Belladonna Summers | District 1

My favorite feature has always been my hair. Long, dark and wavy, just like my mother's. She used to style my hair every morning when I was a child. It was my favorite part of the day. I would sit there in awe, wondering how she worked her magic. She would sip her morning coffee, muttering every so often about how we were going to be late. Yet still she persisted, never giving up until that cute little red ribbon was secured in place. I favored that style as a child, loving how bouncy and full my curls looked when pulled back from my face.

When she passed away, I vowed never to change my hair. Even though sometimes I felt a little plain, sporting the same style every day while other girls were experimenting with fun colors, a part of me was glad that I left it alone. It reminded me of her, and of our quiet mornings together huddled in front of the bathroom mirror. Unfortunately, my hair happens to be the only part of me that looks like my mother at all. The rest of me looks like dear old dad. While my mother's eyes were a striking green, mine are a warm brown. While she was porcelain, I'm actually quite tan. And funny enough, I got my full lips from my father as well. I've heard that he and I are fairly exotic looking, as opposed to my mother's side of the family. 

I'm a whopping five foot three inches tall, slim, with a little curve in all the right places. I'm pretty body confident, and I keep myself in great shape. I can't say I'm a huge fan of exercise, but in the world I live in, being fit is necessary. I try to avoid the boring tasks, such as lifting weights, and focus my energy on something a little more interesting - like going for runs at night, for example.

I'm a little out there, if I'm being honest with myself. I like fantasy, adventure, romance and excitement. I'm a thrill seeker for sure. I read on my spare time, and I love to paint. When I'm bored in class I tend to daydream and -Oh! About dreaming. I remember every one of my dreams. I have this journal that I keep next to my bed, and when I wake up I record everything. And these aren't your average run-of-the-mill dreams here. These suckers are weird. And when I say weird, I mean batshit crazy. I'd honestly be horrified if anyone took a peek at what I wrote. They'd think I was insane. And I'm not. Insane, I mean. I'm just creative. Creative, and vibrant, and full of life. But not crazy. Definitely not crazy. 

Some people call me a flirt, or a tease, or worst of all (and totally unwarranted) a slut. First of all, that's an awful word in general, and secondly, what they don't know, is that hilariously enough, I'm still a virgin. It's funny to see how people can judge someone they don't know, so quickly. Maybe it's because I crack a lot of inappropriate jokes. Or maybe it's because word has gotten out that I'm a fantastic -so obviously, super experienced- kisser. Whatever the reason, I've kind of just rolled with it. 

But the truth is, I'm not like that at all. In all actuality, I'm a hopeless romantic. I fall too easily, too fast, and too hard. But, really, what's the harm in that? At least I'm a passionate person.

My history isn't all that exciting. I have no siblings, cousins, or relatives of any kind who have won the Hunger Games. But on the opposite side of the spectrum, I don't have any who have died from them either. At least, none I've met. I guess that's the perk of being an only child. I don't have any siblings I need to look out for, and it's not like my dad is ever going to be Reaped - but if he did, he'd kick some serious butt in there. He's kind of a beast when it comes to fighting. When mom died, he turned to training to take his mind off things. He's grown a lot more muscular since then.

Getting my name drawn at The Reaping would be interesting, to say the least. Unlike some other kids, I don't desperately want to partake in the games. The spotlight and the pampering would be fun, of course, and I'd be lying if I said I've never daydreamed about what I would say in the interview. But a part of me knows I'm probably not good enough to compete. Some of my classmates are incredibly skilled with weapons. I, on the other hand, am a lot better with speed and flexibility than I am with hand on hand combat. 

Plus, I love my house. I have a beautiful bedroom, and plenty other luxuries that I wouldn't want to part with. Let alone the memories that I have with my mother here. My father and I are very comfortable where we are. Perhaps I will do something artistic as a career later on. Maybe hair styling, or makeup artistry. Father has already retired. Having no need to spend the hours working, he'd rather spend it doing things he enjoyed, such as going to social gatherings with his old coworkers. 

Mother used to be heavily into the arts, just like I am. "She died of sadness", dad told me when I was younger. I get that now. She became depressed when Grandma passed, and that depression worsened when she lost my unborn baby sister. Eventually it became too much for her, and she took her own life. I used to think that was selfish of her, but lately my perspective has changed. Was it truly her that was being selfish? Or was I the selfish one, for wanting her to stay on my behalf, even though she was in so much pain?