Things

Tributes
Careers: Ardor (1), Sapphire (1), Brick (2), Alexis (2), Tidus (4), Penelope (4), & Meta (14)

District 0 Pair: Tempest (0) & Halley (0)

Female Alliance: Techna (3), Tesla (5), Mazie (9), Viscera (10), & Kessie (13)

Three Amigos: Vizio (3), Autus (6), & Theodore (8)

District 7 Pair: Barker (7) & Thistle (7)

Overlooked: Brann (9) & Lartius (11)

Info Cards
Name: Tempest Galveston

Age: 16

Height: 5’8

Info: Tempest lives alone with his Father in District 0 after losing his mother to an illness. He greatly resents District 14 for this, believing that they could have saved her if they so chose. His lack of social skills, however, often hold him back from from showing his resentment.

Name: Halley Vega

Age: 15

Height: 5’4

Info: Halley lives in the richer portion of the District, and if often known around school as the quiet girl. She often spends time just daydreaming and wishing for a more exciting life. Unfortunately for her, she gets her wish when she is Reaped.

Name: Champagne Gleam

Age: 18

Height: 5’9

Info: Champagne believes she’s been destined to win the Games ever since she was a child. Whether due to arrogance or just a strong belief in her own ability, she thinks herself stronger than any other in her District and will stop at nothing to prove it.

Name: Ardor Prodigy

Age: 18

Height: 6’1

Info: Ardor has always excelled at anything he’s tried; and the volunteering process for the 23rd Hunger Games was no difference. In fact, he’s been the best for so long that he has begun to believe that their is no one on his level. This belief, however, has led him a desperate search for an equal, someone who can match his skill level and perhaps surpass it. The 23rd Games may just contain such a person.

Name: Alexis Ryker

Age: 17

Height: 5’8

Info: Alexis comes from a middle class family in District 2. Her family has long sought a way to make a name for themselves and they finally found it when Alexis passed the 23rd Games selection exam. Now that her family’s hopes are squarely on her, will Alexis deliver? Or will the pressure that has long been pressed on her shoulders finally crush her?

Name: Brick Slayte

Age: 18

Height: 6’2

Info: Brick is the son of two Victors and, from the second he was born, he was raised to become the third amongst his family. His entire life has been nothing but preparation for the Games, and by the time the turned 18 no other male in the District even bothered entering the volunteer process. Does Brick wish to compete? Who knows? No one has ever asked him, and he’s not the type of person to talk about his feelings.

Name: Techna Vision

Age: 15

Height: 5’3

Info: In a District full of erudites and technological whizzes, Techna is just an average teenager. She has no vast knowledge, no skill with technology. When she was Reaped many wrote her off entirely. But never underestimate the abilities of an average person. They may just surprise you.

Name: Vizio Byte

Age: 16

Height: 5’7

Info: In a District full of erudites and technological whizzes, Vizio stands head and shoulders above them all. Several inventions have been contributed to his name and he has smashed almost every academical record there is. Vizio’s intelligence is unrivaled; but will it save him in the Games?

Name: Penelope Finbar

Age: 18

Height: 5’4

Info: Penelope is considered by many to be the most beautiful and popular girl in the District. Beloved by many, she has a multitude of friends and no shortage of admirers. Though she attended the Academy she never had any intention of volunteering…until she did. Heading into the 23rd Games, Penelope has left many scratching their heads and wondering why the girl who had everything suddenly threw it all away.

Name: Tidus Flow

Age: 18

Height: 5’11

Info: Tidus has always lived life by his family’s motto “Go with the flow”. He’s never been one who sought out greatness or wanted attention, and would much rather just sit back on the ocean and chill. Yet when the 23rd Games roll around and there are surprisingly no volunteers, Tidus suddenly finds himself thrust into the spotlight. Will he survive and attain greatness? Or just become yet another footnote in history?

Name: Tesla Wattson

District: 5

Age: 15

Height: 5’3

Info: Born amongst the upper crust of District 5, Tesla has spent her entire life surrounded by luxury. She has no practical experience in the “real world” and fails to understand some of the nuance that it contains. Her hatred for physical labor is surpassed only by her disdain for the lower class.

Name: Edison Burn

District: 5

Age: 14

Height: 5’5

Info: Orphaned and left on the streets, Edison had to scratch and claw for everything in his life. Joining a street gang in his early years, he was quickly taught that nothing in life comes free and if you want something, you have to earn it. Don’t let his height and scrawny figure fool you—he has killed before and will have no problem doing so again.

Name: Reiko Sonatas

District: 6

Age: 16

Height: 5’5

Info: Reiko is a mystery to the people of District 6. Often seen wandering the streets dressed as a shinobi of legend, no one knows anything about her. And that’s just how she wants it.

Name: Autus Spanner

District: 6

Age: 17

Height: 5’10

Info: Autus lost most of his family at a young age, living by himself and his elderly grandfather. Autus works on the trains that crisscross Panem, and is often away from home. He will do whatever is necessary to make ends meet and support his grandfather—even smuggle contraband into the District.

Name: Thistle Hesmin

District: 7

Age: 17

Height: 5’5

Info: The child of a pair of rebels, Thistle was quickly adopted into the group upon their death. She has known Barker her entire life—both of them lost their parents in the same incident. Thistle does not truly believe in the cause; she thinks her parents death are proof that nothing good will ever come from rebellion. Yet she stays with the group because of Barker. She tries daily to convince him to quit—up until the day they’re both Reaped.

Name: Barker Caspum

District: 7

Age: 16

Height: 5’9

Info: The child of a pair of rebels, Barker was quickly adopted into the group upon their death. He has known Thistle his entire life—both of them lost their parents in the same incident. Barker is a true ideologue, he wholeheartedly believes in the cause and will never let himself be dissuaded from attempting to make it a reality. To Barker, there are only two kinds of people in the world. Those for the rebellion and those against it—and if you’re against it, watch out.

Name: Taylor Musslin

District: 8

Age: 16

Height: 5’6

Info: The Musslin family has a long history in weaving. Taylor’s Great-grandmother lived and died as a weaver in District 8’s textile milled. Her Grandmother lived and died as a weaver. So did her Mother. Taylor has long known that her destiny is to live and die as a weaver too…until she was Reaped, that is.

Name: Theodore Drest

District: 8

Age: 17

Height: 5’8

Info: Theodore is a sociopath. He has no empathy, compassion, or ability to relate to others. Any action he takes is for the sole benefit of amusing him, and he often struggles with impulse control. He sees no difference between people and things—both are just garbage waiting to be thrown away. Despite this, he has never harmed another person. Not because of morals or the fear of repercussions; he has just never been motivated to do so. The 23rd Games, however, will supply him with more than sufficient motivation.

Name: Mazie Sunnoria

District: 9

Age: 16

Height: 5’5

Info: Mazie lives with her parents and younger sister in the fields of District 9. Though they are not rich, they have lived a loving fulfilling life. However, Mazie has never gotten over the fact that her little sister Aria was blinded in a childhood accident. Upon hearing that District 14 has a type of surgery that could fix her sight, Mazie decides to volunteer and give her sister the life she deserves.

Name: Brann Garner

District: 9

Age: 17

Height: 6’0

Info: Brann lives a simple life working the fields of District 9. There’s nothing special or noteworthy about him—he’s just an average guy living an average life. But count him out at your own peril. Brann intends to show the world that great things come in simple packages.

Name: Viscera Clomp

District: 10

Age: 16

Height: 5’9

Info: Viscera lives in the urban portion of District 10 with her Mother. She does not have a happy home life—her Mother has wild mood swings that can have her abusing Viscera to smothering her with love in the blink of an eye. Raised and taught that she’ll need to compete in the Games, Viscera is terrified of losing her life—yet also excited at the prospect of escaping her Mother’s yoke.

Name: Baron Bludd

District: 10

Age: 18

Height: 7’0

Info: Baron is an abnormality. Unnaturally tall and strong, he lives with his parents who run the largest butchers shop in the District. Baron excels at his work and greatly enjoys it, feeling like he is bettering society. Despite this, most people think of him as a freak. This feeling is not helped by the fact he almost always wears a leather mask—few know what he looks like underneath. Though some think he is dumb, Baron is actually quite intelligent, something he has no problem concealing so as to better fit people’s expectations.

Name: Peppa Trails

District: 11

Age: 14

Height: 5’2

Info: At first glance Peppa seems to be a normal, kind fourteen year-old girl. But appearances can be deceiving.

Name: Lartius Spud

District: 11

Age: 16

Height: 5’9

Info: Lartius belongs to a large, poor family that lives in District 11. Often lacking the necessary

Arena
Outside the Glass Dome An ever-shifting, ever-growing mass of crimson sand surrounds the Arena’s twelve spokes. This powdery matrix is quite loosely packed, yet there is no discernible wind carrying the stagnant dust across the landscape; clouds of errant particles therefore must only signify movement of some creature — tribute or mutt — right?

Thicket #1 Any tribute who wanders too far into this dense clump of trees will find themselves having difficulty navigating anywhere. The slender, close-together trees grab at hair and clothing and backpacks and whatever else sticks out, making running impossible for anyone not interested in putting their eye out on a protruding branch. It seems unlikely that anything would be able to track you by sight between the close trees, though the snapping twigs will make it very easy to be heard.

Dead Forest #2 In the Hunger Games, forests often offer precious resources to weary tributes. Not so here. Some trauma swept through a while ago, killing almost everything in thia spoke of the arena, and now anything that may once have been edible has long since disintegrated beyond safety. Worse yet, detritus floats in the streams, clogging and tainting the water. The entire area reeks of decay, and god forbid a tribute wander too close to a carrion-eater's dinner. There is, at least, cover, should tributes have the stomach to enclose themselves in inescapable reminders of the fate that awaits them.

Swamp #3 Tributes not wishing to get their feet wet ought to avoid this flooded forest. Much of the water in this area is about knee-height, the bottom coated with a thick, cement-like mud that threatens to swallow tributes’ footwear — or even feet — whole. The water’s surface is coated with a green sheen of algae that manages to creep up onto anything around water-surface level. The trees in the area are likewise coated with colonies of these protests as well as lichens and mushrooms.

Bog #4 Tributes will be hard-pressed to find much cover in this mini-ecosystem, unless they're brave enough to duck their heads under the chilly water. Much of the water is too shallow to hide in, however, as the majority of this spoke is comprised of a wet, spongy ground with soil comprised of mainly decaying vegetable matter, and doesn't exactly smell pleasant enough to invite tributes to splash around in the mire.

Moorland #5 The Moorland offers very little in the way of shelter or camouflage, leaving the tallest tributes the most vulnerable to vigilant eyes. Luckily for those who have selected to spend their time in the moor, a thick fog hangs over the hilly shrubland. Clumsy tributes beware: it's too easy to take a nasty spill down the uneven hills, and many who do may just find themselves tumbling through a briar patch.

Fields #6 Ageless stories say that for agreeing to grow in rugged highlands, heather was blessed with the strength of an oak tree, the fragrance of honeysuckle, and the sweetness of roses. All of this is true of the low-lying plants here, and those who stumble across them should be grateful. In a death trap, it can be hard to remember that beauty exists; this peaceful field of low-lying purple and white flowers is an achingly poignant reminder, a souvenir of days left behind and dreams deferred. Enjoy the respite, tributes. Just remember not to get too serene...

Rainforest #7 An exact replica of its larger, real-world counterparts, this rainforest houses a wide array of exotic species of plants and animals. Tall, tropical trees form a canopy over the forest floor, shielding it from the world above. The humidity in the air is incredibly uncomfortable, though, and the heat is enough to make anyone pass out. Tributes will be able to find food and water here, if they make the right decisions; if they don’t, however, there is a very good chance that they'll find themselves poisoned instead.

Coniferous Forest #8 The northernmost spoke houses an evergreen forest, thick with pines, firs, spruces, and many other species of coniferous trees. This place is a paradise for tributes looking for a good place to remain hidden; the thick needles of these trees provide excellent means of concealment. Watch where you tread, though, because more than just tributes use this forest as a place to hide.

Hot Springs #9 This entire spoke consists of nothing but a thick sheet of rock and stone across its area, in the center of which is a bubbling pool of smoldering groundwater, nearly scalding to the touch. Perhaps tributes could stand to dip their hand or foot in for a few seconds at a time, but anyone with any sense at all could see that the temperature of the water is far too hot to be comfortable for their entire body. This is no place for a bath, tributes.

Vineyard #10 Once, this must have been a beautiful place, well-loved by those who maintained it. Much like the tributes themselves, however, it has been abandoned to the wild. While most of the original vines have flourished in the freedom, growing so thick that they obscure the trellises entirely, sections of them have choked and died under the relentless advance of foreign plants and animals. Even so, the vineyard remains a haven for grapes and the paws and wingbeats of those who tend to them—and judging by the occasional susurration of the leaves, which only sometimes seems to be accompanied by moving animals, neither side has any compunction about drawing tributes into their fight.

Cavern #11 Dark, dank, and dreary, this cavern in the eleventh spoke is not a place any tribute would like to end up. For one, unless you have proper light, you won’t even be able to see your hand in front of your face, let alone the vast walls of stone that set apart this massive cave from the rest of the arena. For another, this is a favorite hiding place of many beastly creatures, big and small. Stay away from this place, unless you fancy yourself their dinner.

Graveyard #12 Even in the midst of the day, an eerie shadow falls over this place. Somehow, the Gamemakers have engineered this tower to perpetually resemble night, and it only adds to the eerie atmosphere; the chill doesn’t come from the sudden drop in temperature compared to the arena outside, nor the cold spots a few degrees colder from the surrounding areas, but instead from the realization that the neat rows of headstones inscribed with the names and districts of the fallen tributes from years past—every year past, from the start of the Hunger Games. 59 rows of 23 headstones—over a thousand in all—span the entire area, each row finished off with a statue of the victor in some graveyard pose: donning angel wings or a hooded robe, weeping, praying, holding flowers, glancing skyward or looking towards the living tributes with pity. In the very back of the cemetery, the headstones of the twenty deceased from these Games have already appeared.

Bamboo Forest. This area is relatively flat with ground made of large patches of both podzol and grass. Tall bamboo trees soar far above the tributes heads, while the ground is covered in grasses, ferns and dense oak shrubs much like other forests. However, the slender, close-together trees grab at hair and clothing and backpacks and whatever else sticks out, making reckless running ill-advised for those concerned about their safety.

Tempest Galveston - District 0
A sharp, howling wind races outside as I wake up from my slumber. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I roll out of bed and gaze out the window. I am greeted with the sight of whipping wind and swirling snow. A blizzard has snuck up on us.

I suppose that I am not too surprised. District Zero has always been plagued with snowstorms and sudden squalls. My sixteen years of existence have been spent almost perpetually in the grip of some sort of cold wind. What matter is one more day?

I cross my thickly carpeted floor to the large wooden armoire set in the corner of my roon, next to the door. I quickly dress myself in several layers of clothing, including both a sweatshirt and jacket. I will be forced to go outside today, after all.

Because it's Reaping Day.

I try not to let the thought disturb me, but it does. Many years ago the Games were supposedly stopped. The Capitol had fallen. The District's had finally triumphed and the Hunger Games were nothing but bad memories. Yet...

After a decade of turmoil and civil war, a new government rose to power. One that prided itself on equality and fairness. Everyone in every District had been responsible for the war, they said. Everyone ought to share in the repercussions of it, they told us. Repercussions? What would those repercussions be? Well, it turned out to be the Hunger Games.

History books and stories have told us that the Games were meant to be a punishment for the District's that dare rose up against the Capitol. Yet these Games, the 23rd Annual Hunger Games, as they've gone on to be called, are not a punishment. The Capitol is gone, a remnant of history never again to be brought back. Our esteemed leader, President Finch, has declared that the Games are no longer a punishment, but a penace. One meant to be shared by everyone equally.

Every District, including President Finch's own District 14, supplies two tributes to the Games. For equality's sake, everyone's name is in the bowl just once. No one has a better chance to be Reaped than anyone else. It is the perfect penace. Dispassionate, fair.

It is also, unfortunately, a pack of lies.

No one, at least in District Zero, truly believes any of the diatribe sprouted by our government. Their own District is much better off than any other. Their wealth vastly outweighs ours. Where is the "equality" in that? And why does District 14 always have tributes that are so well prepared? Why does it seem like their own Reaping is not so random?

Just thinking about this makes the gears inside my head churn, but I best not let it show. The Peacekeepers do not like troublemakers. Or those who question the status quo.

Finally finished dressing, I exit my room and make my way down the staircase to the kitchen. Father is already up and dressed, drinking coffee at the table. "Already dressed, Tempest?" He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Yes," I reply. Father always wakes up at the crack of dawn even, apparently, during snowstorms.

Father nods, sipping his coffee. Uneasy I drift across the marbled tiles of our kitchen and over to the window. The wind is still racing, but it seems to have died down from the earlier galeforce. Father interrupts my thoughts by asking if I want any breakfast. I decline. I've never been one for eating in the morning, and especially not on Reaping Day.

Soon the two of us are exiting our house, heads down as the wind whips at us. Luckily the Reaping Square is downwind, so we won't have to deal with the wind the whole way. Our house is in a small neighborhood on the very edge of the city square. It's mostly a middle-class affair, set apart from the ghettos and more affluent abodes. A vast majority of houses belong to families with several children. Father and I are an abnormality. I don't even remember my Mother; she died when I was still just a small child. It was an illness, Father told me. There was nothing that could be done for her.

Despite that I...I cannot help but wonder if things would have been different if we lived in District 14. I've seen their skyscrapers on the television. Seen how they live. They have so much that we don't. Surely they had a cure for Mother?

I'm lost in my thoughts as Father leads the way down the snow laden sidewalks. Several other families have joined and Father starts up a conversation with some men. I remain silent. Social interactions are not my...strongest point. I don't have many friends at school, I don't see the purpose. We're there to learn, not make friends. And outside of school...Well, I spend all of my free time either at the library or home.

The Reaping Square comes into view. A large fountain, fed by heated pumps that keep the water unfrozen at all times, sits in the center of the large cobblestone square. Festive shops and bakeries form the edge of the square, surrounding a large stage that has been assembled before the fountain.

Father and I part here. Him headed for general assembly and me towards the pens that contain the children between the ages of twelve to eighteen. Each and every person here has their name in that bowl exactly one time. My odds of being selected are just as high as everyone elses.

