I was born in a thunderstorm

I grew up overnight

I played alone

I'm playing on my own

I survived

Irene Holland, 16

District Twelve Female

Left. Right. Left. Right.

I quickly move the yellow pencil to each side of the ladybug. It looked content just sitting there on the bench. Now, though, it's just kind of sitting there confused like it can't comprehend what is happening on each side of its tiny little body.

"Irene, come on home. Your brothers and sisters are waiting for you so that they can eat. The last one in gets meager portions," my mother smirks as the last sentence leaves her fat, chapped lips.

I glare at the space that my mother was just standing. For a second, I want to go home. It's been a long day and I feel homesick but then I remember that the home that I am homesick for doesn't exist. I didn't grow up in a home. A home is supposed to be filled with love and support. Those two words, though; aren't in my parents vernacular, So, I've made do without them.

The ladybug flies and lands directly next to my thigh.

Squish.

I bring the pencil down directly into the little lady's exoskeleton. Green guts ooze out of her side and her wing flutters before it grows still. I wipe the corpse off of the bench so that I don't have to see it next time I come relax on my bench.

"It's about time, Irene!" Cordin says, moving his beautiful golden hair out of his face and smiling up at me.

"Do not smile at her," my mother says. "She has caused the family to wait for our meal. Who knows what trouble she was out causing for the family," she whispers as she scoops a tiny portion of mashed potatoes onto my plate.

"Oh hush, you cow. I have been on the bench across the street for hours just so I didn't have to waste away in this garbage can that you try to call a home," I say.

My siblings drop their spoons and stare at me wide eyed and jaws dropped. They would never even dare speak to our parents like that. Then again, my parents would never speak to my siblings the way they speak to me so I might as well give them a show.

I don't know what was different with me, but ever since I was born, my mother has resented me. Anything that has ever gone wrong has been my fault. They think so poorly of me that I have finally realized it is much easier on my emotions to just play the part. It makes my siblings look like little golden hearted prudes. But I mean, if the shoe fits right?

"Get out of my house this instant, Irene! I mean it!" My mother puts on her fake frown, the one that is glued to her mug when she wants my father to pay attention to her.

"My pleasure," I grab the serving spoon out of the mashed potatoes and lick it clean before giving a curtsey and flinging the shiny spoon in her direction. I make sure the screen door slams hard on my way out.

I'm used to being on my own. It doesn't phase me anymore. I must've spent more years of my life on the streets than in my own bed. It's taught me how to be strong on my own, so maybe I should thank the cow that birthed me. I know all the tips and tricks to making it on these streets and I do them well.

It's getting dark and the street lights are coming on, but the marketplace is still full of people trying to get their last minute meals in. A rat is nipping at my pant leg. I swat it away, but it always comes back. I wait in an alley behind the butchers. I'm not welcome in the market anymore because apparently, I cause "disturbances." I don't see the wretched bread lady that turns me in, though, so tonight might be better than planned.

The rat that had been nipping at my pant leg, chews through it and nibbles on my skin.

"Ow, you son of a bitch!" I pick up the rat by its tail. It squeals and squirms, trying to get away from my grip but it's not going anywhere. Its tiny white body goes into shock from being upside down for so long. He attempts to bite me one more time, so I snap his tail, toss him aside and emerge from the shadows.

"Mommy look, it's Irene!" my neighbor's daughter looks up at me with wide eyes, she smiles and waves.

"Do not wave at her, she is satan's daughter, Anna. She is a mean woman," her mother pulls her arm and drags her to the other side of the street, just to get out of my way.

I grab an apple off of the fruit stand and bite into it, smiling.

I used to be just like that little girl. Wide-eyed and Naive, Waving at all the strangers that would pass by. I would try my best to appease to my parents. I wanted to be someone that would make them proud, but it was never enough. My mother always gravitated towards my siblings, leaving me in the dust. I wanted her attention so badly, so I started to act out. I grew out of wanting to impress them and started to want to prove them wrong.

You see, my parents would hang a list on the wall above the toilet so that we could see it multiple times a day. On this piece of paper, was a numbered order of the children that they loved most. They updated the list daily, and I was on the bottom of the list for a consecutive two weeks. On the 14th day of being on the bottom of that list, I made a choice. For my own well-being, I had to replace my desire for love with violence. I never looked back.

Everyone in the district had me stereotyped as a malicious little girl ever since I can remember. I tried my best to live up to this stereotype for so long that eventually, I became it.

"Look, babe, Irene Holland is roaming the streets again. Her poor parents," A woman says, gripping onto her husband's arm tighter as I pass by.

"We will just double check our locks tonight," he whispers.

"Yeah, good choice," I mutter to myself, giggling all the way back to the alley.

So many times it happens too fast

You trade your passion for glory

Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past

You must fight just to keep them alive

Cole Pagny, 18

District Twelve Male

I was born on the bottom.

