Desiree Redwood, 17

District 7 Female

"Come on, big guy!" Desiree called, hopping up on a picnic table and holding out her arm. "Scared?"

"Scared?" her boss scoffed, moving forward to stand across from her. "You're going to wimp out halfway through!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," she teased. Her boss, Sam, grabbed her hand and tried to stare her down. Desiree just smirked at him.

"Go!" Jesse shouted, and the arm-wrestling match began.

Sam was strong, Desiree had to give him that. But she was stronger. In a few moments, she had his arm pinned.

"Two out of three?" he asked, glancing up at her. The crowd of lumberjacks laughed, and Desiree giggled.

"Definitely not."

She pumped her arms above her head as her co-workers began to cheer for her. Jesse gave her a fist bump.

"Does this mean I get a raise," she asked Sam, brushing some of her short, choppy brown hair out of her face. He raised an eyebrow.

"Absolutely not."

The bell rang, signaling the end of the workday. Desiree grabbed her leather bag and swung it onto her back, giving Sam what she hoped was an intimidating look.

"I'm ready to kick your ass tomorrow too," she threatened.

"Yeah, right," he scoffed.

Desiree walked home with Jesse. They lived near each other, and Jesse was able to put up with Desiree's go go go personality. They'd also shared a few intimate moments, though Jesse wasn't interested in a relationship. Desiree was okay with that. They were still best friends.

Walking through the trees was peaceful, but it was making Desiree antsy. She spotted a rock and began to kick at it as they walked.

"Jeez, do you ever relax?" Jesse asked teasingly. Desiree shook her head with a laugh.

"Nope!"

They hurried past Mr. Smith's house, since he was a jerk who'd yell at her for liking girls, and turned the corner to their street. Desiree gave Jesse a quick hug before climbing up the rickety porch steps and throwing open her front door.

"I'm home!" she shouted.

"Hush!" her mom shouted back. "No yelling in the house!"

"But you just yelled too," she grumbled, dropping her bag by the door. The floor creaked in protest. Desiree stomped past her brothers' bedroom door. Her older brother Tyler still lived at home, despite being 19, but he had to share a bedroom with their younger brother. Desiree's bedroom was in the attic. She climbed the ladder and pushed open the door, flopping down her bed. The bedframe banged against the wall and her mom shouted her name again. Desiree rolled her eyes and laid back, stretching her arms above her head. She was tired from work, but at least tomorrow was a day off.

Martin Jackman, 15

District 7 Male

"Martin!" his mom called from downstairs. "Can you set the table?" He looked up from his woodcarving and frowned. Tonight Red and his family were coming over for dinner. Perfect Red and his perfect life and his perfect husband.

Tossing his carved wooden horse onto his bed, Martin stumbled his way down the stairs, stopping to kick at the air a few times. It was a new tic he was developing, and it was making his knee sore. Dad was taking time off of work to bring him to the doctor's tomorrow.

His mom was chopping up lettuce for a salad when he entered the kitchen.

"Is Pine here?" he asked.

"He's asleep in his room," his mom replied. Martin grunted in acknowledgement.

Pine was… a bit of a mess. Sometimes he'd be out for days at a time, and sometimes he wouldn't leave his room for a week. And according to his dad, they'd spent too much money on his bail to justify him staying at home. But he had yet to be kicked out.

Martin grabbed a stack of plates from the cupboard and began setting them out. He put Red's special plate at the head of the table. Martin painted it when he was little, but his parents talked him into giving it to Red for his birthday. Martin still regretted it. It was an awesome plate.

His fingers started to twitch and his nose wrinkled. Stupid Red got all the attention, and he didn't even live at home anymore. Whirling around, Martin dropped the plate and kicked his leg out. His foot connected with the plate, sending it flying. It shattered against the wall, spraying porcelain everywhere. His mom screamed.

Martin's dad raced into the room, looking around wildly. When he saw the shattered plate and Martin's shocked face, he relaxed. But his mom whipped around angrily.

"Martin Edward Jackman!" she shrieked. "What in the world was that?"

"A new tic, I guess," Martin said with a shrug. Her eye twitched, but his dad put a hand on her shoulder.

"Lily, it's not his fault," he said gently. His mom frowned, but went to grab the broom.

There was a knock on the door and his dad went to answer it, leaving Martin alone. He shuffled his feet before heading into the hall, following his dad. He was giving Red a hug while Martin's nieces ran in.

"Uncle Martin!" Calla cried, throwing herself at him. Martin picked him up and spun her around, making her squeal with delight. While he sometimes resented Red, Martin was grateful for his nieces. Calla and Hana were only 4 and 2, but they were energetic and happy, and matched Martin's levels of energy quite well.

Fjord, Red's husband, stepped inside and shook hands with Martin's dad.

"Hello Robin," he said. "Good to see you."

"You too," his dad said. "Dinner might be late. Martin broke a dish."

"Classic," Red teased. Martin stuck out his tongue.

"Uncle Martin, you have fancy fingers," Calla said, grabbing Martin's hand. He looked down at his nails, which he'd painted black two days ago. His mom hated it.