Lucky me.

A Peacekeeper halts me and does some simple blood collecting. Odd, I think as he finishes and lets me into line, how that despite our government's hatred of the defunct Capitol that they still kept the Peacekeepers name and function. I suppose that they did change the uniform at least. Instead of wearing the pure white spoken about in history books, our Peacekeepers wear a blue and black uniform.

All of the other teenagers around me are huddled close together, for both warmth and protection from the wind. Freezing temperatures, a hallmark of District 0. Aren’t we just the luckiest?

Up on stage the Mayor and other District officials are gathered as they go through the preparations for the Reaping.

Champagne Gleame - District 1
"Miss Champagne Gleame! You. Look. Beautiful!"

I twirl around in my silken green dress, reveling in my family's attention. My Mother is squealing with excitement and snapping pictures every five seconds, while my Father stands to the side, smiling proudly. My brother, Dionysus, nods his approval.

Only my little sister, Chardonnay, looks upset. "Green is an ugly color," She huffs with a furled brow.

"I make it a pretty color," I say with a smirk, batting my long eyelashes. "I think someone's just envious."

"As if!"

"Stop it, Chardonnay," Father tells her sternly. "This is Champagne's big day. Don't ruin it."

"I'm not!" Chardonnay's indignant retort is cut off by Mother's fawning over me. And why wouldn't she be? I'm absolutely stunning.

"Let's get to the Reaping," Father says. "We wouldn't want to miss Champaign's big day!"

"Of course!" I smile once more, running a slender hand through my long flowing blonde hair before following my family out the door. I almost consider taking one last look at the place, but I resist the urge. I will be back here in a little over a month, with the Capitol's winnings. Then I can buy us a house twice as big. Expand the vineyard until we're the richest family in the District.

I revel in these thoughts as my family makes it's way to the District center, where the Reapings are being held. Just before we arrive, Dionysus grips my elbow and pulls me away. "Don't wait for the last minute," He speaks in a low, quiet voice. "I did that last year and missed my opportunity."

I remember that. I remember how he missed the opportunity to volunteer. The despair nearly crushed him. But that won't happen to me. "Don't worry, Dionysus," I smile and hug him. "I won't hesitate. Besides, I'll have another year even if I mess up. That's why I'm volunteering at seventeen."

My brother just nods and smiles to himself, patting me on the back as I turn and head towards the square. "Champagne!" A flock of girls break away from the group, rushing right for me. They all circle around me, giggling and squawking like a flock of starlings.

"You look so pretty in that dress!"

"I wish I had hair like that..."

"I'm rooting for you!"

"Are you going to volunteer?"

I laugh lightly, amused by my pack's excitement. "Of course I'm going to volunteer," I tell them. "And I'm going to win, too."

"If you make it into the Games, you'll be the star of the show," One of the girls, a brunette named Sapphire, my biggest fan, says. "You're just so beautiful."

"Well, I won't argue with that!" I smirk and toss my lustrous blonde locks over my shoulder, eliciting gasps of excitement from the assembled group. "Now get out of the way. You're mussing up my dress and I need to focus."

They mumble apologies, moving aside for me. I stalk through them, head held high. Heels click loudly against the pavement as I take my place in line, closely followed by my friends. Everyone else turns to stare at me. Many pairs of eyes focus on me, both male and female. Lustful, envious eyes...

I shoot a glance up at the row of boys lined up parallel to us girls. Many of then dart their gaze away when they catch me looking, but a few cannot help but stare back, entranced by my otherworldly beauty. I catch a strand of my blonde hair, twirling it around my finger. My looks are my best weapon. Maybe I can just seduce the other tributes to death.

Catching one boy's eye, I trace my tongue across my ruby red lips. He turns away, face as red as an apple.

"Hello everyone! And welcome to the Reapings of the TBA annual Hunger Games!" A voice takes the attention off me as our escort enters the stage. She's a thin, pallid woman dressed in a tacky yellow dress that clashes horrendously with her bright orange hair.

"Seriously? They couldn't find an escort with a little more fashion sense?" I speak my thoughts aloud, and the girls gathered around me laugh. Everyone else remains focused on the Reaping.

"Let us do the ladies first..."

I tense every muscle in my body as the woman reaches a hand into the bowl. This is it. The moment I cannot pass up. This opportunity is too great. I promised Dionysus that I would get in. And my mother, who so desperately wants Capitol connections...

"I volunteer!"

I shout out before anyone else can. The crowd goes quiet, turning to stare. Then my pack reacts.

"Champagne, you did it!" Sapphire squealed in excitement and stepped forward to give me a hug, but I shoved her off, rushing for the stage with a wide grin. I've done it! I've shown her family she could! Peacekeepers flank me halfway to the stage, and escort me up the stairs. Once there, the escort approaches me with a smile.

"Hello, dear. You must be--"

"Champagne Gleame!" I snatch the microphone from her hands, and turn to face the crowd. "And I'm your volunteer." Remembering something I had promised my friends, I point out at them. "And I'd like to thank my friends!"

They scream erratically, jumping up and down while clutching wach other in excitement as the cameras zoom in for a close shot. I give them an impatient minute.

"Okay. That's enough. Focus on me!" The escort reaches for the microphone, but I swat her hand away. "Not now! Anyways, I want to thank all of you! I cannot wait to represent District 1 in this year's Hunger Games!" I lift my dress, sweeping into a perfect curtsy.

The crowd cheers, obviously more then pleased with having me as their representative. I even spot my family in the back. My parents are beaming with joy, Dionysus has hos hands clasped together in happiness, and even Chardonnay is smiling.

I feel my throat close up with emotion. I couldn't have done any of this without them. They're what drives me. I feel tears building up in my eyes. "But most of all...I'd like to thank my family. I'd never have made it here without them. I promise I'll make you proud. All of you!"

The crowd erupts into cheers as I finally allow the escort to wrestle the microphone away. "Wonderful..." She speaks in a tone that shows she thinks that this was anything but wonderful. "Next up is the gentlemen. Let's see what we have..."

I step away from the bowl, dabbing my eyes with a handkerchief as my future competitor shouts out from the crowd. "I volunteer!"

A massive, muscular boy comes out of the eighteen year-olds line. He takes the stage with a wide grin, emerald eyes flashing as his buzz cut blonde hair gleams in the sunlight.

"And you are?" The escort asks for a name.

"Ardor Prodigy!" He supplies it with smirking nod. I don't know him from the academy, but I think that he is far beneath me. Even if he is devilishly handsome...

"Wonderful!" The escort claps happily. "Shake hands with Champagne!"

Ardor offers me a hand, a confident smirk brightening up his chiselled features. I stare at it for a moment, thinking of how I might have to kill him in the Games. Soon, my perfect, clean hands will be stained with blood as I go through the arena, slaying my opposition.

But it doesn't matter. Not as long as I win. I will stain my hands with the blood of every other tribute in that arena, if that's what it takes.

I will not lose.

Alexis Ryker - District 2
If I didn't stop pacing, I would wear a hole in the floor. I can't help it. It's Reaping Day. Not only that, it's my reaping day. This was it. This is what I have been training for since I was ten.

I go to the bathroom once more to stare at myself in the mirror and I am stunned. A lovely woman with wavy, dark brown hair, nearly black in the stark lighting stares back at me. I look paler than normal, but I pray it's the lighting more than my nerves. What has me stunned is the beautiful blue dress-– blue as the sky-–that I am wearing. I absentmindedly brush the silky material on my side once more in wonder. It's easily the most expensive item in the house and I am the one wearing it.

Although I am from one of the wealthier districts, my parents are little more than factory workers. We get by. My two brothers and I at least never want for food or clothing, but the pointed looks and tactless words of my classmates burn no less and my parents don't have it much easier.

Now, I am the one hope for the family. Even with as little fortune as we have, my parents gambled everything to give me this opportunity to bring glory to the family. The original girl from my year ended up dropping out of the program when she finally cried out that she "didn't want to die!" She had to be removed; champions show no weakness.

Trials were held to replace and I was signed up without even being asked. I had looked like a deer in headlights when I was called from class and later learned that I was to be on trial to fill the role of the original Female age 10. I was led into a padded room of judges and asked to demonstrate my skills.

I felt I had nothing to demonstrate and wanted to bow out gracefully, but my family had talked about this since the 104th Hunger Games. A champion in the family. One who would bring us glory and honor and allow us to ascend from obscurity. By the time discussions became serious, my older brother was too old. All male positions were taken.

There were still female slots, however, and my parents put all of their effort to secure me a position. Young as I was, I didn't have much idea of what this entailed, but father took every opportunity to praise me and tell me how I had the will and ability to do anything. My brother deliberately thought up ridiculous contests, involving running or wrestling. I grew up getting the wind kicked out of me.

Standing there in front of the judges, it had all come back to me. I have been forced to cook with my mother since I could hold a knife, so when I picked one up, it was clear I knew my way around it. The second half of the trial had been an obstacle course, and all those afternoons spent sucking dirt from being pinned beneath my brother's massive body and the experience of painful stitches in my side as I attempted to outpace my brother were beginning to pay off.

There were few contenders. Most of the wealthier girls grew up in such a relaxed setting that they were too soft and didn't handle the rigors of the trial. My only real competition had the same scores and the winner was decided via punch-out. It took them at least two minutes to revive the other girl.

I had won. I had outlasted and in the last girl's case, overcome everything to earn my spot, even despite my poorer standing. My popularity shot up overnight and I soon became like royalty to the other girls around me.

When Career school began, I took to it like a dolphin takes to water. It primarily consisted of games, at least for the younger girls, but as I grew classes became more rigorous and tactics-oriented. At eleven, we were allowed to handle all the weapons available. At twelve, we picked one and specialized in it until our very own reaping day.

I glanced over at my knives now, picking them up and handling them fondly. It was truly a shame we weren't allowed to take our own weapons, but I could cope. I was trained too. By the time I was sixteen, I was approaching my Reaping Day with excitement, but that all changed when I turned eighteen.

I'm not sure I could precisely say where the change came from or why, but after thinking on it for a while, I think it has to do with the fact that suddenly the Reaping became so real. In two months time, I would be in the arena fighting for my title. Fighting to the death. Death. The word has become so powerful so suddenly. Even when I watched my fellow Careers fight, more often than naught to their grisly deaths, the large screen of our projector made them feel so distant and unreal, as if they were merely waiting behind the scenes to pop out and surprise their family in the future.

The more I thought about it, the more fear seeped into my very being. The fear was fine. Our trainers have often spoken of the power of fear. For some it rendered them frozen and incompetent, but for others it spurred their efforts. We were trained to harness the fear and use it to our advantage. No, worse than the fear was the doubt.

Could I do this? Am I ready for this? What if I die?

I had been preparing mind and body to win since I was five. Not to lose. There are other careers, a treacherous voice seemed to whisper in my ear. What makes you think you're better than all of them?

I steeled myself and mentally shoved the voice down back into the deep dark caverns of my mind. There was no room for doubt.

"Alexis, are you ready?"

"Coming," I shout and race down the hall to my mother's voice, almost tripping over my gown. It took all of my strength of will not to kick it in frustration. I was as graceful as a cat in the training uniform and have never found myself into a dress since career training began. Beautiful as it was, it felt strange and foreign to walk in.

"Oh, you just look absolutely beautiful," My mother says, walking over to embrace me. I unashamedly hug her back. It could be a while before I see her again.

"Feeling okay?" My mom pulls back to look me in the eyes and I smile widely at her. I am a happy and optimistic person, so my smiles are easy to come by and for once their easiness saves me. She need not know of the doubts.

"Yep! This is what I've trained for, mom," I tell her.

"You are the best, Alexis. Never forget that." It takes all of my mental strength not to show my surprise at the way her comments seem to directly address that nagging voice. Must be mother's intuition. "Your father and I are so proud of you."

"I know. I'm ready."

Everyone stares at me as I enter the 18-year-old pen. Even without the stunning dress to declare my intent to volunteer, they know. It is my turn.

The Reapings in District 2 are much brighter affairs compared to what I've seen of the other Districts. Other District children seem to merely stand there sullenly and with some measure of terror. Here, though, with the Careers to ensure guaranteed Tributes, there is more laughter, joking, and cajoling. No one here has to fear for his or her life.

"Good luck, Alexis! You can do it!" My fellow career in the 17-year-olds section, Pliny Acorn says with a wide smile and gives my hand a quick squeeze. She has a strange name to match her strange personality, but she might as well be my sister.

"Thanks, Tiny Pliny," I say with a grin and a wink and she sticks her tongue out at me. She's taller than me now, but I can't help but rib her once more.

As soon as Levin Greenspan steps onto the stage, a hush falls over the crowd. I've stopped listening to this, having seen it every year since I was three. There really is no point; it's the same every time. No, I'd rather we jump right to the main event.

Then finally, just as I was beginning to lose my composure, Kevin stepped over to the girl's ball full of names. "Lady's first," he intones with a broad smile before reaching in.

"Sparkler Corbin!"

I don't even have to ask the girls for a path through. They just instantly part like a school of fish evading a shark and I am stepping through until I reach the makeshift aisle, raise my chin and with a large smile, I call out, "I volunteer as Tribute!"

I make my best effort to glide up to the stage effortlessly, oozing confidence and hopefully beauty. See how elegant and fine I am? Clearly the next winner of the Games.

"How very lovely! A volunteer! And your name, young lady?" Levin asks.

"Alexis Ryker and I will be the next victor," I reply with a demure smile. Not arrogant, merely a matter of fact. The girls in particular applaud loudly.

"Excellent, excellent! I love your confidence! Now for the boys!"

I struggle to maintain my easy confidence. I know who the boy tribute is and I have never thought of him as anything but a pompous ass. If I may be frank, it seemed like most of the male careers are the same shade of arrogance and pomposity. I will enjoy the time I am not with him.

As predicted, Brick Slayte strides to the front with his hands in the air as if he's already won! I struggle to keep from gritting my teeth as the District goes wild. This was hardly the welcoming I got and he's already the crowd favorite? This would take more work than I thought to stand above as the superior choice for Victor.

I'm already in the midst of plotting when I noticed Brick holding his hand out to me. I grab his hand in an act of geniality, keeping it loose and my smile is barely more than a grimace, hoping he might mistake them for weakness. My trap is already being spun.

As I wait for final goodbyes, I stare out the window over the square and wander my eyes over the familiar brick streets and buildings. The weakness that I cannot show; this is where I leave you. I will come back.

Of course my family shows up and I hug them all. They're pounding my back and giving me advice, advice I've heard a thousand times: Remember to control the water, don't rely completely on the Cornucopia for food, and use your instincts. I can see tears in my mother's eyes, but she is quick to dab them away.

Shed the worries, the concerns, the fears, and the doubts. This is where the game truly begins.

My little brother Carrick gives me the last hug and then Pliny replaces them.

"You can do it, Lexi! You've worked harder than all the others. Now it's simply for the taking!"

"Thanks, Pliny." I hope she is right.

She also throws herself onto me in a tight hug and I can't help but return it just as tightly.

"Come back to me, lady. I'll win my game if you win yours."

"Deal."

Techna Vision - District 3
For my sixth and penultimate Reaping, I donned a white dress that goes down just below my knees. I've had worn it on only one other occasion, my school's science fair, which she proudly took took place in.

The dress is a good luck charm, of sorts. It made sure that the odds were always in my favor. After all, I did end up receiving the first place badge in the science fair for my perpendicular electrical circuit.

So my dress gives me comfort on this Reaping day, no matter how slight.

I glance over at my friend Marisa, who stands beside me. We've been friends forever, longer than I can even remember. She's always had my back.

Now, we stand in the crowd assembled before the Reaping square, anxiously waiting for the horrendous process to begin. I can't help but notice how stunning Marisa looks, with her bright ginger hair tied up high in a bun, and drapped in a flaming red dress that matches her hair. She's perfect.

And looks a whole lot like me. Many people always assume that we're sisters, but no matter how much we desire for it to be so, we don't share even a drop of the same blood.

Marisa catches me looking and smiles. "I'd rather be in Lockhart's class then here," She says with a smirk. Lockhart is a teacher at our school, and perhaps the biggest self-indulging, preening, prat there is. Says a lot about our Reaping that we'd rather be with him then standing here.

"I think you're right," I say with a nod.

"You know that he's retiring, Lockhart?"

"I think I heard that." Not rightly sure. I don't pay much attention to rumors, and I'm not really one to socialize. I'm much happier by myself, tinkering with a new invention or just talking with Marisa.

"Good riddance, I say!" Marisa tosses her hair and I giggle quietly as the tapping of a microphone begins, the sound booming throughout the square. Kiwi Celsius takes the stage.

Even from this distance, I can distinguish her from the rest of the people on stage by her shock of lime green clothing. Why do people from the Capitol always dress themselves so stupidly? No one in District 3 wears clothing like that, or thinks that they look "cool" or "stylish". So why do the Capitol people?

Kiwi continues on with her speech, wishing District 3 luck on the Reaping and finishing the usual greeting. I can barely pay attention.

Tidus Flow - District 4
The brisk morning air awakens me from sleep. Seagulls are calling, and the waves of District 4 are lapping on the shore. I smile and breathe in the air. Today may be the Reaping, but why let that spoil what looks to be a great day?

I hop out of bed, suddenly excited. I'm always excited on Reaping Day, a combination of worry and happiness. Part of me has always wanted to compete, but the other part of me doesn't want to leave Dad and take the risk of dying that comes with the chance for fame and fortune.

I throw open my closet. Before I pick something to wear, something catches my eye. Outside the window, someone in rags passes by our house. My Dad provides for us fairly well, so we are not in poverty like some of District 4. Though many years have passed since the War, District 4 still hasn't quite recovered from the devastation it wrought.

There are many beggars on the streets of the District, people who don't know how to provide for themselves or were put out of work. I sometimes slip them something when I'm bringing bread home, or fish I catch on the shore. I feel it's only fair to try and give back now and then.

Just the thought of this makes me think about District 14 and its relative splendor. They'v

We used to sit and count the times we saw a dolphin, seal, or sharks. It was a sort of game. Whoever saw the animal first got the points. Seals were 5, Dolphins were 10, and the occasional Shark was 15. As the game went on, we added more animals.

None of it really matters, but those times were some of the best of my life.