My very first memory is not having enough food to eat and waiting for my mom to get back from one of her late night "excursions." She wrapped me up in a raggedy blanket and left me with a book. She was gone for hours. I had already looked at all the pictures in the book close to ten times so I needed to find some other way to entertain myself until my mom came back from working. I counted the times that my stomach rumbled until she got home.

By the time she came moseying back into our makeshift home, I had counted to fifty-two. She gave me a quick kiss on my head and handed me a banana and a pack of peanut butter crackers. She smelled like a mixture of smoke, men's cologne, and sweat. It smelled awful, but it was comforting. I shoved the food down my throat, wrapped up in my blanket again and dozed off, using my mom's thigh as a pillow.

That is not a memory that any child should have, let alone a first memory. I still have flashbacks to that night because it is important to me to remember where I came from and to remember where I never want to be again.

"Cole! How are you?" A woman pats me on the shoulder and smiles at me brightly. "I haven't seen you in forever," she says, tugging at her clothes. She looks ragged and her clothes are tattered and torn but her spirits are still bright. I've learned to appreciate these types of people.

"Hello!" I smile back at her, reaching out to shake her hand. "I don't come over to this side of town much anymore, I'm just picking up some things for the bakery," I set down the boxes that I had been carrying and rummage through them until I find the pack of muffins.

"I'm glad to see you doing so well for yourself, Cole. It warms my heart," she smiles at me and begins to walk away.

"Wait Miss!" I hand her the pack of six muffins and smile at her, urging her to take them.

"You never belonged in a place like this Cole, you have a heart of Gold," She reaches out slowly and takes them. Tears start forming in her eyes.

Being back on this side of town is never easy. It's a part of my past that I would live to just block out, but it made me who I am today. I pick the boxes up off of the ground and start my journey back to the other side of District Twelve. Passing all of the brothels that I was raised in throws me into memories that I tried so long to suppress

The night before my tenth birthday, I was starving. My mother had run off to another brothel with another strange man and left me to fend for myself. I was sitting behind the brothel that we had lived in longest when a man approached me.

"What's wrong, Son?" he asked.

"Tomorrow is my birthday and I'm lonely and hungry," I said, feeling bad for complaining to this complete stranger.

"Come with me," he said.

My mom was obviously not the type to tell me to stay away from strangers, so I went with him. I learned shortly after that he was the owner of the Bakery on the other side of town. He let me eat as many cupcakes as I could stomach and then offered me a job. My life was never the same from that moment on and I never looked back.

I would run errands for Mr. Amstar and Deliver the baked goods and before I knew it, I found myself at the top for the first time in my life. I was at the top of the small group of delivery boys and it felt good. That feeling still drives me today, to do my best and keep reaching for more. When I was thirteen years old, I was promoted to a job in the kitchen. It meant long hours standing directly next to the oven, but it was more money so I never complained. I rarely ate anything and put away all of the money that I earned for my future. Mr. Amstar was so impressed by my hard work that he promoted me again. This time, to his assistant. This meant much higher pay and that I was able to live in the attic of the bakery.

It was my first real home and the first place that I really felt like I belonged. Mr. Amstar became my family and for the first time in my life, I felt like I had a family. Unfortunately, that didn't last long.

When I was seventeen years old, Mr. Amstar fell ill. He could no longer bake and was afraid of losing his business so he signed everything over to me. At seventeen years old, I ran a prosperous bakery and days of hunger were a thing of the past for me.

When Mr. Amstar passed away, he asked me to move into his house and made me promise that I would keep his bakery running. I'm going to do everything in my power to keep that promise to him.

Today, the bakery is still running smoothly and the sales are good. I have been able to hire three new employees to help me bake and deliver things all over the district. My mother, who has been homeless almost all her life, is living comfortably in the attic that was once my first home. I support her with the income that I make from the bakery.

I am only eighteen years old. I don't know everything, and I have a lot to learn still, but the boy who was born on the bottom is on the top now.

I went from not knowing if I was going to live to help someone else live and that is a humbling feeling.

Hey

I wanted everything I never had

Like the love that comes with light

I wore envy and I hated that

But I survived

Irene Holland, 16

District Twelve Female

"I'm really scared, it's just not right. I don't want anyone of you having to go through that," my older sister is sitting on the park bench next to me, with her head in her hands.

"Oh come on, pull yourself together. It's not the end of the world. It's kind of exciting actually," I tell her.

Reaping day. The day that everyone in the district dreads. Well everyone except for me that is. I think it's an ingenious idea. It's just another way to off some of these miserable cows that mope around the district acting like their lives are so hard. They wouldn't know a hard life if it came up to them and smacked them in the face.

"Irene, I don't even know who you are anymore," she says, with more tears streaming down her face. "For the love of God, please leave those poor bugs alone!" She gets up off of the bench and runs away.

