A/N: Trigger warning for dysphoria, depression, and suicidal ideation.

Maximus Burnet, age 17
District 12 Tribute

One week before the Reaping

Today, I'm supposed to do the most significant thing I've ever done in my sorry life. But I still can't bring myself to get up.

I'll have to WALK and WAIT IN LINE and TELL EVERYONE that I'm someone I'm not, I think as I lie on the couch I use as a bed. Maybe I'll just sleep through the day. Who cares if I get fired? Nothing matters anyways.

I'm so tired.

I don't know how long I lie on the couch, alternating between closing my eyes and staring at the rickety ceiling. My family is moving about our little shack. I hope they don't realize that I'm awake or try to wake me up. I don't want them wasting their energy on me. Aren't they supposed to be somewhere? Are they really taking time out of their days because it's my birthday?

Fuck. The thought that my parents are burdened because of me is what finally gets me up out of the couch. I walk straight to the front door, hoping that Mother and Father don't notice me and just get to work.

"Happy birthday, Marjorie."

That's Mother. She's talking to me. I notice that my parents are sitting at the empty kitchen table. Pimenta is nowhere to be found, which means she's in school already. That's great - the last thing I want is for her to be late for her education because of me. But my mother and father are late for work for my sake. I almost cry, but I haven't been able to shed any tears for months.

"Thanks," I mumble, cringing a little on the inside but keeping my head down as I continue towards the front door. "I'm going to get my birthday tesserae."

I don't give my parents time to respond. I don't want them wasting time trying to make me happy. I hope they go straight back to their lives and forget about doing anything for me.

I don't want to be a burden. I hate myself. I hate myself for hating myself. Everything sucks.

I've done this before.

I start my yearly walk to the Justice Building. Everything in me is screaming at me to stop walking, sit down against one of the rickety buildings around me, and go to sleep. Maybe I'd never wake up. That'd be nice. But I want to do one productive thing before I die because I don't want to die a useless, worthless piece of crap.

In all honesty, I'm not sure if this will work. But if it does, my family - many families, really - will never go hungry ever again. There's a high chance that I'll die if my plan does work, but that would be preferable. I'd be dead, my family would be fed, and nobody would be suffering.

And I'd be doing something actually useful.

So I soldier on, my feet dragging me forward to my destination even though I just want to lie down. Before I know it, I've arrived. The front door is tall, two dark brown panels towering above me. A black Seal of Panem is emblazoned above it, and it's guarded by two uniform-clad Peacekeepers on either side plus a man in a dark blue suit in the center. As I approach, the man stands up straight and studies me carefully. If I could still feel anything, I'd be scared.

"State your business," the man says.

"I'm here to take tesserae," I say, looking him dead in the eye.

I've done this before.

"Go inside and check in at the front desk," the man says, stepping aside and turning the handle to open one of the doors. I step into the building, and the door closes behind me.

The first thing I see when I'm inside is a long desk sitting in front of a wide, carpeted marble staircase. Several people sit behind the desk. Some of the chairs are empty, others occupied. I get in line behind ten or so people who are waiting to check in. The queue shuffles forward. I wait.

"Next person at A6," a man calls, and I approach the seat marked with the letter and number. The man behind the desk doesn't look at me.

"State your business," the man says.

"I'm here to take tesserae," I repeat.

I've done this before.

The man slides forward a clipboard with a piece of paper and a pen attached. "Under Name write down your full legal name, first and last, and under Reason For Visit write Tesserae."

I do as I'm told. I almost write down "Maximus Burnet", but that isn't my legal name because I can't bring myself to go through the long process of changing it. So I cringe on the inside as I write "Marjorie Burnet".

A little white slip of paper pops out of a small printer on the side of the man's desk. He takes the slip and hands it to me.

"Sit down and wait for your number to be called," he says.

"Okay," I say, taking the slip and walking to the rows of chairs set up on either side of the desk. I sit down and wait.

"Now serving thirty-three at B1."

That's my number. I get up and approach the B windows, which are on the left side of the building. I hand my slip of paper to the woman at B1.

"Marjorie Burnet?" the woman says. I cringe on the inside again, but I nod.

The woman shuffles a few things around. Then she gets up and opens the waist-high door between her desk and me.

"Follow me," she says, and I oblige.

The walk to the tesserae office doesn't take long. I'm shown to the door, and I enter the storeroom full of wagons, oil, and grain. The stacks of supplies are fenced behind iron bars. I approach the man sitting behind the counter in the center.

"Can I have your full name and date of birth?" he asks.

"Marjorie Burnet," I say, still hating the way it sounds. "June 28th, 2 A.D.D."

"Good," the man says. "Now how many people are you taking tesserae for?"

This is the part I haven't done before, but I can't bring myself to feel anything.

"One hundred," I say, picking a random large number.

"One hundred?" the man asks.

"Yes," I say.

The man just shrugs. "I'll allow it," he says, writing something down.

My plan has succeeded, but I still don't feel anything.

A/N: Many thanks to SilverflowerXRavenpaw for submitting Max Burnet! In case there is any confusion, Max is a transgender boy.

Chapter question: What are your first impressions on Max, our Tribute in the District 12 Female slot?

Thanks for reading, and I hope to see you all soon for the Reapings!