Sometimes I wish I was still 14, and I was playing that game with my Mom.

Games at all. I guess it's just training in the Institute, and spending my childhood listening to kids talk about it, and watching them on the television.

I grab a green button down and throw on my best dress pants, with a leather belt, The belt buckle was a gift from Mom, and it shows a seashell. She'd always loved collecting shells on the beach. The seashell on my belt is just a gray metal, but it means more than anything to me.

I head down the stairs, and make myself breakfast. Dad is probably out fishing. He always is.

After I finish breakfast I head down to the beach. "Hey look who it is!" Ryan shouts at me, racing over. I've been friends with Ryan for the longest time. He is the Mayors' son. Unfortunately for the Mayor, Ryan is an extreme trickster. Once he convinced me to hide on the roof of the Mayor's house. Ryan then threw a water balloon on his dad's head. God knows where he got the balloon. Nevertheless, we didn't get caught but the Peacekeepers were mad. I think the Mayor knew exactly who did it but didn't inform the Peacekeepers for the sake of his son, and I like to think me as well.

He slaps me on the back with lots of enthusiasm. "Last year of our names in those fishbowls eh?"

"Yep I can't wait for it to be over." I reply.

"Yeah and you almost got picked to go! But something tells me that that drop was definitely not an accident." Ryan says with a smirk.

I put my hands up in defeat. "You got me."

"Why didn't you want to go? Too scared or too modest?"

I don't reply at first. The concept of the Games has always been a hard topic with Ryan, and likes them sometimes. I have to cut him some slack though, since he is that Mayor's son after all.

"Well never mind." he says after a really awkward silence. "Well I'm excited, dude we can finally become full fledged fish! We can cruise the waters with no one to stop us."

He means that once we take a boating and swimming test, after our last reaping, we don't have to be watched closely by an adult, and go out on the water alone. Of course there is electric buoys at a good distance, so we can't go too far.

"Oh, great. Here comes your fan club." Ryan mutters.

What he means by this is that a group of girls is coming our way. I guess I consider myself good-looking, everyone else seems to think so. I have my Mom's green eyes, and they were beautiful. I insist that it's just the eyes, but no one seems to agree. I'm tall, tan, and in shape. Those characteristics pretty much apply to almost all of the 18 year old guys. I've been desired by many people, and it's creepy sometimes.

"Hi Cray!" They giggle. Brook, the most popular girl, has been trying to get in my good books for a while, and it looks like she is trying again.

"So do you and Ryan want to come to my house after the Reaping? I'm sure we'll have lots of fun! Oh and Ryan, Lisa thinks you're really hot."

A short girl with curly brown hair blushes and turns away.

"Umm...Cray and I might come by later." Ryan stammers awkwardly.

"Hey look Dad is back!" I yell. This gives me and Ryan a chance to get away quickly. Dad is coming in from shore so I didn't lie. I stopped hanging out with the popular crew because of one night.

I haven't really had relationship ever. But I do have a crush, just like every guy. Her name is Sarah. She is very beautiful and very smart. She isn't like the popular girls. I'd like to say I'm not popular, but I am. Ryan and I are in with the popular crowd and always have been. I never really understood what made kids popular. Anyway, I've never talked to Sarah only heard her speak in school, not the Institute. I plan to ask her out after a I take my final boating exam. This is a problem because I can't go on a boat.

I haven't been since I was 14. Mom was killed when a boat capsized in a storm. I don't know what she was doing out there and if Dad knows, he hasn't told me. So I have to get on boat for the exam, but I don't know if I can do it.

We meet up my dad who has just left the docks.

"Hey Ryan, Cray. Are you guys ready for your last Reaping?" he says.

"You bet!" Ryan replies with twinkling eyes.

"Yeah I'll be happy to finally work as a fisherman." I say simply.

"You have to pass the exams first." My dad says, suddenly serious.

As if I needed reminding of that. Dad cleans himself up and Ryan heads to his Dad's house, to get ready to go on stage. It's a privilege apparently, but he says he hates it. After I tell my dad I'll meet him after it's over, and I head to the 18 year-old section. I'm so happy to finally be done with this. The escort does their thing, and the girl is chosen. I don't really pay much attention, but the girl is a volunteer by the name Penelope Finbar. She's an athletic, sun-tanned, blonde with sparkling blue eyes. Then escort reaches in and pulls out a name.

"Tidus Flow."

"What."

"Why isn't Anchor volunteering?"

"No!"

The voices jumble in my head as ascend the stage. I see Ryan stand up, and before he opens his mouth, I hold up my hand. This happened to me, and I will not let my friend take the responsibility from me.

Anchor, the boy who was supposed to volunteer, is becoming red in the face as the kids around him yell and bombard him with questions. I can't blame him for not wanting to go in. But I am. I'm going into the Hunger Games.

Edison Burn - District 5
It is time to leave, leave for the reaping. I stand up beside my best friend, and companion since we ran away all those years ago, Alder Royce. Alder is taller than I, he has a long lanky build meaning his trousers are currently falling from his waist, barely held up by the piece of sting he claims to be a belt. His blonde hair hangs limply over his face hair covers his eyes as he joins me outside of the mud shack we lived in, tripping over a small rock as he does so. I can't help but let out a laugh.

"Daydreaming?" I ask, only to receive the reply of his eyes rolling. "About Azora?" I add, smiling cheekily at my best friend.

"No," he replies, blushing. It's so blatantly obvious that he has a crush Azora Watts, who we were heading to meet up with now.

"But do you like her?" I find myself asking, unable to stop my self invading Fearin's secrets.

"I'm not answering that," he replies, his cheeks turning red as he does so. I let out a chuckle as we approach the muddy track which Azora is waiting for us on.

"'Zora!" I call, a swagger in my step as I approach her, tossing my curls out of the way while I lift my hand for a high five, which goes unnoticed as her attention is now on Fearin, who she despises. But really, I'm certain something is going on between them.

"Hey, Azora," Alder had said, now smirking at the girl, trying to put on a quiet, cool and flirty facade.

Azora's reaction shows how little she likes Alder, in fact how much she hated him. "What do 'ya want Alder, you gonna go and hide behind your mumma so she can hide all of your Fear?" she viciously replies, almost snarling at the boy, who tries hard not to show he is shocked. My friend, however, is not very good at hiding his emotions, the result being a jump disguised as an over acted cock of the eyebrow.

"You're just jealous because I actually have a Mumma," my roommate and fellow runaway says, not realizing how stupid a thing it was to say until the words had already left his mouth. This is not going to go down well with Azora, a girl who never holds back her anger, and doesn't take it the Way your stereotypical teenage girl would.

As predicted, she leaps at Alder, pulling her arm back to slap him. I need to interfere; I can't have my two best friends having a fight (which isn't an unusual occurrence).

"Stop it you two, you could be friends if you'd actually give each other a chance, I'm sorry that you are unable to cooperate," I shout, catching Azora's hand and placing my own on Alder's chest to block the fight. They were pathetic, but sadly I had no way to stop them from arguing and abusing each other other than standing between them.

"Yeah, well seeing how horrible Alder is you can hardly expect that to happen," I hear Azora grumpily reply as she tugs her hand from mine, stepping back and glaring at her foe

"She started it!" Alder insists, pointing the finger, trying to escape the blame as a young child would. Unfortunately, he is fifteen and no one will fall for that act anymore.

Rolling my eyes I reply, "I don't care who started it but both of you need to grow up," I turn to my female friend, who is standing hand on hips as she gives the dirtiest look to ever grace the earth, "Azora, stop looking for a fight," I then turn to my other companion, "Alder, please, you know that's a sensitive topic."

"Sensitive topic..." he imitates, muttered in a teasing manner under his breath. I barely react, only letting out a sigh. It used to annoy me, bud stuff like this wasn't rare when Azora and Fearin were in each other's company.

"So, 'Zora, how's Olli?" I ask, trying to get away from the subjects that cause arguments, naturally, I decided to tease my friends.

"Oh my goodness! We are not going out!" she shouts in exclamation, her mouth open in acted disbelief. I giggle.

"Just friends?" I ask as we meander down the muddy track towards the reaping. We pass my hiding spot, which I try hard not to look at. I'm not exactly proud of who I am, what I do. I have to do it to survive.

Luckily, my thoughts are interrupted by Azora, who wastes no time in telling me her side of the story, "Yes, just like me and you are," she says bluntly, before reluctantly adding," and me and Alder," in a sickly sweet tone to please me. I laugh, glancing at Alder and winking.

"How in Panem did I come into this?" He asks very loudly, in genuine shock as he hoped not to be involved.

...

I walk towards the fourteen year old section, standing alone in a sea of strangers. I keep my head down, hoping to go unnoticed. I don't trust these people, I don't know them, I don't want to be around them. It sounds silly coming from a kid who pickpockets in crowded markets, often punished and whipped by peacekeepers for my work, and lives in the densely populated slums, but it's true. Around Azora and Alder I may seem social, bordering on boisterous maybe, however in this situation I just want to hide, to get away from these people.

I look up to see Maran Fluente walk on stage, almost hitting his head off the two metre tall door frame as he walks into the polluted air of District Five.

"Good day, District Five," he greets us, stoking his blue swirled tattoos that sweep up to his face as his smooth voice ringing though the square. "Time for another reaping, ten years since a victor originated from this feeble place, and hopefully another will return this year," Maran said, I and not sure if he really wants one of us to come home, I keep my head down, our District will just lose two more lives I don't care about, just as it has always been before.

"I suppose we'd better begin then," Maran tells us, stroking his silver microphone with his grey hands, his long nails clawing, scraping. I only care about one girl here anyway.

His hand dips in, carefully selecting a single slip of silver, one which bears one name.

"Tesla Watson," Maran calls into the crowd. Another girl I don't know being sent to her death. I continue to stare at the stage as he interviews her. Nothing interesting. Nothing significant. She's just another girl being sent to her death, why would I care?

"Edison Burn!" He shouts, everyone before me turns around, looking into my eyes. Why?

Me. That's me. I was reaped. This couldn't be happening. I start to stumble in the direction of the aisle, my knees shaking, I feel as though I will fall. I peacekeeper grabs me, pushing me as I reach the aisle. Showing no sympathy he roughly shoves me up.

Finally, I make it to the stage, standing in shock. Maran grabs my hand, though ing it in the air, shouting my name, announcing me as a tribute. I don't want to be here. I just want to go home.

I can't do this. The peacekeepers force me away from all I know, shutting me inside the Justice Building. I am to be sent, shipped off to compete with other children. I don't deserve this. Why am I here? Why me? No one deserves this. Not the girl beside me, nor any other tribute. If only I wasn't selected but I was. Now I walk into a room, time to say farewell to those I love, and those I hate.

...

I sit in the room, a red velvet cushion beneath me, waiting for a visitor.

"Edison," I hear a female voice. I know it is my mother, looking up I see my suspicions are correct.

"Mother," I mutter, showing my anger and lack of emotion, "Is my father there too?" I grumpily ask, the only person I want to see less than my mother.

"No, he's, um, he's got a hangover, he's drunk. They wouldn't let him in," she explains, as expected, I thought they'd let me see him anyway, not that I want to.

I grunt, frowning, "Why did you come?" I ask.

"Because I love you," she told me, placing her cold hand on my frail shoulder.

"If you loved me you could have cared for me," I say, showing as little emotion as I can, shrugging my shoulder to make her let go of me. My back is turned.

"You know we had problems," she reminds me, taking a seat as I gaze out the window, watching the pigeons fly in the sky, blissfully unaware of what is going on.

"That's why I ran away," I reply, turning around to face her. She tries to hug me. Reluctantly, I pat her on the back. I do love her, but after being neglected, isolated, uncared for, it's hard to express it. I can't. I don't know what to do.

"Good luck," she tells me, lifting her head. I see her pale freckled face now stained by tears. If I return, when I return, I will give her another chance.

...

Next, Alder enters the room.

"I'm so sorry," he says, crying. "You. You're leaving. I'm going to be alone," he tells me. The boy who usually towers over me now slouches, leaning on my shoulder.

"I'll make it back for you," I tell him, gulping back my own tears, trying as hard as I can not to break down.

"You'd better, I don't know if I could survive without you here." Fearin says, half jokily, struggling to bring a positive into the negativity that surrounded us.

"I'm coming home," I tell him, my voice stern. I have to be determined for this to actually happen, and I know it will.

...

"Oh my god, Edison," Azora says, jumping, clutching my shoulders, "I can't believe this is happening. You can't go." This is coming from such a popular girl, she knows everyone, but yet she cares about me, the loner from the slums who only associates with two people. It's flattering. Azora's always been like my big sister, and here she is now, she cares about me...

"I have to, but I'll be back. I know I will. I need to know or it's inevitable that I won't make it back," I ensure her, just as I had with Alder. I wasn't sure my words where the truth though, but I had to brainwash myself to think that way.

"You are, I believe in you. You will return," she tells me. She looks fierce, as if she will fight, not me. She'll be here at home, with Fearin, with the rest of her friends. I'll make it back though.

I will make it back; death is not an option in the mindset of a successful victor. At least, that was my approach, which would hopefully be the successful one.

Autus Spanner - District 6
The hum of machinery under my feet was a pattern I knew well, and it faded from my mind with the ease of having made the journey a thousand times before.

But this time, four gold coins weigh down my pocket.

The Capitolian called them "ten credit coins" each. As if that was a minimal amount. As if it was an insignificant thing to give.

In scrap value alone, a single coin could get me enough food for a month. Four coins was an excess of wealth I had never before saw in my hands, and it had been just the change in that Capitolian's pockets.

The disparity made me want to throw the arrangement in the Capitolian's face. Twenty estus bottles? I know what estus is, I have seen it delivered to the Capitol so many times. It's product of District 1, a luxury good for the Capitol only. It is a pale pink liquid, designed to make the drinker throw up so they could eat more food.

I feel the golden coins in my pocket. I've been paid to help encourage the sale of a drink that just throws food up so the Capitol can have more.

I am not stupid enough to throw the coins from the train's window, but I certainly want to. And I'm not stupid enough to break the arrangement with the Capitolian, but I certainly want to do that as well.

As much as I despise the concept, with a safe delivery more money might enter my hands. And while I'm not typically one for handouts, especially from the hands of a Capitolian, I can recognise an easy means of money when I see one. And I'm not one to give up easy money.

So, rationalising it to myself as a transaction rather than a handout, I find a crate of estus in the train's storage hold, transferred twenty bottles to another container, and labelled it for delivery. Hopefully nobody will notice. I don't have time to get back to District 1 for more stores, as the train is heading back to District 6 in preparation for Reaping day.

I shudder despite myself, despite knowing the odds of being chosen. In a District as big as mine, the odds were minimal. District 6 was almost six hundred thousand strong, and those of Reaping age were twenty thousand strong. While I've taken a great number of tesserae in the past, so have many others of my age- mine are a few slips in a draw that numbered tens of thousands. I have no chance of being picked. I am safe.

As safe as anybody else was. I shudder again.

"Hey! Autus!"

I turn around. A large man with close-cropped hair stands at the doorway to the carriage.

"Problem in the driver's carriage. Deal with it."

I nod and pick up my toolbox, leaving past the man. The conductor on my assigned delivery team was a man of few words and short temper, and commanded an odd amount of respect from the others. It could be the imposing figure he cut, or the fact that in any crisis he was level-headed.

It could be that I see a vast amount of myself in the largely emotionless man's countenance.

The train was short, and the driver's carriage is only a five minute walk away. I knock on the door, wait the requisite amount of time, then upon no response enter.

The driver was on the iron floor. Her pupils, despite the relative darkness of the cabin, were contracted to little more than a pinhead.

I put down my toolbox, expression passive as I crouched down beside the driver. A check of her pulse revealed her life still going; a hand on her mouth revealed her lungs still working.

I purse my lips, just slightly confusedy. When I had been told of a problem in the driver's carriage I did not want the problem to be the driver. I am just a mechanic.

But regrettably, a mechanic with experience in dealing with drug-addicted individuals.

I stand, rolling my shoulders, trying to cast thoughts of my sole surviving family member from my mind. This is a job I had been sent to deal with, like any other, and people are merely machinery of a more complex creation. I begin work.

A quick sweep of the room finds a used needle and a small collection of others; they are each stamped with the seal of District 1. I throw them out from the train's window without a second thought to their use. The driver moans weakly from her place on the floor, reaching out limply to the control panel. At first I consider that this might be a wish to regain control of the train, but I soon realised her true intention; the control panel of the train is alive with lights, and to a Morphling addict it must seem beautiful.

Sometimes, I wondered if it was a nicer life to stay under. So many of my district did it. There must be something pleasant about it.

I'm in the midst of ensuring she has no head injuries when I hear a soft, wet sound from the driver. I give her a quick look over realize that she is choking. Setting my jaw, I plunge two fingers down her throat, clearing it of what I discover to be vomit. I grimace, shaking my hand, the action grotesque and reminiscent of many other actions like it.

Finally, when she is breathing easily again, I roll her onto her side, check the course of the train to ensure they it's still on autopilot to District 6, then wipe off my fingers on her jacket and walk away.

I have little interest in ensuring the driver's wellbeing beyond what I have been instructed to do. She's nobody I know.

Arrival in District 6 is welcome after several days of watching the driver detox painfully from Morphling. I stepp off the train without any comment to my colleagues, going through the security checks as I always do; a Peacekeeper pats me down, two more stand nearby with guns held towards me wait for a command, or evidence of theft or smuggling.

Four gold coins are held securely underneath my tongue.

I pass the checks without any alarm raised, receive my food quotas, and I walk on through the streets of District 6.

Given the nomadic nature of great numbers of its inhabitants, District 6, despite its population, always seemed empty. The streets are quiet, thickly so. Two or three people are always lying in the streets blankly, eyes pinpricked, needles hanging loosely from their arm.

I care little for those that lay in the streets, but I always check them in hopes not to see a familiar face amongst them. And sometimes to rifle through their pockets. They rarely have anything worth stealing.

An apartment building stood, one amongst many, hunched in the streets as if waiting to die. I push open the door; no keys required in this area of the District wracked with drug addiction. I climbe the creaking staircase, walk the corridor caked in filth, knocked and then open a door on the left.

"Grandfather?"

At an old table, an even older man looks up, eyes lined with age and weariness. His yellowed and sallow skin gave him a frail countenance- but the smile he gives upon seeing me overshadowed that.