I look down at the small pile of moths that I have pulled the wings off of during our bland conversation and shrug. My sister's desperate plea makes me consider letting the small insect that I have trapped in between my fingers so, but I decide against it. I rip off the tiny creature's wings and smush them in between my fingers, tossing the corpse into the pile with all his little wingless friends.

"Mother!" I scream as I enter the Holland house.

"Lower your voice this instant, young lady!" my mother says, raising her hand at me.

"Since you are so concerned about what people think of our family, I need something to wear to the reapings today," I roll my eyes and swat her hand out of the way, leaving a trail of moth guts on her forearm.

"Here. Now change and get out of my house," she scowls and then goes back to carefully curling my younger sisters golden blonde strands.

I put on the wretched white dress and head to the reapings. I don't care to wait for my siblings, they are in good hands.

"Let's go get this over with," I say to no one in particular.

Rising up, back on the street

Did my time, took my chances

Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet

Just a man and his will to survive

Cole Pagny, 18

District Twelve Male

"We need to just have a set plan just in case, man," I tell my assistant. "I promised Mr. Amstar that his bakery would never go to waste and I intend to keep that promise," he nods as if he is hearing me but he doesn't say much.

"Everything is going to be okay, honey," my mom says, coming down the winding staircase that leads to the attic.

"I know that mom, but I just think it's smart to have a set plan in place just in case," I tell her, with a concerned smile.

"I mean, worst case scenario, I can take over until you get back out," she sits down at the table and crosses her legs. I throw my head back and chuckle until I realize that she is serious.

"Mom, I mean this with the utmost respect, you don't exactly have the most reliable track record and this bakery is my entire life," I say, gently.

"How many damn times do I need to apologize to you, Coley?" She asks me, getting up from the table.

"Mom, sit down. Today is not the day. I am going to leave Pierre in charge if need be, but he will definitely need your help. This seems to settle her down as she returns to the table.

"You know, I am so proud of the man that you turned out to be, my love. I'm sure your dad was a strong man, whoever he was," she says, giggling. Pierre looks uncomfortable and shifts in his chair.

"Well, I'm glad that's settled. Pierre, let's go," I say, straightening my light blue button down.

The reapings are always a somber scene. There are people who are obviously afraid and then there are the people who just really don't care. Pierre and I find our place among the eighteen-year-olds and wait patiently. Eventually, the escort comes out.

"Hello there! My name is Ellie Rawlings and I am your escort for District Twelve. The lovely, and slightly smelly and depressing, District Twelve! Let us all celebrate this glorious day together!" she says, the bright pink bun on her head bounced with each word that leaves her mouth.

She has on bright pink stockings and a victorian style black dress. Her hair is the same color as her stockings and it's just thrown into a messy bun on the top of her head, for some reason, it still looks elegant, though. She seems to have painted her face to appear even paler than she already is. She has applied obviously false lashes way under her eyes to make them appear bigger and like a demented porcelain doll. She looks like someone my mom would have befriended thirteen years ago.

"While I would love to stay and spend time with you all, I think it's better that we just get right to it. We will start with the ever so darling ladies," she struts to the glass bowl and quickly draws a slip out.

"Your lovely lady contender is… Irene Holland!"

The crowd collectively gasps, this is going to be good.

A smaller girl emerges from the sixteen-year-old section. Her fists are balled up and she is groaning angrily. She stomps up to the stage and stands there with her arms crossed.

"Hello lovely, would you like to say anything?" she asks her but before she can even get the words out, Irene is grabbing the microphone.

"I am so angry! This is soo tragic. This is quite possibly the worst thing that has ever happened to me. It's just not fair!" She screams into the microphone. Sarcasm is clearly intended here but I have a feeling not everyone caught on.

As Irene hands the microphone back to Ellie, there is a sinister grin on her face.

"Well, that was certainly interesting," Ellie giggles. "Let's move on," she says walking over to the boy's bowl.

"Your fella contender is… Cole Pagny!" she screeches into the microphone.

This can't be happening. No. Things were going so well. My legs don't want to move.

"Oh Cole," the escort sings.

My legs finally decide to move and I slowly make my way to the stage. I am scanning the crowd for Pierre. When I find him, he gives me a nod and I feel a tiny bit better. Although, I don't think that feeling of comfort is going to last for long. I deny the microphone and Ellie leads us into the justice building.

Hi!

Well, We are FINALLY done with the reapings. I want to apologize for the fact that it took me this long. When I start something, I will always finish it. I am excited to meet back with our earlier tributes and get on with the train rides!

Do y'all want to check back in at the Capital or get straight to the train rides?

What did you think of these two?

Now that you have seen all of the tributes, who are your favorites?

Predictions?

QOTD: What is your favorite quote?

XOXO

Jenna.

PS. My boyfriend IVolunteerAsAuthor is going to start a sequel to Home of the Brave. He is currently taking tributes. It's going to be such a good story so don't miss the opportunity to submit. Everything you need is on his profile. Check it out :)