"Yeah!" he said. "Want me to do yours?" Calla's eyes lit up, and Red frowned.

"Absolutely not," he said firmly. Both Martin and Calla began to pout.

Samantha Von Hindenburg, 13

District 12 Female

Samantha groaned uncomfortably, angling her head slightly to avoid Edward's bad breath. He always breathed on her in the night, and it was extremely annoying. She tried to reach over and adjust her pillow, but her arm wasn't quite long enough. With an annoyed sigh, she sank her head back down and craned it away from Edward's.

District 12 didn't have the means to separate their bodies, and even if they did, the conjoined twins shared a torso. It probably wouldn't be safe. Their mom had applied for medical attention from the Capitol, but no one had ever sent her a letter back.

Sometimes, Samantha wished Edward wasn't there. He was loud and erratic and rude, and her quieter nature didn't pair well with that. Edward was definitely in charge. He didn't mind the stares and comments, while Samantha would just flush and look away.

Edward let out a particularly loud snore and Samantha squeezed her eyes shut. The sun was just beginning to rise, which meant he'd be asleep for a few more hours. She was the early riser in the family.

She laid quietly, listening to her mother sleeping in the other room. Her mom was a snorer as well. Was Samantha the only one who enjoyed silence? Sometimes it certainly seemed that way.

The morning birds began to sing and Samantha reached over to push at Edward's cheek.

"Can we get up?" she asked softly. Edward slapped her hand away, opening one eye.

"Don't be so annoying," he grumbled, shifting their torso under the blanket.

"Please?" she begged. "My leg is cramping up."

"Fine," Edward grumbled with a roll of his eyes. The two of them worked together to remove the blanket and climb out of bed. Keeping their pajamas on, Samantha led the way outside.

It was a bit chilly, but not enough to keep her inside. They sat on the rickety bench on the porch and Samantha drank in the smell of the fresh bakery bread.

Their little house was across from the District bakery. The Von Hindenburg family was lucky enough to live in the main part of town, despite being a single-income household. According to their older sister Brooke, their dad got up and left when he saw Edward and Samantha. He called them a monster on his way out.

Whether it was true or not, Samantha didn't know. Their mom refused to talk about him, and unfortunately, Edward took after Samantha. She was just as rude and bitter, if not more. But the two of them were also extremely intelligent. She worked as an apprentice at the apothecary, and Edward wanted to do the same thing. He loved learning about how the brain worked, which wasn't quite apothecary work, but it was as close as he could get living in District 12.

She could tell that Edward was already getting bored. But she chose to ignore him for now, knowing that he'd make it very clear when he was finally fed up. Closing her eyes, Samantha allowed herself to briefly dream of being separated; of being her own person.

Morty Sonym, 17

District 12 Male

'An explosion rocked the ground, throwing Morty onto the floor, head cracking against his brother's bed frame. His little brother cried out and Morty scrambled to his feet, vision swimming. Hurrying to the window, he stared out at a fiery nightmare. Their small house in the Seam was one of the homes closest to the mines. And in the early hours of the morning, the mine had exploded. Morty turned to grab Micah, but found himself staring at a burning beam where his brother used to be. Micah's body was flattened and burning beneath it. So Morty ran.'

Morty jerked away with a short shout, sweat dripping down his face. He brushed his stringy black hair out of his face and flopped back on the sacks of flour he'd been sleeping on, panting hard.

Once he caught his breath, Morty examined his right hand. His ring and pinky fingers were missing, one of the most noticeable results of the fire. He tried to run, but found himself trapped by a burning front door. So he'd climbed onto the kitchen counters and dove out a window.

For the next four months, Morty lived with Lin, District 12's apothecary. She had to amputate his fingers. But as soon as he was back on his feet, she began to treat him like a slave. So he ran away. And he'd been on his own ever since.

Not that running away did him any good. There was really no point in continuing. Nobody cared for him. Nobody wanted him. The only people he ever loved had died painfully. What was the point in staying alive?

Very often, Morty wished he'd died in that fire. It would have saved him from so much pain and misery. He was homeless, starving, and constantly plagued by nightmares.

Boots crunched on the gravel outside and Morty curled in on himself, trying to stay quiet. He'd snuck into the baker's shed last night to sleep on the bags of flour, but if the baker found him, he was screwed. Luckily, the footsteps faded. Morty waited another few minutes before peeking outside. No one was there, so he ran.

He headed for the town square, darting in and out of alleyways. Sometimes the butcher would offer free jerky, and while Morty wanted to die, he didn't want to die of starvation. That was one of the worst ways to go.

But the butcher was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a squad of Peacekeepers was constructing a makeshift stage, while another few set up a large screen above it. 'Oh', Marty thought. 'The reaping is tomorrow'.

As he slunk back into the alleyway, a morbid idea popped into his head. What if he volunteered? As many times as he'd tried, he couldn't seem to do it himself. But this way it didn't have to be him, and he'd be saving someone else's life. That seemed like a good way to go.