"Quint." He stands, weak figure shaking as he pushes himself up with the table. He starts to falter, and I rush forward to support him, helping him back into his chair.

A pause in stagnant air that smelt of oil. I quickly hug my grandfather.

I do not know if I can keep abandoning him for so long.

If I am reaped, I am not sure how long my grandfather could remain alive, even with the four golden coins.

If I am reaped, I am not sure how long I would remain alive, and golden coins would not help him against the ones that had given me them.

The next morning, I learn that I will soon know what will happen.

For I am reaped.

Barker Caspum - District 7
Orange light sits heavily behind my eyelids. I know I should get up, but my body refuses to move. I hear the familiar sound of my brothers' bickering in the kitchen and groan. They couldn't go one day without fighting. Weren't we supposed to be a team? Today, of all days?

Today. Today was the reaping. I swallow hard.

I try to ignore the dread crawling in my chest, but it seems inevitable. I open my eyes, squinting when the sharp light pierces my irises. I rub the sleep from my eyes, sighing.

Today was the reaping.

I look across the room, and frown at the sight of my sister's old school picture. I try to wrap my head around the fact that she's gone. I feel uncomfortably numb, my stomach sporting an empty feeling impossible to fill.

I don't know why I keep it there, or why no one else seems to remove it. All signs of my sister's existence have been removed a long time ago. The reminders must have been too painful for my two brothers and mother. We had sold all of her clothes and belongings, tucked away every photo. Every photo except this one.

My sister looked exactly like me. We were often mistaken for twins even though she was three years younger than me. She had the same dark brown hair as me, same golden brown eyes. She was pale in the kind of way that almost seemed unhealthy.

I guess it was unhealthy.

I tear my eyes away from the photo, but I still feel her eyes watching me. I welcome the feeling. Relish it even. I enjoyed knowing some part of her was still with me. Even though I feel like throwing up every time I see her picture.

When I enter the kitchen I see that my brothers absently mindedly picking at their food. I try to smile at Beau, my oldest brother, but he gives me a blank stare in response. He had just turned eighteen a month ago, signifying his last year in the reaping. Part of me knew I should be scared for him. We have never needed tesserae, but his name is in that ball enough times to make me worry. Daryl, only a year younger than Beau, gives me a small grin. They both looked shockingly alike, much like my sister and I. Same sandy blond hair, dark brown eyes. Their faces mirrored each other's worry. The kind that glazed over your eyes and made it seem like you were more dead than alive. It scared me. It scared me a lot.

It was like Bannie's eyes when she died.

I pulled out an apple from the fridge, munching on it absently. It felt like a rock in my stomach, and for a second I think it's going to come back up. I swallow hard.

"Are you worried?" Beau asks. I almost laugh.

"Of course I'm worried," I say.

"Don't be," Beau says. I shake my head. I've received this talk one too many times, and I wasn't in the mood to hear it now. "Don't be worried, Barker. We have never needed to add our names more than we need to. You'll be ok," Beau says quietly. I wish I could believe him.

But I don't.

I finish my apple, tossing it in the trash. Beau and Daryl resume their staring contests with their breakfast and I retreat to my room to change. I jump when I see my mother in my room, ironing my reaping clothes. "Sorry I startled you," she says gently. She is the spitting image of gentle. Petite frame, wavy blonde hair and kind brown eyes.

I grimace at the sight of my clothes laid out on the bed, another reminder of the inevitable reaping.

"This used to be your father's," my mother says gently. She holds the dress shirt in her arms delicately, as if it were a wounded bird. I'm a little taken aback by her little speech about my dad. He had died a month after my sister was born, so I hardly remember whom he was. My siblings and mother spoke of him fondly. It almost makes me angry. It felt as if it were a big secret my family shared, one that I wasn't a part of. Bannie wasn't a part of it either.

But it's not like she can complain about it anymore. Not that she ever did. In fact, the mere topic of our father nearly bored her to tears. In fact, when my mother was sharing a story about my father's teenage years Bannie lashed out at her.

"Why should I care about some guy I've never even met!" Bannie had yelled. My mother too stunned to even say anything, just sat there with a shocked look on her face. Everyone had froze, the sound of forks scraping on plates ceasing. "Bannie," Daryl said in warning. She didn't listen. "No, you listen. I don't even remember my own father and you all sit here, part of some secret little club I can't even join!" My mother had been too shocked to be angry, but she recoiled quickly. "That guy is your father. You may not remember him, but he loved you. All of you," she had said, glancing at each one of us. I looked down at my food, chewing on my lip. Bannie, who then had tears streaming down her eyes, grabbed my hand from under the table. "Barker, you understand, don't you?" She had asked it with such sorrow I choked on the grief radiating from her body. I didn't say anything in fear of upsetting my mother even more, but I squeezed her hand from under the table to let her know I was on her side. Her fingers felt limp in mine, and I had known I said the wrong thing. Maybe it was what I hadn't said, but I was more worried about my mother at the time than her.

Bannie was strong. My mother wasn't.

My mother had stormed out of the kitchen, locking herself in her room the rest of the evening. We never spoke of my father after that. Bannie was happy with the new arrangements.

Hearing my mother speak of my father so casually was so surprising I choked on my own spit. She gave me a puzzled look, and then resumed to ironing my clothes. I stood in awkward silence, silently screaming at her to leave. Eventually, she gets the hint and exits, leaving my reaping clothes behind.

I shudder.

After throwing on some shoes and clothes, I exit before any of my family members notice. When I exit the confines of our house, I break into a sprint, running as fast as I can to Thistle's house.

Thistle only lives two miles away, but the hot air makes it seem longer. The breeze only stirs the heat in my face, so the wind provides little relief. My legs seem to awaken, thankful for the stretch after remaining dormant for so long. My breaths come out easily, and I blink slowly. My body was built for running. I was built for running.

Running was built for me.

I slow once I reach Pine's house. Jogging briskly, I bound up the steps to her front door. I wipe the sweat from my brow, and knock on the door. When the door opens, I see its Thistle's younger brother Ailand. Only at thirteen, he is almost taller than Thistle.

"Is Thistle here?" I ask. He nods his head in affirmation, and I smile. He iss very quiet, but a nice kid. "Thistle, Barker is here!" he hollers behind him. "I'm coming!" Thistle says faintly. Over Ailand's shoulder I can see her bounding down the steps, her light brown hair bouncing. She steps behind her brother, smiling at me. "Hi," she says. I smile back, pointing behind me. "Ready to go?" I ask. She nods her head, and steps outside with me. In the bright sunlight, the blonde in her light brown hair seems highlighted. Her dark brown eyes seem sad, but she tries to hide it with a smile. I don't bother asking if she's ok.

I know she isn't.

"Today is the day," she says quietly. I nod.

After a few moments of silence, Thistle takes note of the sweat on my face and body. "Jesus Barker, did you sprint here?" I laugh, and I see her crack a small smile. She looks at her wrist, a look of alarm spreading across her face. "Shoot, we're going to be late!" she exclaims.

"Well," I begin, "I guess we better run."

Running with Thistle is like running with the wind itself. "I would race you," she says in between gulps of air, "but I know you would lose." I roll my eyes, speeding up a little bit. She runs side by side with me, our legs and arms moving in the same rhythm. I don't know how she manages it, especially since my legs are significantly longer than hers. Usually she falls a few steps behind me, but close enough that I could feel each flutter of breath that exits her mouth. This time, she stays next to me the whole time. It felt like waking up again.

As we sprint past Thistle's neighborhood, I get distracted by the tall oak trees that tower above the squat houses. The leaves sport a thick, deep green. Each lungful of air brings the nutty aroma of the bark and the grass, and my whole body seems to unwind. As we near the safety of the forest, I slow down a little. Thistle followed suit until weare at nothing but an easy jog. We take a sharp turn to the left when we see the jagged boulder that serves as the landmark to the Falls, pushing our legs up the steep hill. At the top, we stop, trying to regain our breath. I scan the area for Glass, grinning when I see him skipping stones by the rocky shoreline of the stream. The water gushes over the rocks noisily, and the pine trees surrounding the area sway in the hot breeze. Despite the unbearable heat, it is a glorious day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

When I snap out of my daze I see that Thistle has already started to climb down the cliff that lead to the shore. That is the fastest way to get down to the shore, but also the most dangerous. The path Thistle takes to climb down is right next to the stream of rushing water, so the rocks are slick. One slip of the foot and you're dead. It is over a one hundred foot drop, and there were more rocks at the bottom as well. There was a path you could take that went around the waterfall, but we almost always get to the shore this way. I follow Thistle shortly after, relying on muscle memory to scramble down.

The spray of water hits the back of my neck mercilessly, but I relish the pure bliss that follows. After all of this running and heat, it is a nice to change to get sprayed by cold water. The rocks are gritty underneath my fingers, but that helps me grip them tighter. In less than two minutes Thistle and I manage to climb down, and we jog over to where Glass is sitting. "Took you guys long enough," he says.

"But we ran here," Thistle protests. I sat down on the sandy ground next to Glass, elbow to elbow. His black hair is shiny in the sun, and his blue eyes seem to dance with a happiness I so often saw in them.

We sat in comfortable silence, side by side, while Thistle throws various sized stones into the water. "She still doesn't remember who I am," Glass finally says. I frown, silently wishing he would just get over Lele and move on. "You have to give her time to heal," I say. He shakes his head, and my heart breaks for him even more. His sweetheart, Lele, had been suffering from amnesia for almost three weeks now. Glass told me she fell out of a tree when they were climbing, and that her memory has suffered greatly from it. It's been really hard on him, and I can only imagine what he must feel like.

I see a tear trickle down his cheek, but I don't acknowledge it.

Neither of us do.

"Why did you guys get so quiet all of a sudden?" Thistle asks with her backed turned to us. I don't say anything, and neither does Glass. When she turns around, a look of worry crosses her face. She sits cross-legged in front of Glass, taking his hands in hers. "You're thinking about Lele, aren't you?" Glass nods meekly, almost as if he is ashamed. "Well, don't worry. She'll feel way better after a few weeks, and everything will be back to normal," she says encouragingly. Glass shakes his head, almost angrily. "No, I don't think you get it Thistle. I was going to propose to her," he says. Shock smacks me in the face, and I see that Thistle is just as surprised as I am. I knew that he loved her, but not that much.

"Marry her?" I ask. Glass was three years older than me, but nineteen still seemed way too young to get married.

"I love her," Glass says weakly.

"I know," Thistle says gently. Glass looks up at us now, his eyes filled with sorrow. "What if she never remembers me?" he asks. I shake my head, mimicking Thistle's reaction.

"She will," I say.

"How do you know?" Glass says. "She will, Glass. I know it," I say, more sure this time. She has to remember him. She will remember him.

After a long moment of no one saying anything, Thistle breaks the silence. "God, what if I get reaped?" Glass and I both turn to look at her so quickly my neck cracks from the sudden movement. Thistle eyes are filled with fear, something I have never seen before. Thistle was never afraid before the reaping. It was a confidence I didn't even know I person could possess, and it was one of things I admired about her. She shakes her head, stuttering. "I-I'm scared, you guys. I'm scared." I consider holding her hand, but I decide against it. "We're all afraid," Glass says. Pine shakes her head, almost as if she doesn't she believe him.

At about eleven, Glass announces that we should head home to get ready for the reaping. We all slowly make our way back, taking each time with every footfall. The closer we got to the town, the more anxious I felt. The cameramen and peacekeepers were already starting to mull about, readying the square for the Reaping. After parting ways with Glass, Pine and I are left at her front porch. "I'll see you at the Reaping," I say gently. She nods her head, and then scurries inside. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine her hand on mine again.

I turn and run home, trying to swallow my worry.

When I walk through the door, I see Beau sitting in the kitchen. He's hunched over, looking about a million years older. I enter the kitchen, sitting across from him. I notice he's looking at a large array of papers strewn across the table. Probably the stock rates from the lumber yard. "You were out for a long time," he says. He doesn't look up, even when I respond. "I was with my friends," I say. He doesn't say anything else. I leave the kitchen, and head into the bathroom to take a shower. I don't bother waiting for it to heat up, so I step in while it's cold. Icy droplets tumble over my eyes and nose, numbing my sore muscles.

I close my eyes, trying to imagine what would happen if I was picked. I would have to leave my mother and brothers. Pine, and Glass. I shudder at the thought, pressing the heel of my hand to my chest to dull the aching pain. I was afraid. I hated to admit it to myself.

But I was afraid.

After my shower, I hastily put on my Reaping clothes. I draw out all my movements, trying to stall as long as possible. My mother calls from the kitchen, saying we need to leave in thirty minutes. My hands start to shake, but I clench my fists. I will not be afraid. I won't. I can't. I need to be strong for my mother, and my brothers. But most importantly, for myself.

The thirty minutes go by slowly. I spend most of the time sitting in the kitchen, staring at the clock. For a moment the second hand freezes, and all is silent. I almost think time has stopped, but I hear Daryl's deep voice in the living room and decide that I was just imagining things. I tap my fingers against the wooden table, trying to find a way to distract my mind. I count the cracks in the wall, each piece of floorboard; even my own heartbeat. Useless. Everything was useless. Nothing could slow the thud of my heart.

A small hand rests on my shoulder, and I jump. When I look up, I see its Beau. "Time to go," he says grimly. I nod curtly, emotion leeching out of my body. I silently wonder if Pine is crying, and if Glass is thinking about Lele.

When we get outside, the light is blinding. I squint, shielding my eyes from the sun. Daryl, Beau, my mother and I silently walk side by side. I look over at my mother, her face creased with worry. I wonder why she even bothered to have four kids, if they were to be reaped each year. I swallow hard.

The town square had weak attempts at decoration. A few limply hanging posters, one even torn down. I chew on my lip, wondering who had the nerve to do that. Eventually, we make it to the center of the town square, the heat relentlessly beating down on us. Beau crushes me in a hug, and Daryl ruffles my hair in affection. "Good luck," Beau says. We part ways, each of us going into our designated age groups.

I stand stiffly with the rest of the 15 year olds, nodding my head at a few companions at school. I scan the crowd, looking for Glass and Pine. I see Daryl, and I silently scream at him to look my way.

I wipe my hands on my pants, trying to calm down. Now was not the time to be afraid.

I tune out the video presentation they always show, rambling on about the Dark Days. These days seem pretty dark to me, so I think this video is really out of context. I glare at out District escort, watching as he nods his head stupidly at the video. His green hair was a poor replica of the abundance of trees in this District, and he wears the shiniest pants I have ever seen. Glinting and silvery, he looks like a plastic doll that would show up in my nightmares. Even in the blistering heat, he wears a thick fur coat that makes his frame seem 20 times larger. Enormous sunglasses cover most of this wrinkle-free face, and I look down. These people make my eyes hurt.

Once the video ends, Geoff sighs, almost in annoyance. "Alright. Let's begin. We will start with the girls," he says. He digs his hand deep into the glass bowl, and I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that it won't be Pine.

"Blair Lancaster," Geoff says. I nearly let out a sigh of relief, but I freeze when I see the girl walking up on stage.

Walking stiffly through the crowds is the skinniest girl I have ever seen in my entire life. Her cheek bones jutted out of her face, her collarbone popping out so much it looked like her neck was broken. She was a walking skeleton, with only a curtain of skin draped around her thin bones.

She wears a dark green dress, loose in strange places. It almost looks like she's wearing a sheet, because it looks so huge on her. Her face shows no emotion at all as she stiffly walks up to the stage. I swallow hard, closing my eyes again. This girl was going to die.

I mentally slapped myself for thinking something so cruel, but I almost couldn't help it. "How old are you?" Geoff asks. "15," she says quietly.

15. She was so small I almost thought she was lying.

"Very well," Geoff says. "Are there any volunteers?" he asks. I roll my eyes, annoyed he would asks such a stupid question. No one has volunteered in our District. Ever.

But I can't help from hoping that someone will take the place of this poor girl, someone who clearly doesn't deserve to die.

There is a long pause, and Geoff sighs in annoyance. "This would not be the case in District 1," he says a little louder than he should. He tries to smile, acting like it's a joke, but no one laughs.

"Time for the boys," Geoff says after an awkward pause. His voice is lower now, monotone. I can tell he's bored, and my fists clench at my sides. I will it to not be me, hoping his fingers won't grip my name. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood, and I hold my breath.

Geoff pulls a slip out of the glass ball, holding it daintily in his hands. He opens it up slowly, and you could almost hear every collective intake of breath. Please don't be me.

Geoff clears his throat, and then reads the name loud and clear. "Fords Ryland."

I close my eyes.

Me.

They picked me.

Of all the names, they picked me.

I open my eyes, focusing on a tall oak tree standing behind the town hall. Some of the people in my age group have stepped away, creating a path towards the center. I don't look for my brothers, or my friends. I stare straight ahead, trying to repress my fear. This can't be about hoping I won't get picked anymore. Now it's about winning.

As I walk up to the stage, my heart rate starts to pick up. Don't be afraid. "And how old are you?" Geoff asks, with less verve this time. I hesitate. For a split second, I forgot my age. "15," I say flatly.

I hated all of this. I hated this man. I hated everything about right now. "Are there any volunteers?" Geoff asks. I scan the crowd, searching for my brothers. I spot Beau, and he looks down before I can make eye contact with him. "I guess not," Geoff says, a little disappointed. "Well, I guess you'll have to do," he sighs. "Behold, District 7's tributes for the 15th annual Hunger Games!" He says this with boredom clearly evident in his voice.

No one claps.

I don't expect them to.

Before I know it, we are whisked away, into the plush velvet rooms of the town hall. I clench and unclench my fingers, trying to think.

I'm going into the Hunger Games.

Theodore Drest - District 8
I wake up to the sound of chaos and rushed footsteps outside of my bedroom door. I hear my brother and sister arguing about who spilled the milk on her outfit and I smell cinnamon rolls and breakfast baking in the kitchen. No one has come to wake me up yet, which is weird. Plus the sun has just peeked it's head over the factory rooftops, so I can't help but wonder why everyone is up so early on a Sunday. It's the weekend after all.

Then I remember, the reaping is today.

I scoff as I roll out of bed, my blankets falling on the floor as I get up. It is so like me to forget that such a huge event is today. The reaping is only the most terrifying and daunting day of the year, I wonder how many other people in the district have let it slip their mind as well. Probably zero.

