Hayden from District 12 *WIP*

Name: The name's Hayden Staten
Nickname(s): I go by Finch
Age: I'm 16, only two more years till I'm out of the reaping
Birthdate It's July 30th, you don't need to know the year
Gender: I'm a girl
District/Area: Seriously? I'm from District 12. 
Appearance:

Appearance Text here (2 paragraphs please)

Personality:

Personality Text here (3 paragraphs please)

History:

    Not much to tell, my life's the same sob story as everyone else in District Twelve. I was born to Ryan and Judy Staten, my dad was a coal miner and my mom was a nurse, though most of the district considered her to be a nut job because she thought she could communicate with the dead. I had two siblings, Braden and River, however they got the flu and died while they were infants, so I guess I'm technically an only child. When I was 12 my mother was killed by peacekeepers for throwing rocks at President Snow's picture during the reaping for the games. My father was never the same after that day.
    My father became obsessed with trying to rebel against the capital, blaming them for my mother's death. However he thankfully had enough brains to know that publicly rebelling would only mean his own death. So he started doing little things to rebel. He would talk about District 13 and he even started encouraging fellow coal miners to not attend work, and to go on strike. Once the peacekeepers caught on to this the floggings began.
    I was 14 at the first one. I was headed to buy some bread from the bakery, since my mother had died I had to take care of myself and partially take care of my father; he made some money from coal mining but by the time he'd get home he was always too tried and worn out to do anything. I remember hearing this scream, it was ear piercing. Immediately I recognized it as my father's and ran towards the sound. I wish I hadn't. I'll never forget how it felt, to watch my father get flogged, helpless to do anything about it. And that was only the first time. 
    It happened five more times that year. After the fifth time, my father couldn't even walk away afterwards, he just collapsed. Thankfully another miner, a young friend of my father, helped me carry him to the small hovel we called home, but evidently my dad had given up trying to rebel, as that next day he was found dead, and the night lock berries we had saved for an emergency were gone.
    

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