Colin Hummings - District 8

My hair... it's that color of thread my mother hardly ever uses. She calls the color hazelnut, using it to knit caps for some of the boys and girls in the district when winter comes. And winter, that's what she says is in my eyes. My sister does, Ellie. They're such a delicate shade of blue that some may say my spirit would crack behind them. The color of ice. The delicateness of my being.

And my wardrobe is nothing but terrible. A brown shirt, chocolate is the thread that made it, held by a pair of overalls at least a size above my own. Nothing can look too special in District 8 though, since all we do is mass produce the same outfits over and over again.

I can't really say I'm the bravest soul out there. I'm weak. I'm fragile. I don't stand up for myself but instead I just play with a thread of twine to avoid conflict with the bigger kids at school. Yes, I can't topple a giant to save my life. I'm too caring and considerate of those around me to even try and get into danger or mischief. My friends and family probably would not appreciate me acting like one of the brutes we see on TV during the Hunger Games.

I do love cloth though. All forms of apparel speak to me, whether it is eloquent or damaging to what the art of textiles should be. I can spend endless hours in front of a machine, making an outfit and not care for what purpose. The craft is just enjoyable. It is where I feel most myself. Secluded. Away from the outside world that could at any moment condemn me.

I also go crazy for colorful things. How rob me of an masculinity I once had, I know, but the color aqua drive me over the edge with excitement. It's just so easy to imagine the designs I can craft with a thread of that very color. A hat for the workers of District 4 while they are fishing. I bet they would love aqua just as much as I do.

My name is Colin Hummings, sixteen years into the life that is District 8. It never seemed so bad at first, with what was a childhood innocence of play. I was raised with both my mother and father, alongside my twin sister Ellie. We learned the craft of cloth when we were just six. I was so excited to help my mom patch my clothes together and at some points I even helped make the outfits we wear to special occasions. The outfits we wear to the reapings.

Ellie and I were then helping Mom out at the small store Mom ran. We would come home from school and help with some requests that came in from the locals to patch up their clothing. It was all we could do without the Peacekeepers hounding on us. If the capitol ever found out that my Mother let Ellie and I work in the store, I couldn't imagine what would happen to her and my Father.

And we were never caught. We went through school like normal kids. Ellie fit in well with most of the people at school though. She learned to talk and keep up with what was going on in everyone's lives. I fell into the shadows of the society and wasn't all that recognized. I did pass my classes with some of the highest rankings though, becoming a pupil in my professors eyes. But that only would call for unnecessary attention from the bigger kids. The ones who hated me for being able to assimilate into that kind of society.

Each day I can remember being afraid that they would pick on me again, throw me in a trashcan or maybe lock me in the restrooms so I would be late for every class. I hated them more than anybody, and envied Ellie for being able to get along so fine. I didn't really hate her for it, just wished I could be like her. Ellie had all the support a kid like me could need.

Every night I got to come home though, to Mom and Dad in the store, and work on the textile machines with them. I could make new clothes for Mom to feature or help with the old patch jobs now that I was old enough. It gave me hope at the end of the day, to see the work I could do with a needle and thread. It was important to know that there would be something to look forward to.