The truth is, the reaping doesn't scare me that bad. I mean it used to, but over the years I've realized that I'm probably not gonna get reaped anyways and worrying about something that hasn't happened yet is pretty silly. I've made it through five reapings already and nothing happened to me then, so the same can probably be said about today and next year as well. I don't have nearly as much tessarae as other people in the District.

And even if I did get reaped, I'd probably be kind of excited in a weird way. After all, it would sure be a hell of an adventure.

I like surprises, it keeps things exciting.

I walk to my door with heavy feet, sleepiness still in my system, and open it up. The bright lights from the hallway flood my room and I close my eyes for a second until they adjust. I am beginning to look around when my mom's screeching voice pierces my ears.

"Oh my god, why aren't you dressed yet?" Her eyes are wide like a frog and she looks ready to panic. I flinch at her loud voice. Something inside of me twangs irritation and I can't help but stare at her like she's an idiot.

"If you wanted me awake earlier, you should have woke me up yourself." I say with an attitude as I stand in my doorway.

"I expected you to wake yourself up! You're seventeen years old, Theo. Is a little responsibility too much to ask?" She says it all dramatically, like we're in a play or something.

"It's Sunday." I spit.

"It's Reaping Day." She says right back, then disappears back into the kitchen before I can get the last word in. "Get ready." I hear her say from the other room.

I have half a mind to go back to bed just simply because she told me to get ready, but I decide not to. I grab a towel off the dryer and walk to the bathroom. I have a defiant streak, I can't deny that, but I don't have a stupid one. I know that if I even ATTEMPTED to skip the reaping, the Peacekeepers would be on me in an instant and I just don't feel like dealing with that today. Or any day, really.

I shower and brush my teeth more quickly than I usually do and hop out, my wet feet splattering water onto the tile floor. I wrap the blue towel around my waist and walk out of the bathroom, the steam following me down the hall as I leave.

When I get back in my room, I grab some clothes off of my dresser and toss them onto my bed. I'm not really in the mood to dress up today, so I don't care what clothes I grab, all that matters is that they're clean. I tug a crisp white t-shirt over my head and yank it down. The fresh smell of laundry detergent lingers in my clothes and smells gentle and nice, like a fresh breeze. I take a pair of denim jeans out of the bottom drawer and pull them on too. As I button my pants up, I walk over to my mirror and look at my reflection to make sure I still look alright since the last time I checked.

And I do. My blonde hair sits short and neat on my head and my eyes are just as blue as they were last time I looked. I think I'm a pretty good looking guy. I always had relativity good skin from my mom's side and my teeth never grew in crooked. Unlike my brother and sister, I never needed braces when I was in middle school. They say I should be thankful. Apparently they're no fun. I say they should be lucky we could even afford such a thing. Only the rich in our District can, after all.

But looks were never something I've obsessed over anyways. I've always been more interested on what's on the inside. Like blood and guts! No, I'm kidding. I like people based off of their heart. Their personality, their dreams, their ideas and aspirations. If you can stimulate my mind, then looks don't really matter as much.

By the time I'm ready to leave, my mom is still waiting for my sister to change clothes, so I just decide to leave without them. The town square isn't that far from my house anyway, and there's no way I want to walk anywhere alongside my deadbeat dad.

I step out the front door and follow the sidewalk until I'm exiting the neighborhood. I know the sky should be more blue than this, but this district is so polluted with factory smoke, it only looks grayish at best. I honestly do get sick of this place at times, but I don't see a way out. People usually stay in the District they're born in all their life. It's just how things work.

I walk with relaxed posture and my head held high as I enter the town square. I know I exude confidence and security, something so rare to find on Reaping Day. Kids know me from school, but don't say much more than "Hi" and "How are you" as I walk by. I let the guy at the sign in table prick my finger and then I move onto the seventeen year old's section as the ceremony begins.

The guy standing next to me is actually quivering with nerves as the mayor gives his short, scripted speech.

"You okay?" I ask him quietly, glancing his direction.

He lets out a nervous laugh. "Yeah I'm fine, thanks. Just a bit scared." He replies quietly, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

"Ah." I say with a nod, understanding him. I raise my head and see the escort, Shay something walk onstage in a very richly colored peacock inspired dress. Her deep green hair is tied into a tight, high bun and her skin is tan and smooth, kind of like caramel.

A lot of district people say they hate capitol fashion, but I don't. I think it's usually really creative and fantasy-like. Clothes can be a way of self expression, art even. I don't hate her wild dress as much as the kids around me apparently do. I can tell because of their giggles and stares as she rolls a film of the dark days and what not.

After it's over, she walks over to the girls' bowl and draws out a name. It all happens pretty quickly.

"Cecilia Burton." She says into the microphone.

I look over in the girls' direction and search for her. I don't know any Cecilia's, so I have no idea who she could be. After a moment though, the girls in the sixteen-year old's section spread out, revealing a small Asian-looking girl in a satiny white dress that looks pretty fancy.

She looks confused for a moment, and then before she knows it, Peacekeepers are escorting her up to the stage. As she passes me by, I notice a golden dragon is embroidered onto her dress, curving up her side.

As she walks onto the stage, I see some tears fall down her cheeks and I frown slightly in sympathy. Poor girl, I think to myself.

Before I know it, Shay is drawing a name out of the boys' bowl and I can't help but wonder who it will be. I don't really care since my brother is nineteen now and can't be reaped. The only one left I really care about being reaped is myself.

"Theodore Drest."

And what a coincidence. Right as I think I'm safe, my name gets called. You know what, actually this would be just my luck. Something like this would happen to me.

I always seem to be the one that gets singled out.

As I slip into the isle, I don't feel as nervous as I imagined myself being. Kids stare at me and I hear some whispers, but I don't feel stiff, uptight, or anything. My limbs are loose and my posture is confident and tall, like it usually is.

I guess I'm the one going on an adventure this year, I think as a small smirk crosses my face.

Mazie Sunnoria - District 9
I've made it a habit to wake up before the sun rises on Reaping Day.

Normally, I'd climb the huge oak tree in our backyard, sitting on its uppermost branches and staring at the horizon. It was peaceful up there, watching the sun rise, and the view helped calm my nerves. Because I'm not like some other teenagers in the higher District's, fighting over who will get to volunteer. I'm not as strong, as experienced in the art of combat, or as charismatic as my future opponents. They were raised soley to win glory for their lineage.

But I was raised to work, and help support my struggling family.

But this morning, the morning of my fifth Reaping, I didn't climb our oak tree because I was frightened of being Reaped, of leaving everyone and everything I ever knew behind. No, I've climbed the tree because I know that this may be my last chance to ever do so. Because this year, I'm volunteering for the Hunger Games.

Not for the glory, and not for the fame. But so I can heal my blind sister. My family does not make enough money to heal her, and they never will. But with the massive sum of money granted to the Victor of the Hunger Games is more then enough to pay for the Capitol's revolutionary blindness cure.

Then Aria can finally see the world, just like she's always dreamed.

But despite this positive thinking, despite all of my constant reminders that this is the right thing to do, I…can't help but think that this will be my last day in District 9. That this will likely be a one way trip.

I rest my back against the rough bark of the oak, squinting as the first fingers of sunlight inch their way across the sky, feeling a gust of wind rustle my golden blond hair. From my perch, I can see the earliest of risers stepping out from their homes, collecting the morning paper or just enjoying their day off from work. They all look so carefree and happy compared to me, stewing in misery as I try to work up the courage to do what must be done.

There's a telltale squeak of my family's backdoor opening up. A quick glance from my perch shows me that it's my dad stepping out. He looks exhausted; his stringy brown hair hanging around his face, his back hunched slightly from years of work in the grain fields, and I can just make out the twin dark hoods beneath his eyes. Calix Sunnoria is a hard-working, determined man…but I can tell that he is burnt out. The hard work that he performs on a daily basis has finally cracked the resolute shell that is my Father.

If I win the Games, he'll never have to work again.

He leans against the wooden doorframe, gazing up at the leafy branches of the oak. "Hey, Mazie!" He shouts into the tree. "Come on down. Mayor McIntyre wants everyone in attendance at the square in little over an hour."

So it's time. The life that I knew before this, a life where I had to work for everything, is coming to an end. Ahead of me is either death or eternal happiness. I know that I'm probably not coming back, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't even try.

I slowly climb down the tree, feeling the coarse veins etched into the bark beneath my fingertips. I want to remember this moment; the smell of the oak, the chirping of the birds, the feel of the bark. I won't get another moment like this before--

"Mazie," Dad wearily calls my name from below. "Hurry up. Your Mom bought you a new dress for the Reaping, and you know how long she takes with clothes."

He's right. Mom will have a hissyfit if I don't flaunt that dress. It's a nice gesture that she thought to buy me something, especially considering our family's limited income, but a unnecessary one. Will anyone care what I'm wearing when I step onto that stage?

I think of the Capitol and revise my opinion. Those freaks will care very much.

I finally let go of my tree, feeling the cold dew and wet blades of grass against my bare feet. Slowly, I saunter away from the oak, trying to feel calm and collected. My parents cannot, will not, see the fear that I am experiencing right now. If I am going to leave them, then I want it to be as emotionless and stoic as possible.

Because if I let ny guard down, I don't know if I can work up the courage to leave.

"Mazie, dear, can you spin around again?"

I oblige to Mom's wishes, spinning about on my heels again. The flame red dress ripples around me, dark flanes of fire lighting up our otherwise dark living room. Mom claps together in happiness and squeals in approval.

"I knew you'd look good in that dress!" She exclaims. "See, Mazie, I told you that I'd never let you down! As soon as my eyes alighted on that masterpiece, I just knew you were meant to wear it!"

As much as my Mom and her strange love for fashion may annoy me, I have to admit that I love the dress. It's incredibly simplistic; no jewels or gaudy accessories, just a simple piece of red silk wrapping around down to my knees. A pair of plan, black-heeled shoes rest on the table in front of me. Mom claims that clothes shopping is like jewerly creation; dark and light colours always go well together. It seems that for once she's right.

"I'm sure you look amazing, Mazie!" Aria chips in from her spot beside Dad on the couch.

Tears spring to my eyes at the mere sound of my sister's voice. Aria is my entire world, and I'm going to give up my life for her. A certain level of doom and desolation comes along with that. But these tears are blinked away as soon as they come. I told myself that I wouldn't show any emotion, and that's not going to change now.

"Thank you, Aria," I say, voice cracking slightly.

"Well," Mom speaks, all silliness and laughter gone from her voice. "It's about time for us to go." A quick glance at the wall clock hanging over our mantle shows that she is right. The Reaping is slotted to take place in just over half an hour. An involuntary shudder runs through my body at the thought.

"Right," Dad says. "I'll get the house locked up." As he stands, he rests a strong hand on Aria's shoulder. "And remember, neither of you are going to be Reaped. We put in for less tessarae this year, and everyone else has much more. You don't have anything to worry about."

"He's right," Mom adds. "You two will be fine. We'll have a picnic out under the oak when we get back, all right?" Several more pinpricks of tears jab at my eyes. This time I don't even bother wiping them away.

"Mazie, can you help Aria get her sandals on? Your Mom and I will get things ready to go."

"Yeah," I say, wiping the tears away with the back of my hand. "Yeah, I'll get her ready."

Dad nods in gratitude, walking alongside Mom down the side hallway and towards the bedrooms. I grab Aria's leather sandals from their spot beside my heels, and kneel down to place them on her feet.

"Mazie?" My sister asks as she wiggles her foot into the sandal. "We're going to be okay. I bet that even if one of us is Reaped, there'll be a volunteer. Some girls at school were talking about it. So, there really isn't any chance that we go into the Games."

I let the straps of Aria's sandals fall to the side, her words digging into my head. If I don't get ahold of myself, my mental floodgates will break, and I'll be an emotional wreck. Just have to keep this act going for a bit longer…but I need something to help keep me going. Anything.

"Hey, Mazie?" I ask, trying desperately to keep my voice level. "Can I borrow your necklace?"

"For what?" She sounds confused.

"I just…I just want something to give me good luck at the Reaping. Kinda like a charm or something."

"Yeah, of course!" Aria is excited as she shakily reaches her hands behind her neck, clumsily undoing the metal clasp. I slowly take the piece of jewellery from her hands, holding the stone lightly in my hand. The necklace was a childhood gift that my Dad bought for my 14 year-old sister, a dazzling blue sapphire hanging from a simple black chain. He bought me an almost identical necklace, only with a shard of rock instead of a sapphire. He didn't have enough money for two extravagant jewels.

"Umm…Mazie?"

I glance up from the necklace, placing a hand on my sister's knee. "Yes?"

"Would you mind if I held onto your necklace? That way we can both have good luck, and neither of us will be Reaped!"

"Definitely," I offer a weak smile, unclasping my own necklace and placing it into her hands. "Do you think you can clasp your own necklace?"

"I think so." Aria slides the necklace over her head and begins to fiddle with the clasp for a few moments before clicking it in place. "Thank you, Mazie."

I smile and pull my sister in for a hug. "We're both going to be fine," I whisper as tears slide down my cheeks. "We're both going to be just fine."

"Please give a warm welcome to your very own District escort, Stella Glow!"

I cannot help but cringe at the overly peppy music that blares from the speakers connected to the Justice Building. I never will understand why my District still treats this whole damn event like a party, absolutely oblivious to the twenty-three lives that will soon be lost. I know that it's only because the Capitol forces it, but still. Speaking of peppy, here comes Styla Berghatta.

Our district escort is dressed almost entirely in dark purple today; her hair is dyed purple and done up in a curled bun, a long purple dress sweeps around her lithe frame, and sparkly purple high-heeled shoes bounce along the concrete floor of the Justice Building's front balcony. Her manicured hands wave out at the cheering crowd, and an ugly, fake smile adorns her face. What an awful woman.

Styla slowly steps up to the microphone set up between the two massive Reaping bowls. "Thank you for the warm welcome!" she booms, voice silencing the rambunctious crowd. "I always have loved this beautiful District!"

"But I suppose we might as well get on with the primary festivities. Our dear President Cordelia Knighton would like to wish everyone a happy and safe ???th Hunger Games, and would like to thank Panem's hard-working tributes for their contribution to the peace of our glorious country. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever." Styla flashes another of her false smiles at the crowd.

"We all know how the Reaping works, so I might as well skip right to the unveiling of your proud tributes. Let's start with the girls."

Oh God, I can't do this. I can't volunteer. I can't volunteer. I can't-

"I volunteer."

The words slip quietly, unconsciously from my mouth. It takes me a moment to comprehend what I just said, but when it sinks in I raise a hand to my lips. Oh my God. There's no going back now. I did it. I said it, those two simple but powerful words.

"Did I hear a volunteer from out there?" Styla questions. "Come on up here, don't be shy."

I walk slowly forward across the now silent town square. Around me, I can hear angry whispers and accusatory mutters. "Why did she volunteer?" "Who even is she?" "We can't just let some random girl go into the Games to lose!" At one point a girl lets out a loud shout of, "What the hell are you trying to do? Get yourself killed? You better step down or--"

A warning glance from a Peacekeeper quickly silences her.

My slow, echoing steps eventually carry me up the stone steps of the balcony, bringing me to a halt alongside Styla. The escort places her hand on my shoulder, bringing the microphone close to my face. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"My name is Mazie. Mazie Sunnoria," I say, trying to sound as confident as possible. But I avoid the spot near the back of the crowd where I know my parents are facing, I can't look down where Aria is sure to be. Stay calm. Stay composed.

Viscera Clomp - District 10
Rain batters down onto the muddy field which we all troop through, our shoes hit the mud and making indents just like the rain. Only the rain can dribble and run away, it can run into the ground and disappear, we can't.

I am surrounded by girls and boys all in the same situation as me, or at least they think they are. What they don't know was that all the girls are safe, that all the mother pawning over their darling girls, in their best dresses- some which make you pity them for that very fact- who think that they might never see their girl alive again after this day don't know they have nothing to worry about, that the pig has already been sent to slaughter by the woman who stands in front of me, trying desperately to shove the rebellious piece of my red hair dipped in blue at the end into the uniform bun at the back of my head.

"Go away, you stupid thing!" She mutters as she tries relentlessly to imprison my hair.

"You talking to me or the hair, mother?" I question, wanting her to hear the sarcasm in my voice, to know I don't want to be her perfect volunteer. To know I don't want to face the same fate as Matthias just so she could have her desired life.

"The hair silly, of course I want you back sweetie." she cooes, looking at me sweetly. Not the kind of sweetness you would find in the sweets that are extremely expensive for most kids, but my Mum thinks I want for my birthday, which I don't. No, this the sickly kind of sweet, the kind you know all too well is artificial and fake.

I don't respond. It isn't that I don't want to. No, in fact I want the exact opposite, I want to sink my fist into her face, to prove to her that I have learned to fight. That I haven't just been wasting my time in the basement, that just because I don't want to use the expensive machines she have conned into her ownership don't mean I wasn't working out. That a punching bag really is a good exercise tool.

But I still don't react, she doesn't need to know I hate her, actually she already knows that. No, the reason was down to what I need. I need no media attention, no stories, no rumours. Just to be able to go into that arena and die, that would be the punch to the face my mother needed. My survival would only make her happier.

"Off you go honey, good luck my sweet, I know you'll do me proud!" She tells me as she pats my head and sends me off like an animal to slaughter.

"Bye, Kendra." I reply, a small smile forming as her's drops at my use of her first name. She quickly resumes said smile.

"Bye, my beautiful Viscera." She says with her fake sweetness. As I walk away and exit the house, my smile grows, knowing that under all that falseness she was scowling. As my heavy boots hit the mud I know it was like a stamp on her pride. Mud splashes my black dress that once belonged to her, and is now covered with the mud that I love and she hates. I know I am hurting her.

I allow my body to be herded into the 16 year old pen along with the other girls of my age, most of whom I know from school and hate me, a feeling I reciprocated. That doesn't matter any more though, I know they would all fake a liking for me after I die, and I know that no one will believe it.

We all watch--like the servants of the Capital that we all are--the customary video, as it states lie after lie in a constant attempt to produce more people like my parents, willing to believe every Capitol lie they spout. I am not my parents though, and I can sense every lie in the wretched video.

