Martha Randall, 13 - District Three Female

I'll admit it - I hate camping.

Yes, I'm from District Three. Yes, my district isn't supposed to have anything to do with the forests of Panem - although we do have our share of them, with thin, scraggly trees and withered bushes from the pollution that our factories cast into the atmosphere. But my family are outdoorsmen, and that means we go camping. A lot.

My family, Sevens through and through even though we were moved to Three years ago, still search for the few forests that lie in our small district so that we can experience the great outdoors. If it was up to my parents and brother, we'd live totally off-grid. If we couldn't fish, we'd hunt deer and rabbits, living off the land and using whatever edible berries and roots we could find in the forest as sustenance when we didn't have easy access to protein.

I hate it - I hate the forest, I hate the survival skills they try to teach me, I hate the mosquitoes that hang over our heads in clouds and the limp, dying forests that they claim are full of life. No, it's the city where I thrive. I want the bright light above my head to be a street lamp, to be with people and have access to everything that makes life so much easier. My parents argue against it all, but why not? We wouldn't have made it if it didn't make everyone's lives better.

My parents may try to live in the forests that are no longer their own, but I prefer the concrete city that we're supposed to stay in.

It's safer this way.

"Martha - are you ready to go? We've packed everything up, shut off the electricity so we won't have a whopping bill when we get back, done everything we need to so we can go. Have you packed your suitcase, at least?" my mother calls down the hallway, a note of despair in her voice. I look down at my open suitcase, one pair of shoes and a book tucked neatly into the crevices of the case.

"Mom, don't you remember? I have tons of homework today - I can't go camping this week with you guys. Next month, I'll be able to. But I've got a science test - and a math test - and a history test - and three essays this week on top of those. I can't do it this week." My mother lets out a sigh, realizing that she can't drag me into the rapidly thinning forests of Three today. "Next time?"

"Next time. We'll be walking out soon - we'll miss you, Martha! Stay safe, here." The sounds of my mother leaving our house and walking towards my family fade away, and I let out a sigh of relief. There's no schoolwork that big, but I didn't want to spend another weekend in the woods.

My parents might be stubborn, but I'm a good liar.

I don't want to go back to the woods. Not after what - what happened in Seven. All I see there is blood on the leaves, in the bark, on the…

On the water, where my grandparents drowned.

I turn on the electricity once more - even though my parents are gone, I still need to use it - and then turn on the television. The voices of an older couple, weathered but exuberant, float into the room, and I force back tears as I watch my grandparents demonstrate how to use ropes and make traps in the wild. After all of these years, even though they had ran this show for Capitolites and Panemians for ages, I still haven't learned to use these in the wild.

But that's okay.

Watching them, pretending that they're still there, avoiding the place that so resembles where they die, it's enough.

Yes, it's enough.

Finley Ammeti, 14 - District Three Male

"Here's your assignment this week, class - make sure to remember all of the solutions we've found in this class. They'll come in handy during your time solving some of the more difficult questions," the teacher adds as she hands out the sheets of paper that contain the questions we'll be working on for the next week. I sit in the front row, so I take the paper and complete the thirty-odd questions as the other kids in the class heave and haw about the workload. A few of them will come to me after class and ask how to solve some of the problems - I'll hand them the answer after a minute of writing, silently. I don't like talking to people. It's hard.

But the class is fast, and the work is decently hard - well, it's stuff that I find hard, so I'm only able to finish about half of the questions. I shouldn't be so humble about it, but I find it frustrating when I'm not able to finish everything I set out to do. I like to be the one that finishes first.

Besides, it's simple to do so.

I neatly fold the paper, making sure that the edges are aligned so that I don't end up with a lopsided crease in the paper, then put it into my bag. When a few kids ask me for help, I scribble a few figures on their sheet before walking out the door. I don't want to be in this classroom any more than they do.

I just want to go home.

"Read the poem that's in your workbooks, then answer all of the response questions before trying to see if you can write a poem yourself. You're all doing wonderfully - even the smallest effort in creative writing helps your talent blossom!" Our English teacher gushes on about the joys of creative writing and poetry, and I set to work.

There lay a daisy, bright and blue,

Upon a table, a maple hue

Of wood and love and something true.

It said "Oh, I must be leaving."

There flew a yellow bumblebee,

A jolly chap, so full of glee

He took a petal to make tea

Then said "Oh, I must be leaving."

There a maiden took the flower

To grow inside her granite tower

She sobbed until the seventh hour

Then said, "Oh, I must be leaving."

Of bees and maids and daisies blue

All but the daisy would soon rue

Leaving too early and too soon

But if - oh, I must be leaving.

I squint at the poem, trying to interpret some form of meaning from it. It doesn't make much sense to me - it's all flight and fancy at eight syllables a line. I want to disregard it, but there must be something I'm missing. Perhaps the meaning's written plain as day, but I can't see it.

I write down some initial reactions to the poem, hoping that's what our teacher is looking for, then try my hand at a poem.

A duck swims in a

Pond and then it flies away

To go eat something.

Then I slip out of my seat, hand my paper to the teacher, hunch my shoulders, and walk out of the door.

Here we have the District Three intros! Thanks to IIJamesII and jimster920 for Martha and Finley respectively.

Martha - Martha has dirty blonde hair and deep, wide brown eyes. Her skin color is brown, not tanned brown, and she has a lot of acne across her face due to not getting to wash very much. She is slightly underweight and is 5'1 - a little short for her age.

Finley - Finley is a small and fragile boy. He has little to no muscles in any part of his body. He is very short and skinny, coming in at just 4'11 and weighing 97 lbs. He has rosy cheeks and sports prominent dimples in his cheeks. Finley has short and straight brown hair and green eyes.

Remember to get your forms in if you haven't already! I'll see you with the District Nine intros :D - JAJ