Morty Sonym - D12M, 17

The noises echo in my mind, just like it has countless times before in the past year. I can almost feel the heat of the fire on my face, the fear I once felt surging through my chest once again. The explosion replays in my head. The very explosion that left me with no family haunts every waking hour of my life.

I should have been able to save them.

I should have died with them.

These are the conclusions I make every time I relive the explosion, but, due to some cruel injustice, I am still on this earth while they are not.

I feel as if somehow I cheated the universe. I shouldn't be here. Somehow, I'm on this earth while my family is not. It feels unbalanced. And no amount of self-harm, no amount of punishment, is able to restore the balance.

I know there's only one thing I can do.

I have to die.

As if on cue, my stomach rumbles. I try to ignore it as I brush back my unruly dark hair with the three fingers that remain on my left hand: another reminder of what I lost in that mining explosion.

I'm so lost in thought I don't notice the burly man approaching me until he speaks.

"You're going to have to move, kid. My shop is about to open."

I don't respond. Living on the street has taught me that few people care about where I am, unless my presence is hindering them in some way. The man examines me for a bit, no doubt sympathizing with my burn scars and gaunt face.

"I really need you to move. It's bad for business."

My stomach rumbles in response. The man sighs once more and walks into his store. He returns a few moments later with a piece of bread. I accept it silently and move. The bread smells delicious. I tear off a piece and try it. Before I know it, I've eaten nearly half of it. I know that I have to die sooner or later — in fact, I want to die — but as unpleasant as life is, starving is even more so. So is thirst, cold, pain, and other convenient forms of death. I've avoided it for too long, however. Tomorrow I will volunteer for the Hunger Games. Then my fate will be sealed and my death will bring everything back into balance.

Samantha Von Hindenburg - D12F, 13

"This is all your fault."

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"How was I supposed to know that stealing is against the law?"

"Stealing has always been against the law!"

"Regardless, this gear is just what I need to finish my new machine. That merchant can live without it!"

"That merchant looks like he wants to chop off my hand!"

"If I still had my old body back…"

"I never asked to have a mad scientist inhabit my body!"

"I'm not a mad scientist! A scientist? Definitely. Mad? Maybe slightly, but mad scientist? Not in the least."

I roll my eyes, then slap myself.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You rolled your eyes at me!"

I groan. I'm pretty sure that this is the epitome of internal conflict. If anyone discovered me hiding behind this barrel and heard me talking to myself in this way, I'd be sent back to the one lousy doctor we have in District Twelve. It would be no use. He's already affirmed that there's nothing he can do to help my so-called "delusions". Delusions. That's what everybody calls them, but I know better. Delusions are not the voice of a mad scientist screaming "It worked!" in your head one minute when you were perfectly fine the minute before. Delusions are not suddenly losing control of your body over to the previously mentioned mad scientist. Delusions are not the same mad scientist telling you all about the "better days'' in a place called Germany that you've never heard of but have read about in history books.

Say what you will, those are not what I would call delusions. Those are what I would call a crazy German scientist named Edward Von Hindenburg inhabiting my body.

So here I am, crouched behind a barrel in the hob, hiding from an angry merchant, all for the sake of a gear Edward wants to use for his "new machine".

"This is dumb," I mutter.

"It's not dumb!" I, as Edward, bite back. "With this gear, I'll be able to finish my meisterstück!"

"Edward, I don't care if we share the same brain! I don't understand this foregin language!"

"Meisterstück! Masterpiece! My masterpiece! Ach, was ist aus der Welt geworden?"

Noticing that no one is looking for us- I mean me- anymore, I sneak out from behind the barrel, ignoring Edward's strange words.

"Just stay out of trouble," I plead. "I can't go back to that doctor."

"Doktor?" Edward exclaims. "That man hardly deserves the title of doktor!"

Edward's rants continuing to come out through my mouth, we walk home to work on his meisterstück.

Ebony Stilleto - Capitol Socialite, 17

The District Twelve tributes didn't seem real. They seemed more like monsters straight out of a horror story the children of the Capitol would tell at a sleepover. I always knew that District Twelve was rough, rude, maybe even depraved, but if the tributes were any indication of the district itself, it was much more than that. It was a living nightmare.

No one ever expected much from Twelve. Some people in the party used its reaping as an opportunity to leave the room and get more food, but I stayed to watch. I knew that the outliers could be powerful. Powerful and dangerous. So when Bellepheron Steed appeared on stage with all his exaggerated formalities, I was right there in front of the TV. The female was first, and the least disturbing of the two. As soon as the name "Samantha Von Hindenburg" left Bellepheron's lips, a racket started in the crowd.

"You cannot take me!" a girl about thirteen yelled. "I must finish my meisterstück!" The peacekeepers began to approach the girl since she had not yet begun to move towards the stage.

"Give it up," the same girl pleaded. "It's easier if you don't resist. I will resist! You foul men will never take me alive! If we don't cooperate we may not be alive very much longer." The peacekeepers seized the young girl and started dragging her towards the stage. She altered between fits of resistance and defeated compliance, as if she was fighting herself.

"What do you think is wrong with her?" Danica giggled as she leaned over to me.

"I have no idea," I answered, my eyes still glued to the strange girl who had now arrived on the stage.

"Please Edward," she pleaded quietly to no one. She continued, "Alright. Ich werde tun, was Sie wünschen, aber diese seltsamen Idioten werden eines Tages dem Zorn von Edward von Hindenburg gegenüberstehen!"

No one understood the tribute's strange speech. "Do you think it's a code for those who want to rebel against the Capitol?" Danica asked me with a hint of panic in her voice.

"It's probably just some new language they developed down in the coal mines," I answered. "District Twelve truly is a savage place."

If only I had known how true that statement would become after the male tribute appeared.

I can't remember whose name was drawn. I didn't have time to process the name before the words "I volunteer" came from the crowd.

"Another volunteer?" my father asked with anticipation as he entered the room with a plateful of food.

Nobody responded. We were all staring in shock at the male tribute. My mother gasped. The boy was nothing like I'd ever seen. His face was scarred and sunken. His hair was long, dark, and messy and he was missing two fingers on one of his hands. Neither Danica nor I dared to laugh about or criticize his appearance. He was more than just a fashion disaster. He was, to put it plainly, a monster.

We learned that his name was Morty Sonym, and even as I sit here his face is still etched in my mind. During this small break between districts, I can think of nothing but his horrible, horrible face. I know that he will appear in my nightmares, along with that strange girl and the rest of District Twelve. And I hope that another face will appear in my dreams to protect me — the face of a handsome male tribute. So far, I haven't found one yet, but as Lazuli Ramos appears on the TV at the start of the District Three reaping, I hope this district will provide me with one.


And that's it for District Twelve! I hope you enjoyed Samantha and Morty! I've never really written a depressed character before, so I hope I did Morty justice. Samantha was a ton of fun to write, as was Ebony's reaction. Stay tuned for District Three! I don't know if Ebony will find the handsome guy she's looking for in this particular district, but the tributes will be great either way!