As the lie train grounds to a halt, our district's escort, Claudina, stepped out to the microphone, her black roots clearly showing, offering a stark contrast between her dyed platinum bland hair and the roots. She was once the escort of District 1, the best thing an escort could hope for, but she has since been shoved off her perch and relegated to District 10 with us, people she clearly views as scum and beneath her.

"Welcome everyone to the Reaping of the 115th Annual Hunger Games! Today we will pick two tributes to take part in our well-known games." She explains, her body struggling to maintain its posture and poise, instead she sways slightly as she speaks, taking little care over her pronunciation of each word. "Girls then." she mumbles, her mutter being is picked up by the microphone and as a result is carried to our ears by the speakers that have been haphazardly constructed around us. They are probably a major health risk but the Peacekeepers don't care so they just stay there as looming hearing threats. Her hand, that is adorned with a rusting gold ring and chipped red nail polish to match her fading red dress, dips into the bowl, snatching the first piece of paper it rests on. Unfolding it proves a small challenge for Claudina's well-worn hands, her stubby, bitten nails find it difficult to lock into the crease in the paper. When she finally manages it she reads out the name with a remarkable amount of volume for her.

"Raquel Sawyer." Is the name that explodes out through the speakers, I see a small blonde break down in the 13's pen at this, her hands shaking. This is it, no putting it off any longer.

"I volunteer" I call, causing the blonde's cries to stop and everyone stare at me, some in confusion. These are the ones who don't know me, and others in happiness, the ones who know me.

"Excuse me?" Claudina calls out, her ears obviously not registering the volunteer of District 10's cry.

"I volunteer" I repeat, my teeth grinding the words as if I can make them disappear. I walk out of the pen with those words, brushing past the crowds of confused residents and stone-cold Peacekeepers as I make my way to the stage.

There is a heavy clunk when each of my heavy boots hit the wooden stairs up to the stage, drawing every eye that isn't already on me to my form. I take my place next to Claudina as I had seen many girls before me, staring out into the sea of people, my gaze rests on my mothers gleaming face.

"What's your name?" Claudina asks, shoving the microphone way too close to my face as she looks off at the clock next to the stage.

"Viscera Clomp," I tell her, my voice strong and proud, my name being the one of the few things in my life that no one has tried to use against me, the one thing I can still call my own. My mother sense of pride is overflowing as she looks at me that I divert my eyes from her smiling face to my heavy brown boots that are giving a little much-needed height to my 5'4 frame.

"Okay, Boys then" she says, showing her clear lack of interest in what I have to say. No one really cares about me and I have come to accept this so this doesn't bother me. Her hand dips into the bowl, grabbing the piece of paper that has been pressed up to the side, exposed like a nerve.

"Baron Bludd?" she reads out, sounding unsure of herself. My eyes scan to audience for a reaction, all I see was a glimmer of recognition in a man and a woman as they cling to each other with tear filled eyes, his parents I presume. I know I should feel sorry for him and his parents, but no matter how much I search through my mind, all I find is jealousy that his parents truly care.

A boy of massive size emerges from the crowd. He's built like a beast, with beefy shoulders and muscular arms that are as large as my thighs. He stands head and shoulders above everyone else as he stomps up to the stage.

I don't have to look to the audience to see my mother's reaction to him, I know what she thinks. She is thinking how terrible it is that I am a bit further from winning.

"People of District 10." Claudina begins as we take our places at her side, my posture weak and his strong. I can tell she means 'scum of District 10' but no one says anything. "Please applaud your tributes for the 115th Annual Hunger Games; Viscera Clomp and Baron Bludd!" she continues, signalling the joyous eruption from the crowd that celebrates it wasn't them or their child going into the games as we are led away into the town hall, an old brown building that looms behind the stage.

The room felt cold with only me in it. I don't expect anyone else to come see me while I am here so why are they even making me stay? Just send me off to die already, I don't care. I pull my arms closer to my body, trying to maintain body heat, trying to stop it doing what I want to, escape. I have long abandoned the old wooden chairs that sat in the centre of the room, instead opting to stand facing the window, my back to the door as I replay events to what might be my last ever conversation with my mother:

"Remember, get what you can at the cornucopia then run, make sure you get a weapon. Find a hiding place and a source of water, if you see a tribute, kill it," she told me, her recommendations only cementing the fact that she doesn't know me one bit. I don't need a weapon, I have boxed since I was eight and that has served me fine so far, hell, the only weapon I know how to use was a gun, most types too. I have no clue how to fight with a knife other than the fencing lessons I have taken as a kid, though I am sure I wasn't getting a sword in the games. And I can't just kill a tribute, maybe if they attack me but not unprovoked, it has taken me years to even want to watch the animals being slaughtered and still I can only execute them with a gun from a distance.

"Sure," I agreed, nodding my head. My death would have more of an effect if she wasn't expecting it.

"Just win, my love," she added as she hugged me with a strength that felt more like she was trying to squeeze of my willingness to try out of me than to restore it. I nodded as she pulled away. She left before I had a chance to add anything else.

The conversation just made me hate her more, making me hate my fellow tribute even more for having people who cared about him. I have no friends to come see me and my dad was bedridden, having sent me out the house this morning with only the demand that I win. It is that collection of facts that make me jump when I hear the door open behind me.

I turn to see the blonde girl from the reaping. Rachael I think is her name.

"Hello," she squeaks, standing awkwardly in the door. Words can't get out of my mouth before she speaks again. "I know you don't know me but I know you and I know people don't like you here but I do and I am so grateful you are going into the games and not me, I don't stand a chance but you do so thank you and I will always be thankful," she stammers as she speaks, the words following out of her mouth in one endless stream that makes it hard to tell one word from another.

"No problem, I was going to anyway," I explain, touched by the fact that she was here. I have done nothing for her, only to escape my parents. Yet she still feels the need to come in here anyway. Her words thaw away slightly at my heart in a warm sensation I haven't felt since Matt's death.

"That's what I don't get, why volunteer after your brother died?" she asks, her eyes looking to the ceiling as if for encouragement. There is no need to be scared, I know why she was wondering why the sister of deceased tribute would volunteer. Who wouldn't?

"My parents want a victor" I answer shortly, shrugging my shoulders as I do.

"Okay." she replies as she moves to go, her face is ashen with my description of my parents wishes. Before she leaves though she turns and adds; "Please don't die because of them. You're my hero and I like my hero alive."

"I will try to win," I promise her, it as empty as my life has been since his death. But the ice that has been knocked off my heart exposes the part of me that makes me want to keep my promise, to win for her.

"Thank you," she says quietly as she leaves the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more, though not for long.

"Miss Kraft, time to go!" Claudina tells me, holding the door open for me to leave. My feet guide me out the door. This is it. Time to die, though I have told myself for years that was a good thing, a part of me now just doesn't agree.

Lartius Fallows - District 11
I hate life. I hate life. I hate life. I. Hate. Life.

These are the only thoughts that course through my head as I pull the weeds from around the summer crops. The Peacekeepers don't give us gloves, so my hands are blistered and bleeding and I can hardly remember how long I've been out in the blistering sun. Since around seven this morning, I believe. My back hurts, my hands hurt, and I sweat like a pig. If I don't get water soon, I just might pass out.

As I yank another weed, I can't help but go back to thinking of my hatred for life. Not only do I hate having to work and not being privileged enough like the rich kids to go to school and learn, but I hate my bossy and abusive father, I hate my overbearing and delusional mother, and I definitely hate my bully of an oldest sister. To add on top of that, I am basically friendless, and people tease me for the scars that litter my body. The scars from my over abusive, drunkard, asshole father. Did I mention the four years of taking tessarae for a family of eight? Thirty-six slips are in there with the name Lartius Fallows.

And just when I think I'm going to keel over and vomit, a loud horn is blown. End of work day. The one good thing about this bloody reaping is that everyone gets early days off. Instead of working for twelve-hours straight in the sun, we only have to work for four. Lucky me, right?

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and stand up straight, squaring my shoulders to crack the ache from my back. Not quite better, but it'll do until I can get home and take a hot bath. That is, if our oldest sister hasn't used all the hot water, or if there's any left by the time I get a chance to bathe.

I spot my youngest sister, Jasmine, rushing towards me with flowers weaved into the dark locks of her braid. She works in the division where they climb trees and pick the fruit closest to the sun. Her job isn't as hard or taxing as mine because she is in the shade all day and they don't mind as much when the little ones sneak apples or peaches to munch on. That and they get water because they all have a low tolerance for getting overheated, them being kids and all.

"Lartius!" Jasmine calls, running into my sweaty arms. She pulls away immediately, wrinkling her tiny nose. "Ew, you stink."

"You would stink too if you were sweating for four hours straight," I snap, before sighing. "How was work, little one?"

"It was okay, Lartius. You look tired so let's hurry home so you can bathe and rest before the reaping," she says, grabbing my bloodied hand. I always admired Jasmine for her optimism. Even though her life is just as bad – or worse, really – than mine, she always smiles and looks out for others. She even tells me that one day, if she makes it past the reapings – which she will, because the rest of the kids have agreed she is not taking tessarae – that she wants to go help and work at the apothecary.

It's a good job, considering people having heat strokes; kids falling from trees and people getting whipped in the square is all very common.

Jasmine and I catch up to our other siblings that work – Emry, Gardenia and Bryony – before making our way to our very tight-fitting home. It was a small house with only two bedrooms, a small sitting area and a kitchen. We have to use the bathroom outside, in an outhouse shared by two other households.

Mom, dad, Rosemarie and Bryony share a room, with Rose and Bry in sleeping bags on the floor. Emry, Gardenia, Jasmine and I all share the other bedroom, with the girls sharing a bed and me sleeping on a blankets on the ground. It's a very uncomfortable arrangement–-especially in the summer-–but we've gotten used to it.

When we arrive at our little cabin, I am surprised not to see Rosemarie standing in the doorway snarling or making out with her gross and beefy boyfriend. Lucky her, she doesn't work in the fields because she got an apprenticeship working for the Mayor. Reaping Day was her day off, and she got to spend the entire day at home while the rest of us worked our asses of in the fields. She sickens me.

However, my sister is uncharacteristically quiet today. That's good, I don't feel like dealing with her stupid or smart remarks today. I have to help everybody get ready for reaping, I don't have time to argue or fight with her.

After handing out water bottles to everyone, I direct Jasmine and Gardenia to the tub in the corner of the sitting room. An old dirty sheet serves as a curtain to protect their modesty, but usually two have to share a bath so everyone gets a fair share of warm water to bathe in.

"Girls, you all should start getting ready first," I say. "I'll go get your outfits ready." They nod and go behind the sheet to begin bathing. Emry fills buckets with warm water from our kitchen sink and takes it over to them so they could run their bath.

I weave my way through the house-–careful not to step on discarded liquor bottles--to our bedroom. Of course, our parents forgot to lay our clothes out. I had kindly asked them to do so, so when we returned home we didn't have to worry about it and would be able to bathe and dress quickly without the task of choosing outfits.

Sighing loudly, I open our small closet. Our reaping clothes hang on hangers in the closet, but the rest of our tattered and patchy clothing are in small storage bins on the floor of the closet. We couldn't fit all of our clothes in one closet, so the storage bins had to substitute.

I rifle through Jasmine's clothes, finding a pretty blue floral dress that would suit her. I retrieve the polished white slippers--I keep all of our dress shoes polished and decent looking, know my parents wouldn't give a damn about our appearance--from behind her bin and set her dress on the bed. After finding an outfit for Gardenia––a green skirt and white button-up with puffy short-sleeves-–I go through my own clothes. Emry can find an outfit for herself that she would like, she doesn't like it when I choose her clothes out for her.

Eventually I settle on a pair of black slacks verses my brown ones and a black shirt to match. The pants and shirt are about a size too big, and they're my father's hand-me-downs but I have to be happy with what I get. Lucky I have decent reaping clothes in the first place.

When I return to the living area with the threadbare towels we use to dry off, Rosemarie is still quiet, not uttering a peep about how stupid I look in my working clothes or how bad we smell. She seems off her game today. I'm not sure if I'm elated to see her this upset or slightly worried about her mental health.

I don't get to comment on it, though, because both of our parents enter the door, making a ruckus as they do so. They're followed by my sister Bryony, who seems almost dead on her feet, her eyes drooping closed every few seconds. I notice my Mother is sporting a new set of diamond earrings and my father is stumbling over his words and feet. They've probably just wasted her check on alcohol and diamonds, as per usual.

"Emry, get the girls out of the bath," I sigh. She nods and goes behind the curtain, emerging a few minutes later with Jasmine and Gardenia and ushering them to our room.

"We're home," Bryony says tiredly, dropping her purse on our kitchen table. She works at our only butcher in town, in the slaughterhouse. We get a monthly shipment of the skinniest cows, pigs and veal for our Districts supplement of meat, and sometimes Bryony brings home thin slices of steak or a couple of packages of bacon. But we've all gotten so used to not having protein in our diet, we basically just became vegetarians.

"How was work?" I ask, not staring at the blood stained across her face or her clothes. Bryony collapses on our couch.

"Tiresome. I got kicked in the face by one of the hogs…but I'll be alright for the reaping. Speaking of which, Emry and I are going to bathe first, is that okay?"

"Take your time," I shrug. "I have to bathe with old man anyway." The last part is bitter, but since my father and I are the only males in our home, we're forced to take our baths together. Most of the times I don't get clean anyways because he vomits in the water or some other thing, and we're not allowed more than one bath a week. We have to reserve the water for drinking.

Bryony shoots me a grateful look and calls for Emry. I help them get the warm water for their baths, grab the towels from Jasmine and Gardenia, and leave them be. Meanwhile, I have to go help Jasmine braid her hair.

Usually Rosemarie, Amaryllis or Bryony will do it because Gardenia doesn't know how, but reaping is nearing and they have to hurry and get ready. So sitting on the bed with Jasmine between my knees, I begin to braid. It's simple, and I learned it pretty easy in living with a house of women. Besides, it's not like there is anything else to do in my free time, might as well learn something helpful to the girls.

I gather her thick hair in my hands and can't help but notice how much it resembles mine. Thick, dark, and actually quite soft. The only difference is that hers is long and I keep mine neatly trimmed. In many ways actually, Jasmine and I look a lot alike. We have the same caramel colored mixed skin, seeing as our mother is quite pale and our father is very dark skinned. We both have the same jade colored eyes and the dimples in our cheeks. We would be attractive if we weren't always covered in sweat or dirt.

"Alright, little flower," I say, when I've added the blue ribbon at the end. "Go show Rosemarie so she can get your snack." As evil as Rosemarie usually was to us, she would never say a cruel word or lay a harsh hand on Jasmine. Everyone really loves Jasmine.

The little bugger nods and kisses my cheek before bolting from our room. From behind me, Gardenia giggles.

"I swear, you're a softie Lartius."

"Shut up," I grumble, not allowing my cheeks to go red. I was a big softie when it came to my sisters. Not Rose, so much, but the rest of them. I do truly love them, and I try my best to be the man my father isn't. The man my mother once told me Brash was.

Brash was my brother, apparently. He looked more like my father, from what I can tell of the pictures. He was handsome too, with a strong jaw and hard hazel eyes. According to the offhand stories I've heard from my mother, he was a great boy. Only sixteen when he was reaped, too, during the TBA Hunger Games. He died pretty quickly. It was the bloodiest year, fifteen deaths in the bloodbath. He was killed almost immediately by a knife from the girl from 8.

A part of me wants to avenge my brother. Kill whatever District 8 girl is chosen. But I'm not stupid enough to volunteer, and it's stupid wishing to get reaped. I have to stay in District 11 and protect the girls. I can't let my alcoholic father take to hitting Rose or Bryony or any of the other girls, really. As much distaste as I have for Rose.

"Lartius!" A shrill voice calls. "Time for your bath!" My mother, of course. My mother's not really a bad person. She's just stupid and wasteful. She knows we're poor, I can tell she does. Yet she wastes whoever's paycheck-– whether it's mine, or one of the girls-– she can get her hands on, on things that aren't necessary. And we can't take the things she buys back. One time we tried it because we were out of bread and she blamed the girls for stealing her pretty things. None of them sat down right for about a week, Jasmine included.

When I arrive back in our sitting area, my sisters have already dumped their dirty bathwater and fresh water is in the tub. It seems we've used all of our warm water on the girls however, because it's cold to the touch. I decide this will be a quick bath.

My father is already waiting for me, washing up incoherently. I grab my towel and scrub furiously, watching as the days sweat and grime peels off of me and leaves the water gray and dirty. Dad doesn't even notice, just keeps rubbing the same spot on his chest while staring off into the distance. He looks pretty green, like he's going to throw-up. I don't have time to bathe him today though, the reaping is in an hour and everyone is dressed but me.

Quickly, I wash my dirty hair until it squeaks in my fingers. Then I jump from the tub, grabbing the towel and bolting from there. I wanted out of there before he vomited. Almost on cue, as soon as I make it out, the acidic contents of liquor and whatever he had for breakfast empty into the filthy water. I cringe. Looks like I'll be the one cleaning out the tub after the Reaping.

Instead of lingering on my post-reaping chores, however, I dress in my reaping outfit and comb back my hair. After slipping in the size-too-large black loafers my father had given me, I march back out to the kitchen. The girls are gathered around the table, all looking clean but grim. Bryony nibbles her peanut butter and jam crackers absently, not particularly paying attention to what anyone else is saying or doing.

Emry sits reverse-cowgirl on a chair, leaning her head on her hand as she doodles in the corner of her weathered sketchpad. She really wanted to be an artist, but unfortunately we couldn't afford to keep buying her charcoal pencils and paper-–yet alone buy the fancy paints and canvases that most of those prestigious artists drew on. Usually she stole them from school, but it wasn't enough for her.

Rosemarie seems to be the cheeriest out of all of us-– and she's still moping-–seeing as she had her last reaping last year. With fifty-four slips in the bowl, she slipped by with her life. But seeing as it's was her last reaping, it meant that she would have to settle down soon and marry. Or else she'll be one of those free-spirits. One of the women that will lay with anyone for money and never have stable lives, always looking for their next fix on morphling or oxyphodeon, the hallucinatory drug.

Jasmine tugs my arm sleeve when she notices I'm zoned out like Bryony.

"Don't worry, Lartius," she reminds me. Gardenia and Jasmine had a bad habit of reminding us oldest children not to do much worrying. We always looked after them, sacrificed for them, made sure they were happy, that sometimes we became overbearing or worrisome. These two were the ones to remind us that we were still just teenagers.

