Alder Heath, District 8

I look like most boys from around here. Well, like everybody really. Worn down, tired, a little grim now and then. But we all try to smile about the little things, you know? I'm sure you know how it is. My face is a little pointed, and that's not just the lean months showing. My cheeks can show a decent smile, when I have something to smile about, and my eyes are blue like my father's. The hair is from him too- sandy sort of blonde, little red thrown in, high hairline.

I'm more lanky than I am tall, more wiry than I am skinny. My hands and joints are small, though, and I'm not really all that strong. I guess I just wasn't built big. Which is fine, of course. My job doesn't really entail being strong. Even when I pick up some shifts in the warehouses, I don't have to do that much heavy lifting. Or I have help. Anyway, you get my point. 5 foot 7, 140, doesn't really spell out strength.

I guess it has its advantages though. I'm fast, spry. We used to race in school all the time, and I'd either win or finish towards the top. I always enjoyed that sort of thing. I was never good at wrestling or anything like that. Just not strong enough to make technique count. Overall, I'm not really overly ugly or handsome, I'm just a normal guy. At least, I think so.

My shyness keeps me from being an outgoing social butterfly, but since I don't particularly like butterflies, I suppose that's fine. The thing is, I don't often know what to say to people. I'm not witty enough to really jump into conversations, but that doesn't mean I'm not listening, or that I don't care. I'm much better in small groups than I am in large ones. I tend to fade into the background in such settings, mostly out of necessity. Louder, more assertive people take the lead in such groups- that's just life.

But people often mistake my silence for weakness, and that's not a good idea. I have a good idea of right and wrong. It's hard to change my mind on things, and just because you're bigger than me, I'm not afraid of you. My quiet is my strength- I sit back and assess the world as it is, learn about it, and then move to do what should be done. I'm hardworking, kind, and thoughtful. (Yeah, I'm bragging a little, but I'm usually pretty humble.) Never got the point of being mean, really, though I suppose that if I got angry at somebody, I could be. I can get impatient sometimes. (I'm working on that!)

Friends have never been an issue for me. I can readily make them whenever I wish, to be honest. It's not that I'm charismatic, it's just my kindness. It's amazing what happens when you act like a human being, you see? People actually listen to you, and really talk TO you, not AT you. And that's really the point, is to move beyond just “talking at”. That's a self-serving sort of thing, and talking TO is more like a mutual exercise.

I suppose the reason for most of this had to do with Peacekeepers. They keep us pretty well under control here. I'll be honest with you (since this isn't getting back to anybody)- if I hate anybody, or anything, it's THEM. They beat us, starve us half to death when they feel like it, and expect nothing but the hardest work out of us in return. And then there's the Games. Sick, horrible, godawful (like my Grandfather would used to say), whatever. Any adjective you attach to the Peacekeepers is going to be negative. But they do run a “tight ship”, and most of us (including me) are far too scared to stick a toe out of line. I suppose that's the point of all this, but I don't see a way out of it. Most of us are resigned to this, and just smolder in our distaste for the Peacekeepers and the government of Panem. I'm not proud to say this, but I suppose that makes me a coward. I hope that I can use what smattering of bravery I have to help somebody someday. I don't want to be useless.

My history isn't really that original. Like most kids here, I was born to two parents who were struggling with the world as it was. Mom was a seamstress, dad worked in another factory on a line, making varying products, attaching buttons, that sort of thing. They weren't well off, and my entrance to the world didn't help that much. They managed to raise me well enough, though, and mom was able to get some time off work when I was younger to raise me. Eventually, she quit to be a home-maker, though we had to move to a smaller place. We had a small plot out back to grow potatoes and other useful garden...stuff. Whatever. I just remember hating turnips back then. (Strangely, I really like them now.)

I went to school, did pretty well. Excited the teachers, let me tell you. But really, it turned out that I wasn't anything special, just a “good student”, not a prodigy. False alarm. It wasn't that I was a disappointment- it was that I wasn't “amazing”. Just being normal is worse, sometimes. If I was amazing, then there would be more pressure, but I'd get praise more often. You don't get praise just for doing your job.

Throughout school, I ran races, played games when I had time, and tried as best I could to actually be a kid. Of course, it isn't easy. I was expected to pick up shifts at the factory from a fairly early age. I helped the seamstresses with my smaller hands, since I was useful for that for awhile. As I got older, I went into packing, and boxing up the finished product. My dad taught me practical skills that I could use- carpentry was in our history, so he taught me what he knew, what he could show me without certain tools. He taught me how to fix things, taught me what the world was like. Told me what flowers and animals were which, and showed me what little of the natural world is left around us. Mostly through the fence, or just beside it. That's about all the nature we have here in 8, really. Factories eat it all up.

My mother, meanwhile, taught me how to cook, clean, and do a few household chores. I still help her when I don't have the shifts at the factory to deal with. School is winding down, so soon, I won't have time for much of anything BUT work in the factories.

Haven't seen the point of trying to strain my meager wages with a rent yet. No point. Nothing to work towards really, nothing to look forward to. Just working. I suppose that at some point, I'll find something to work for, or protect. Or maybe I'll get reaped and die off in the Hunger Games. Who knows? Things happen sometimes. I just hope for the best, but expect for and plan for the worst. After all, the Peacekeepers don't like us much. Until something comes along that changes my outlook, I'm going to keep my head down, do my part, and hope for the best. Sticking out is just a bad idea.

Working on my first person POV, hoping the character doesn't sound too much like me and isn't too much like me.