Shayla Summers (District 11)

My Pa always told me that I'm the spitting image of my mother but I don't think so. From what little memories I still possess of her, I recall her being a heart-breaking beautiful woman with a ready smile and kind eyes. I'm not like that at all. I'm pretty average if you ask me. After a sudden growth spurt, my lanky frame stands just short of 5'8". I'm thin too, like the stalks of corn that sway in the neighbor's fields. My skin has always had a copper tint to it naturally, but its made even darker from the long hours under the sun. My dark brown hair is thick and unruly so I usually always put it up in a messy bun but it still has a way of falling into my eyes. As dark as my hair is, my eyes are even darker. They are impossibly black like the coffee my Pa would always drink if we could splurge a bit after a bountiful harvest.

I can usually always be seen wearing grass stained cut-off shorts and a ragged tank top underneath one of my Pa's old flannel shirts, unless the weather calls for something a bit more protective against the elements. The one thing that won't change is the large pair of gumboots that chafe against my shins. I've also own this wide brimmed straw hat that I wear when I'm out working in my fields to protect me from the worst of the sun's rays. My body has collected quite a few scars from various mishaps while working. There's a large one on my shoulder that curves like a snake across my chest from where I fell from the barn's loft when I was just a child. I seem to attract dirt like moths to a flame. There's always a smudge of it on my somewhere on my person but I don't mind much. It builds character.

My parents were always decent and hardworking folk and I'm not any different. I'm hospitable and kind-hearted and I have a hard time turning people in need away but I'll do what I have to in order to survive. I like to consider myself patient, afterall, most farmers are but I do have a short fuse on my temper. A few farmhands that help manage my land can attest to that. It's just I have a way of getting things done and anyone who somehow manages to deter me from the goals I've set for myself get the full brunt of my rage. Thankfully, those bouts of anger are few and far between. I don't talk all that much. I tend to communicate more through my actions than my words but I can be outspoken when it comes to something I'm passionate about.

I'm loyal and honest as well. I've been cheated one too many times throughout my life so I know how it feels. And seeing how I can't change the minds of other people, then I try to set a good example at the very least. I stand up for what I believe in and won't ever take no for an answer. This has gotten me into more trouble than I can remember but I'm headstrong and stubborn as a mule. Having a never-ending amount of responsibilities tend to make me tackle issues head-on so I can work through my problems quickly and effectively.

I've never been one for superficial things. I take what I can get and I'm content with that. I'm not afraid to get down and dirty in order to hold my own. If that means getting into a brawl or digging trenches myself, then so be it. I'm independent and I rarely let people get close to me. I tend to get lonely sometimes since both my parents past away but I'm too proud to admit it. I take a lot of pride in my farm because of how much work my family and I have put into it throughout the years. This plot of land is all I've ever known and it's one of the few things that I can call my own so I won't hesitate to fight for it if that's what it comes down to.

I was born 19 years ago to Timothy Summers and Shannon Mays on our farm, Summerland. I was merely two years old when my mother died of a terrible sickness that swept through District Eleven many years ago. When she died she took with her my unborn baby brother and all my Pa's happiness. My Pa did his best to raise me into a fine, young woman and I believe he did a decent job considering all the long hours he spent tending to the land. I'd always looked up to him and wanted to be just like him when I was older.

Throughout the years, I could always tell he was so afraid that I'd be reaped in the hunger games. His eyes spoke of the deepest despair every time the Hunger Games drew near. I guess he kept imagining that himself alone after losing everything but by some stroke of luck, my name was never chosen. The day of my nineteenth birthday, my father looked like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It wasn't long after when he finally passed away leaving me everything he owned, including the house and Summerland.


The first couple of months on my own were the hardest. The harvest didn't bring in much revenue so I had to let some of the farmhands go and even then I was going to bed on an empty stomach most nights. Without my Pa's guidance, everyone thought that Summerland would slowly waste away, but one day everything just sort of clicked for me. I suddenly knew what should be done and how I could do it. Sure, there were some tough choices and the weather always brought about some sort of disaster but Summerland survived and so did I.

I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
--D.H. Lawrence