"What's there to worry about?" I fake innocence. I'd rather Jasmine not see me upset.

"Well, how about you and Emry's' forty slips?" Rosemarie grins suddenly. Ah yes, there is the girl I have grown to hate. "Or even better, what about Bryony's forty-five? Or Gardenia's twenty? You have plenty to worry about Lartius, trust me."

"Shut up, for once will you? God, you're such a bitch," Bryony snaps. Rose goes to fire back an insult but the siren goes off, alerting us that it's time for the reaping. I grab Jasmine's hand and drag her out the door, and the other girls aren't far behind me. As soon as we're a fair enough distance away from the house, I glare at Bryony.

"You know better than to go starting fights with her. You know she's mom and dad's lapdog, and she has them wrapped around her little finger and at one word…" I trail off. Rosemarie had asked dad to beat on me-– or rather the girls, and I had taken the beating–-before, and I'm sure she'd have no problem doing it again.

"She just aggravates me!" Bryony growls, clenching and unclenching her fists. I shake my head.

"Still, she's technically our elder and we have to obey her, as agonizing as it is. She's only allowed to stay in our household until she's twenty-one, so we just have to wait two more years to get rid of her. Maybe less, if she and Garret settle down."

"I don't think I can wait that long until I lash out and slap that smug grin off her face," Bryony sighs.

"Well you have to," I reply, as we come upon the reaping. I give Jasmine a hug and send her off with the other twelve-year-old girls, and it isn't long before she catches up with her giggling friends. She wasn't afraid of the needle or the blood at sign-up. She was braver and smarter than that, and she knew that the small prick wouldn't hurt her.

Gardenia hugs me, Bryony and Emry before going to sign-up with fourteen girls, finding her own group of friends as well. I turn to my two remaining sisters.

"Good luck girls," I say, pulling them each into a hug. "Happy Hunger Games."

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," they say in unison. We all share a bitter laugh before I hurry off to sign-up. Glancing around, I take in the other reaping children. Most of them are scrawny and hollow, like me. But a few of them, some of the higher-ups, wear pretty dresses and shoes and have nice clothes. Not to mention they seem full, with rosy cheeks and nice fat on them. A small part of me hopes one of them gets reaped instead of one of us scrawny kids. Not anything personal, just maybe then our District would have a chance at a Victor.

As soon as the square is filled with sweaty and nervous teenagers, our escort Arsenia Vale steps out on stage. Compared to the other District escorts I've seen on television, Arsenia is the most outlandish. Her hair is a muted forest green color, as well are her eyes. She wears a pair of brown pants and a sparkling green shirt, both hugging her body in an uncomfortably tight looking way. Not to mention her skin is dyed the same color of brown as her pants and he basically looks like a walking tree. Maybe she should be in District 7.

I envy her on the inside, however. Not a single inch on her clothes is patched or 'fixed', as Bryony calls it. In fact, the items look brand new and fairly expensive. A part of me is angry because that money that he spent on dying her skin brown, could have been spent buying a meal for one of the starving families in the District, preferably mine.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen," Arsenia says drily over the microphone. She's been doing our reaping for seven years now, and she looks completely over it already. Apparently, District 11 has yet to offer up any good candidates. "To the reaping of the 115th Hunger Games."

District 11 doesn't have a projector, so Arsenius has to tell the story of the war herself. It's a less than pleasant experience.

"War separated our country and divided our nation. It left children motherless, women without their husbands, and men without their families. Rebels seized the opportunity of killing every person who wouldn't side with them, on sight. District 13 soon became a base, a forte of solitude to the evil and calculating rebels. It lead to such a fierce battle, that our very own District 13 was bombed and obliterated. Millions were dead within months, and thousands within weeks. War left our country staggering and unbalanced. War must never, ever be repeated. And to show that war must never be repeated, as a punishment to the Districts for rebelling against our great country's leaders, we have initiated the Hunger Games." The speech is longer, I know because I have heard it four times before. But Arsenia seems to have cut it down. She wants out of the District as fast as possible, and I honestly can't blame her.

The reaping pauses for our Mayor gives a few welcoming words before Arsenia takes the microphone again. "Now, the time has come for us to select one lucky young man and woman to take their place on stage and claiming the honor of representing District 11 in the 115th Hunger Games. Ladies first." Not lingering, Arsenia's hand pops in and out of the reaping bowl.

"Pepper Travails." My eyes travel over to a girl in the sixteen year section, in which the cameras have all focused on. The girls in her section have parted, all of them staring at her. Way to give her away, guys. I know of Pepper, she's in my class-–or was, before I dropped out of school. She's an okay kid; I don't know her personally, just know who she is. I feel bad for her family, they are good people.

"Is that you, dearie?" Arsenia asks, gesturing to the girl that is shaking like a leaf in the square. Pepper nods slowly and stumbles over her feet up the stairs to the stage. The look on her face can only be described as a deer caught in the headlights. There is some wailing from her siblings as she takes stage, and I can feel my heart break for them. Today is the day they lose a family member, and it's quite guaranteed that she'll be coming home in a pine box.

"And now, for our gentlemen… Lartius Fallows." I have to do a double-take, to make sure I heard it right. But the boys have done the same to me that the girls did to Pepper, parted the sea of kids to focus on me. It seems as if time comes to a screeching halt. I hear my name called and turn to see Emry, her fingers gripping the ropes restraining the girls. Her hazel eyes are filled with fear.

Another person says my name at the same time, I recognize it as Bryony. She's fallen to the floor in the middle of the girl seventeen's. It seems as if I will do the same, because my knees buckle and my legs become the equivalent of jelly. I know of another Lartius in the District, he's twelve. For a second, I believe they are referring to him. But they didn't call Lartius Carter. They called Lartius Fallows. And now I'm being sent to slaughter alongside my ex-classmate.

The voices all around me become drowned out, as if I'm underwater and I'm drowning and they're above, calling out for me. I don't register the peacekeepers hauling me to the stage, nor do I recognize Pepper's small hand in mine as we shake. All I can hear, over and over in my head is Arsenia's voice, calling out my name.

I am dragged into the Justice Building, and only when I am sat down on that plush couch, do I force myself to come to my senses. By the time my family has swarmed the room; I have already begun to accept my fate.

Emry embraces me first, and the others let us have our moment. She's going to take it the hardest, seeing as we're twins. We've always been by each other's side, and we've almost never fought with each other. It's like stealing half a man's body and telling him to keep living. It's damned near impossible.

"Lartius," she whispers, cupping my face in her hands. "Lartius, I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry."

"It's not your fault, Emy," I reply, pulling her back into my embrace. I breathe in the scent of soap in her hair, it may be the last time I get to hug her. "None of this is anyone's fault." We want to stay embraced forever, I can feel her grip tightening when I try to pull away, but Jasmine is getting antsy. So I pull away from Emry and kneel on my knee in front of her. She isn't crying, but she has a scared, urgent look on her face. Jasmine places her hands on my shoulders and grips them, her eyes wildly searching my face.

"I want you to be strong and brave, Jas, okay?" I start slowly, wanting to make sure she hears my words. "I want you to mind Bryony and Emry, they're going to look after you and I need you to help out, okay? I'm not going to be there anymore, I need you to remember what I taught you. You remember what I taught you?"

"Yes, I remember… Lartius, you can come home, right? You know how to use a chainsaw and you know…" She trails off, searching my face again.

"Yeah, I can come home," I soothe, pulling her into a hug. "I'll be okay, I promise." It's so easy to lie to someone you love when you're lying to protect them and their innocence.

"You're going to die, Lartius," Bryony sputters from above me. Not tearing away from Jasmine, I look up at her.

"I won't," I assure. "I'll come home."

"Don't lie to me, Lartius. I'm smarter than that and you know it," she snaps back at me. I give Jasmine a final kiss on her head before standing to hug Bryony.

"I'll come home," I repeat, softer this time. Bryony embraces me tightly, her nails digging though my shirt into my back.

"Lartius, you can't keep telling yourself that." It may seem harsh, but it's true. Everyone in the room knows that I have zero to none chance of coming home. The slim chance that I do have is only if I make it past the bloodbath, which is highly unlikely that I will. If Brash couldn't do it, then I certainly can't.

"This is just a repeat of your brother," mM father slurs from the corner. For a split second, I wish the Peacekeepers wouldn't have let him in here drunk. It's such a small, enclosed space that if he lost his cool, someone would get hurt. "Just a damned repeat!"

"Dad," I say, leaving Bryony. "Get a grip."

"Don't tell me what to do, boy!"

"The girls…Mum…they need you. I've played house for too long now, it's time for you to step up to the plate and be a father. I know losing Brash-"

"Don't," My father is unsteady on his feet as his jabs a dirty finger into my face. "Don't you dare talk about Brash! You know nothing of Brash!"

"Four minutes!" A Peacekeeper yells from outside. I realize that I need to hurry and wrap up business with my family, I don't have much time to exchange final words. Vaguely, I contemplate leaving my father to speak with Gardenia.

"You're right, I don't," I reply to my father instead. "But I do know about the girls. And I do know you need to look after them. Please, dad. If it's the last thing you do. Look after them." As I speak, I ease the bottle from his hands. As soon as I dump it in the waste bin, my father sinks to the floor, burying his hands in his face. My mother kneels next to him, and rubs his back gently.

I've wasted my goodbye time on my father, so I must hurry and say my parting words to Gardenia and Rosemarie.

"Gardenia," I say, pulling my sister's arm so she could face me. "Gardenia, you have to stop taking tessarae." My words are hurried, but quickly I explain to her why she has to slim her chances of getting chosen. By the time I'm done speaking with my sister, she's a sniffling, sobbing mess.

Lastly I turn to Rosemarie. She's standing stoic by the door, trying to keep a hard face. I take a tentative step towards her and embrace her, even though she doesn't hug me back. Eventually, she relents and embraces me. When she does, a giant weight is lifted off my shoulders.

"All my life, I despised you all because you were doing what I was supposed to be doing," she admits suddenly, through tears. "You were taking care of the family when I couldn't. It was why I was so angry with you. Because you were my little brother and you were helping to care for me. I felt useless. I'm sorry that you getting reaped was what made me realize that I have nothing to be jealous of."

"I'm sorry too," I whisper. I go to give her another hug but Peacekeepers burst open the door. I don't even get to say final 'I love you's' before my family is ushered out the room. I step towards them, but the door is slammed shut in my face.

I hate life. I hate life. I hate life. I. Hate. Life.

Rooker Irone - District 12
With a basket clutched firmly in hand, I walk through the chill morning air in quiet solitude.

Miners are already at work, but the merchants have yet to set up their wares. No one is on the streets. That makes this moment of time, when the sun wavers in the air, as if uncertain on whether it wants to rise, is my favourite time to gather plants.

Nobody is around to harrass me.

Kneeling beside a patch of wild grass, I deftly pluck a few shoots of meadowsweet, neatly lyig them in my basket. Once finished, I cross the streets to another patch. I produce a small awl from my pockets, digging into the ground and pulling out several pale vegetables. I set the parsnips alongside the meadowsweet and continue with my search.

My movements are mechanical, second nature. I've done this every day for so long that everything just happens. It's normal. I take a look around, ensuring that I am alone, before approaching the District fence and slipping underneath the small hole at the bottom.

I enter the forest with a benign smile. Many people disregard trees, overlook their medicinal properties, their ability to create more then they are.

I slip my awl against the gap of a tree, loosening the bark and carefully prying it away from the trees. Aspen trees. Willow. A bunch of Oregon grapes. All this and more find their way into my basket.

I harvest nature's power from the forest. The flora and fauna, ferns and tree barks, mushrooms and just about every other single item I believe that we need. I like plants. Plants are uncomplicated.

As I return through the fence to the District, the sun has risen. It hangs in the air, a large yellow orb shining far too cheerfully down on us citizens. My grip tightens around the basket as I realize that today is the Reaping. People have risen now, but the streets are still empty.

"Hey, Rooker."

A lazy, drifting voice hails me he as I reach the beginnings of the buildings. I grit my teeth together, slowly turning around and facing the speaker, a tall, stout boy about my age.

"Hey, Diaz." The boy steps forward and places a hand on my shoulder. I watch it warily. I do not want it there.

"Got anything for me?" His unpleasant face twitches only slightly.

"I--not yet." My eyes flicker around the street. We're alone.

Diaz's hand tightens around my shoulder. "Not yet?" His voice is cold. Quiet. Threatening. I feel a deep panic stirring in my chest. Supplies have been short recently, and I could only take so much before my Mother got suspicious. But I know Diaz won't take that for an answer.

"Production is a long process, and yeast takes awhile to culture. It--"

"I need some tonight, Rooker." Diaz interrupts with a placating smile. He's so calm, so level-headed. It terrifies me. "You know what day it is, right?"

I nod, subtly shifting one foot backward so that I'm further from the large boy. Unfortunately, Diaz spots my ploy and matches my own pace, coming uncomfortably close.

"Yeah?" His face twitches into a sneer. "Well, if I don't get Reaped tonight, then I need to celebrate. I need to--I need to celebrate that. You get me?"

"Yes." I cannot produce alcohol that fast. I cannot possibly get him what he requires, not this quickly. I don't know how I can twist this to benefit me.

"You better. Or I'll tell your parents about your little gardening habits. Going outside the fences still, are we?"

I feel the color drain from my face. I had not been as alone as I'd thought. "I'll figure something out," I say quickly. I cannot allow his threats, physical and wordly, to take form. "I'll figure it out."

"Good." Diaz's hands pat my cheek. "Good, good. You better."

He let's go of my shoulder, and I dart away quickly, mind buzzing with thoughts and plans to try and think of a way out from this predicament. As I move through the streets, I notice that the streets have begun to fill up and the air buzzes with emotion. I notice slips being passed between people. The betting has already begun. On what child would be Reaped, their age, whether or not they'll cry.

Despicable.

I slip past the miners and their anxious children. In one year I will past from one group to the other, and I couldn't be more ready for that transition. I pass into the warehouse that i now hardly more then a mere shack. It's technically abandoned, but it's anything but on the inside.

The usual typical hustle and bustle has increased due to Reaping day. There's a cacophony of sound, footsteps, clattering pans, and endless conversations. I slip through the throng, seeking my Mother out.

I'm used to the noise, but that doesn't mean that I like it.

Mother has set up her square in the corner of the warehouse. Near enough to evacuate in case of a fire, far enough to avoid any hassle from entering Peacekeepers. Exrea precautions are always taken on Reaping day. While Peacekeepers generally turn a blind eye to our illegal activities, the presence of cameras always brought extra scrutiny, and Peacekeepers sometimes hurried to shut down anything that reflects poorly on them.

I spot my Mother immediately, and she smiles when she sees me. A true merchant, she has blonde hair and blue eyes just like them all. I have the same blue eyes, but I've inherited by Father's black hair.

"Rooker, shouldn't you be getting to the registrations? Oh! And look, you've gotten dirt on your nice shirt--" She leans across the counter of dried herbs and bottled medicines, brushing tiny, brown flecks of dirt from my cotton shirt. I bite my lip. It must have happened while going under the fence.

My mother is lenient in many things, but never in my safety. If she knew I went into the forest to get her supplies...

I smile calmly, disguising my worry. "Don't worry, Mom. I will be at the registrations soon. There's just a few things I wanted to bring you."

I hand her the basket and she smiles before counting the objects, rattling off their names and uses like only an expert could. "Well, I do always need more aspen bark for painkillers, and Oregon grapes are good for yeast production--" She pauses. "Do we need anything for yeast?"

I force away the rush of panic that rises inside me. I had been so caught up in my problems with Diaz that I didn't bother to hide the incriminating evidence. "I overheard some Peacekeepers talking about the rising price of bread," I lie quickly, with the casual confidence that I've acquired over my many years of silver tongued lies. "If we can make our own yeast we can rely on the Capitol grain if it gets too expensive."

"Capitol grain," My Mother quietly muses, neither dismissive nor enraged at the idea. She's not like the rest of the District, she does whatever is required to remain afloat. She nods. "I see. Well, in any case--"

She picks up a small stoppered, glass bottle and hands it to me. It's no larger than my palm. I take the vial without question, tucking it into my shirt pocket. "What do you need?"

"I'm going to be busy after the Reaping, so could you get some honey from the yard?"

Hives always proliferated honey in the wildflower garden Mother grew in the yard behind our house. Dad had thought she was insane when she first started, but the honey is sweet, and we can always rely on selling it for profit when things got tough.

"Will do." She gives me a farewell hug and sends me off. My skin tingles pleasantly in the warm rays of sunlight that shine down outside the Hob. Though my problems with Diaz are still fresh in mind, I begin to smile. Today is just a perfect--

My smile fades as the cameras come in view. The Capitol cameras that come to film the Reaping. They remind me that nothing good ever happens on Reaping day.

After collecting the honey, I'm one of the first to arrive at the square. I'm sorted into the seventeen year-old's line, complementing and cajoling the Peacekeepers as I take my place near the front of the line.

Soon it begins. I never pay very much attention to these things. It's too depressing and boring. But eventually the girl is Reaped.

"Ash Williams!"

A seventeen year-old girl with fiery-red hair and piercing green eyes takes the stage. She's thin and boney, but who isn't? She glares at everything as she slowly stomps up to the stage, ignoring the overweight escort as he tries to shake her hands. She's defiant. I like that.

Then the Capitolian pulls the next slip of paper from the bowl. Quiet horror descends on the crowd as we wait to see who--

"Rooker Irone!"

My first thought is that I no longer have to worry about Diaz's alcohol.

My second thought is about how yellow the sun is.

My third thought is about my Mother, who let's loose a scream of terror behind me.

Jrue Maclin - District 3
Our mentors wave us off as we step into the elevators. Stacy (3) says nothing as the doors shut, sealing us inside as the entire room lifts to take us down to the training center. Truth be told, I'm nervous.

My entire strategy for the Games hinges on me having allies. And for that to happen, I need to actually talk with and befriend the other tributes. Sounds simple, right? Well, it may not be. What if they don't like me? If they think I'm weak and worthless? What if no one approaches me and I'm forced to ask them for an alliance? All these questions and more swim around inside my head as the elevator hurtles ever downwards.

"I need to find the sonic screwdriver..." Stacy (3) mutters.

