and I deserve for our story to be heard.

I was born and raised in the poorer part of District One. I was the oldest of four children and my parents worked themselves ragged to feed us. My father was killed when I was twelve. He worked in the diamond factories and was killed when they thought he stole a jewel. It wasn't until after they killed him that they realized he didn't.

My mother used to be a beautiful woman, with golden hair and green eyes much like mine, but after my father's death she changed. She worked days in the factories and sold herself to the rich, old, unhappily married men from the better part of my district. She used her prostitution money to buy drugs. She died when I was fifteen and lost all my respect.

From that moment on, I raised my siblings. I worked, as did my brother. He worked in the same mines as my father while I washed the clothing of District One's upperclass citizens. I refused to sell myself like my mother did, no matter how good the money was. I was beautiful and Ms. Laffiet from the whore house said I would be valuable, but I refused to sink as low as my mother did.

One night when I was walking home from the washers later at night, a man grabbed me and raped me in an alleyway. He left me there, in the dark, cold alley naked and alone and in that moment I almost gave up. An old woman helped me home and I fell into depression. My sister took my job at the washers and my littlest sister did anything she could to earn enough for new shoes and clothing.

A month after the incident, I tried to kill myself. My sister found me hanging from one of the exposed boards in the ceiling. They brought me to the medic where she told me I was pregnant. That's when I got my hope back, while caring my daughter. She was born less then four months before the reaping.

I was paid five thousand dollars to volunteer for the games. Marvel's parents arranged it to make sure their son came back victorious. I was planning on wining, but clearly I wasn't trained enough for this. I can barely use a bow and arrow and have no knowledge of plants and weapons. I tried to cozy up to the career boys for protection, but Marvel has a girl back home and Cato and his district partner clearly have feelings for each other.

Now here I am, dying from the venom of one of the terrible mutated animals that you have created. Now my daughter will never know her mother and my siblings will be barely scraping by for the rest of their lives all because of these stupid games. I hope you achieved what you wanted with these horrible games and I wish I could be alive to see your society fall.

Love, District One Tribute, Glimmer Shean.