"Excuse me?" I turn to the odd girl. "What did you just say?" She's always muttering to herself. Always rubbing her head and staring intently at people, her unnaturally blue eyes staring right through you. Sometimes I think she knows more than she let's on.

"Nothing." She shakes her head. "I said nothing."

"Oh...Okay, then." I watch in silence as she plays with a small key in her hands. Maybe I should ask her to be my ally? But, no. She's too strange. Too...unnatural. Besides, if she wanted to be my ally, she'd have already asked me. Since she hasn't, I think it's safe to say that she has no interest in any sort of alliance between us.

Ding!'

The elevator touches down and the doors slide open, depositing us into a large, oval-shaped room with a domed ceiling. My eyes zoom around, trying to take everything in. The racks of weapons and their corresponding stations are all in the back, directly across from me. The survival stations are spread to the left side and the Gauntlets, Ropes Course and other stamina stations are on the right. Stepping forward and turning, I can see that the cafeteria is just to the left of the elevators. As I examine my new surroundings I notice that Stacy and I are among first tributes to arrive. Only the Careers and the pair from District 13 are here. I sense them watching us, probably sizing us up and deciding if we're any sort of threat. Obviously we're not, because they turn away almost immediately.

I'm actually kinda disappointed. I had hoped that maybe I'd look threatening--or at least slightly imposing--but instead they spare me nothing more than a casual glance. I hope I'll show them in the Games!

"When will training start?" I ovehear Stacy asking a nearby instructor.

He checks his watch. "At twelve, or whenever everyone else gets here."

Just as he says this, the elevator doors open and the tributes from District 5 come out. The boy is tall, with spiked dirty blonde hair and a pair of intelligent blue eyes. I think his name was Pompey? I'm not sure.

At any rate, he just brushes past everyone and takes a spot near the cafeteria, lolling against a pillar with his arms folded.

The girl, however, stops and stares at the others. My breath leaves me at the very sight of her. She's slender and short, yet hard with muscle. Her long blonde hair hangs straight down her head, framing her face and--her most distinct feature--her bright blue eyes.

They're not like Stacy's, no. They're a natural blue, and soft and radiant and--

I tear my gaze away from the girl. Don't get enamoured! Think rationally! She's bound to die in the arena, along with myself. I have no time for such sentimental behaviour. But...I find myself watching her as she drifts across the panelled floor. Then more tributes arrive.

The District 14 pair, tough and deadly as they head straight for the Careers. The girl seems to pull ahead and says something in a low voice to Thalia (2). I can't hear what.

Then the floodgates are opened. District 7 arrives, followed by 8 and 12. Pretty soon everyone is assembled on the floor, and a man steps out from the throng of trainers. He's young and holds a devilish glint in his eyes. "Line up by height!"

Trainers start lining us all about and as I use this opportunity to examine the other tributes. Sebastian (2), who is one of the few tributes over six feet, is at the left end of the line. He's followed by Julius from 14. At the far end of the line stands Savannah from District 9, the shortest tribute. Not a surprise, seeing as shes only twelve years-old.

I'm placed somewhere in the lower middle of the line and as I take in everyone else I start feeling more confident of my ability to win. Yeah, there's a lot of tributes bigger then I am but they don't look too much brighter. And the tributes who do look smarter then me, or at least on par with, don't seem to be any stronger. The exception to this is the boy from District 8. He's tall and about as muscular as any Career, and he wears a skull-emblazoned bandanna over his face. He kinda creeps me out.

The Head Trainer, the young man named Kekai, steps forward and begins a speech. "Everyone has at least one thing they're good at, whether it's something exceptional or not. Some of you rely heavily on this talent in order to shine, while others can utilize multiple fields as well, though obviously not to a greater degree when compared to one who has honed their talent for their entire life. Between these two, the latter is more likely to succeed and make it out of the arena alive." A few gasps of surprise and a mutter or two from Julius (14). Kekai only smiles placidly.

"Ludicrous? Consider this: in some circumstances, your talents can easily become your greatest flaw. For example, let's say you excel at swimming but fail to accomplish the aspect of climbing. The gong has sounded, and to your horror, the arena just happens to be a mountain range with little to no water. Am I downplaying the significance of your strengths? No, you should always work to improve on your strengths, but be sure to dedicate your time to your weaknesses as well." Kekai paces down the line, staring each and every one of in the eye. His words make a new home in my head as he passes me by.

"During your time here in the Training Station, I want all of you to polish yourself as fighters and survivalists. If you're amazing with spears, train with swords instead. Be versatile. You never know what the Gamemakers will throw at you, so be more than prepared. Be adaptable to every situation you find yourself in. Do not ignore your faults and pray for luck. Otherwise, you might as well leave this room and find some Peacekeeper to piss off before you die in some different, unfavorable fashion. Am I clear? If so, let training commence!"

Lofton Gifford - District 10
As Kekai blows his whistle and authorizes the beginning of training, I'm shoved aside as everyone tromps off for their own destination. The Careers head straight for the gauntlet, eager to show off their agility. Amber (14) doggedly follows them. I take a few paces forward before being shoved aside once more, this time by Chakra (8). The harsh girl stomps her way towards the weapons, not bothering to look back.

Where should I go?

There's so many different stations, including: Animal tracking, hand-to-hand combat, Camouflage, Edible insects/plants, fire making, fishing, hammock making, knot tying, shelter building, snare-setting, climbing, weight-lifting, and wrestling. Far too many to keep track of. Then there are many stations dedicated solely to the range of weapons that will almost certainly be provided at the cornucopia, including but not limited to; axes, knives, spears, swords, maces, tridents, sickles, and bows and arrows.

That is all far, far too much for me to wrap my head around. So as everyone else rushes off to try their hand at whatever they wish, I sweep my gaze around the gymnasium, wondering which I should try first. I'm pretty confident in my camouflage and climbing abilities, and I don't want anyone else to know how how skilled I am with sickles. Uncertain, I decide to head for the knot tying station. It's one of the least popular and I can at least have some privacy as I wrap my head around all these stations.

No one else is there as I approach, and I'm given plenty of time to get some knots tied. Unfortunately, with my clumsy hands I have quite the difficulty mastering even the simplest of knots. "Imagine if I had to do this in the arena..." In vivid detail, I think about how stupid I'd look if the reason I wind up dead is because I couldn't tie a simple knot.

Before long, I notice a tall, thin boy observing my work. Billie (4).

"I'm pretty good at knots," He says, crouching beside me. "Do you want some help?"

"Aren't you a Career?" Billie (4) flinches from my question, and I fear I may have been too harsh. Still, I glance over at the others. They're still crowded around the gauntlet, cheering as Wonder (1) runs across.

"Well..." The boy pushes his large square glasses further up his face. "I guess so. I mean, it's been assumed that I would join them, but I'm not really--" He stops himself, scratching his neck self-consciously. "They said that we should all demonstrate our best skills and try to frighten everyone else."

"So you're best at knot tying," I say flatly.

He chuckles lightly, turning to watch the other Careers as they continue along the gauntlet. "I've never trained for the Games, so I'm not as good as they are. In fact, I'm not accustomed to any type of weapon." The boy offers another smile, but I can see the fear in his blue eyes. And I can understand why. I mean, he doesn't have any weapon skills? And he's from District 4? Even I know how to effectively wield a sickle at least!

"You still gonna align with them?" I ask. You'd wonder why he would...

"No." He shakes his head quickly. "I'm not joining them. They're too cruel and callous for my liking."

I smile. Seems like Billie thinks the same way I do. "Maybe we could ally," I put it out there casually, though I'm silently hoping he'll accept. "You know, like form a group of people with opposite beliefs of the Careers."

Billie's eyebrows arch themselves as he goes into thought. "Like Careers? But the opposite?"

"Yeah."

"So, would we be called Anti-Careers or something?"

I shrug. I really didn't put any effort into thinking of this imaginary alliances name. "I guess. Why? You joining?"

A sly smile flickers across the boy's taciturn face. "Yes. I do believe that I am."

Breccan Gateson - District 12
I pace about the training floor, searching for the proper station to begin my preparation. As I walk, I catch glimpse of Zoey (7) as she clings to the ropes in the rafters, expertly manoeuvring her way from side to side.

She's good. And I should know. I've spent a good deal of time climbing trees back home in the forest. It's harder than people think. It's not just pure strength, it's knowing where to put your hands and when to place them. I doubt very many tributes can climb as well as I can.

After a minute of watching the girl, I drift over to the weapons stations. The Careers have yet to arrive, they're still running the gauntlets. But how long will that last? I need to get as much practice in as possible before they come over here.

I think over each weapon before choosing. A sword is simple, but it's always highly sought after. I don't want the hassle of trying to get one during the Games. Same deal with a spear. And an axe. I consider a trident, but I don't like the way it looks. Finally I decide to go with a bow and arrow. If I had to kill, it'd be a cleab one. Plus, it's long range will give me an advantage.

Unfortunately, it turns out I wasn't meant to use a bow. I spend more than five minutes just trying to place an arrow to the string, and by the time I actually succeed, the arrow never manages to go more than a few feet before sputtering out and dropping to the floor before even reaching the target.

"Are you about done with that?" I turn to see Cadence (0) watching me, her honey eyes alive with scathing disapproval.

Wordless, I hand her the bow, feeling my face flush red with embarrassment. I'm a failure! A sure fire bloodbath death for certain! What chance do I have? "I-I'm sorry," I stammer out an apology to the rosy-haired girl. She doesn't reply, taking careful aim with the bowm

She unleashes with the arrows. She doesn't hit the bulls-eye even once, but at least every single shot manages to hit the target. Unlike mine. Trying to ignore her success and my failure, I drift away from the station.

Not looking where I'm going, I eventually bump into Skeet, Cadence's District partner. "S-sorry!" I mutter a quick apology and try to slip past him.

He eyes me carefully. "You're Breccan, right?"

Why does he want to know my name? So he can target me during the Games? "Y-yes."

He sees my horrified expression and laughs. "Don't look so glum! I'm not here to kill you!" I don't bother pointing out that, technically, he is here to kill me. Everyone is.

"Then what do you want?" My words are perhaps a bit brisk, but I'm not used to people paying any attention to me. At least, any positive attention. Usually the only reason someone talks to me is so that they can use me as a punching bag.

"You like getting to the point, don't you?" He smiles disarmingly, but I still hesitate before answering. Point? As if, point of a sword?

"I'd rather avoid all sharp points," I say hastily.

Skeet (0) laughs loudly. "So would I! Maybe we could ally."

"Wh-what?" Ally?! That was about the last thing I ever expected someone to ask from me. I had hope it would happen, but expected? Never! "You want to ally with me?"

"Why not?" His eyes study me up and down, certainly spotting the patch of skin maligned by my disease. I remember how Silvia (12) avoided me like the plague after noticing and hope that this boy won't do the same. "You can join our group."

He gestures behind him, and for the first time I spot Marielle (C) and Zoey (7) standing just a few feet away, waiting for Skeet. I'm...surprised that such an alliance would want me. "You mean it?" I ask.

Skeet nods. "Of course!"

"Then--Yeah. I-I would love to join."

Sebastian Hive - District 2
"That Billie is as good as dead!" Thalia (2) growls beside me, her hands clutching a pair of knives as she stares at the District 4 male as he gathers a group of tributes around him.

"Yes. He most certainly is." I find myself agreeing with my District partner. What kind of Career opts out of joining our pack? What reason could he possibly have for surrounding himself with such losers? Three of them, Lofton (10), Taylor (11), and Crescent (11), are from outlying District's. And those four were joined by Zara (5), and Jrue (3) joined them soon after that. Now they speak with Kade (6), seeking their seventh member. That would make their alliance almost as large as ours.

I turn back to our assembled group. Wonder (1) and Uzi (1) from District 1, Thalia and myself, Paulette from 4, and a trio of recruits. Daenerys (13), Niels (13), and Amber (14).

Originally, we had decided not to recruit anyone else unless they approached us first. Amber (14) did that before training even started, walking right up to Thalia and pitching her own skills while bad talking her District partner Julius. Apparently he's untrustworthy and wants leadership of the alliance all for himself, willing to do whatever it takes to secure that position.

We decided as a group that we would not accept him into the alliance.

Thalia Combe - District 2
I stare at the tribute tube with great suspicion. It will bring me to the arena. The arena that will either lead me to victory, or to my death. But no, I must stay on tract. No distraction will guide me away from the path of victory. I won't let Billie (4) or any of the stupid Anti-Careers try to kill me and watch me suffer. I've already gotten into his head, he's already starting to lose it, now, I just need to follow through.

I look back at my stylist, whose sitting there, putting on some more lipstick. All of these Capitol citizens are ugly and try to hide so much behind the makeup. But my stylist, he's probably the ugliest one I've seen by far. His fat bulges past his buckle and he has to keep the top button on his pants unbuttoned. His white skin seems to brighten as he only wears black makeup, which only makes him look fatter and heavier. He nods for me to get ready after he finally looks at me.

"Tributes to tubes in thirty."

I don't mind taking my time to wait until the last second until I get on the tube, so I take a deep breath and walk right into the tube. I zip up the steel-blue sweatshirt and tighten the harness around my body. Obviously, it has something to do with the arena, but I haven't been able to figure it out. If it was a mountain, the Gamemakers wouldn't care if we slipped out and fell to our death, but there must be some reason for us to wear it.

The glass doors enclose me inside the tube and, for a second, I feel claustrophobic and I start to breath fast, but then I remember some good times. I remember the look on the Gamemakers faces when I showed them my talents with martial arts, a skill that they didn't expect me to have because I'm skinny. Oh how they realized I was a huge threat, more than they anticipated. Hopefully, they'll love me. They must, or else it'd just be an embarrassment to have someone like Billie (4) as the main tribute to sponsor.

The tribute tube starts to elevate and I almost fall to the ground, being unprepared for the sudden jerk of the movement. But I put my hands on the glass and steady myself. I look at the launch room for a little longer, catching ever moment of not trying to kill other people as I can. But deep down, I want to kill these people who are trying to underestimate me. I want to kill the tribute from District 14 who scored a twelve and I want to destroy Billie (4) for joining an alliance to destroy what we are.

As all my surroundings become dark, my eyes are wide as I tilt my head to look above, to look at any sign of light and of the arena. But twenty feet up, it's still hard to see anything. I start to worry about the tribute plate breaking, before I realize how much I'm already changing. I'm fierce. I'm bloodthirsty. I'm not. . . afraid. I can't be! I'm Thalia Combe, the girl who came here to win.

Finally, light appears above me and my eyes are blinded after looking into darkness for so long. "60 . . . 59 . . . 58 . . . 57."

Breccan Gateson - District 12
"Zoey?" I scream as my platform comes up into the arena, trying to figure out where my allies are. "Skeet? Marielle?"

No response.

I look around at the glass dome that juts from the ground around us, trying to find where my allies are positioned in the ring. With thirty-two tributes in this arena, they couldn't have us spaced out that much. But then again, we're going to be a lot closer when we run to the cornucopia―if we run to the cornucopia. Our alliance didn't talk much about strategy, just about what we'd do during the private sessions and we haven't seen each other at all since then.

I finally notice a pink jacket and some black splotches on it. It's Julius (14), the boy from District 14 with the worst arena wear ever. The Capitol takes everything seriously, they have everyone wear ugly clothes that they find attractive. I'm lucky though, being from District 12 doesn't give them a lot of options as to embarrass us. I'm only wearing an simple black jacket, which I honestly don't mind.

To my right, I notice a lavender toned jacket. The girl who wears it is the tiny twelve year-old from District 9. I love that jacket, as it's a beautiful color. I'm also glad that it's the little girl and not her District partner. That guy freaks me out. I think he wants to kill us all. No, I know he wants to kill us all.

I gulp as the timer hits thirty seconds. I've already been here for thirty seconds, worrying about my allies. No, I need to worry about myself now. Everyone of my allies can live by themselves and survive, but I'm the one who they have to protect. I need to be the one that doesn't need to help this time. I can't have them die because they'reprotecting me. No, I won't allow it. It's an easy choice.

Kade Glow - District 6
Words echoe as the plate I stand under finishes rumbling. This is happening. It's really happening. The Games, despite being so horrible were still "just" an approaching nightmare in the future. But not anymore. No more silly interviews, sparkly dresses, training scores or creepy Career glares saying: "I am gonna murder you really soon, weakling" are not just something which may or may not happen. A murderous glare is no longer a promise. It's a death sentence.

The nightmare has begun. And I may never be able to awake from it.

Lofton Gifford - District 10
I look up from the ground and across the circular group inside the dome, where supplies lie scattered around temptingly. These could safe your life... or bring you to an early grave. We agreed as Anti-Careers, we would get some supplies before leaving the bloodbath. We would be doomed without them, when we are so many. But if we want weapons -which we do--we will have to go into the mouth of the cornucopia. Being so many and with eight careers, it's absolutely the biggest thing to be concerned about. It feels good to almost match the Careers in numbers. Show them a thing or two. Usually the Careers stomp on the outlying district. I hope we can stomp on them, this time.

Lifting my gaze, it's first now that I see her. I wish I hadn't. Wonder (1), the innocent-looking career with a vicious tone of voice is staring at me, her glance filled with so much hatred that almost it itself had been enough to kill a tribute. I shiver, and look away. Better stay near my allies...

Uzi Krystel - District 1
I keep my eyes focused on the cornucopia as I feel the time narrowing down to the last few seconds. I breath in and out of my nose, trying to ready myself. Instead, I remain quiet and I pick out the pack of throwing knives close to where I could possibly reach before the others arrived. The other tributes around me wouldn't have much of a chance, unless they get there before me or if they run away, as I would stab them in the chest before they could even take a step to the cornucopia area. "20 . . . 19 . . . 18 . . . 17."

I feel my legs twitching and my knees wearing out. But no, I can't quit, not when I'm this close to zip lining to the cornucopia. Not when I can have done this to myself. I could have let Flick go into the Hunger Games, but I also know that I would have to live with the guilt of his death with me. At least I've trained at the Career Academy before and I'm strong. Stronger than Dragunov might ever be. "16 . . . 15 . . . 14 . . . 13."

My eyes try to focus on the other weapons around the cornucopia, trying to notice what someone around me would go to. It's not hard to see the District 5 boy positioned to my left, but to my right, it's all dark. I can't pick out a single body. Maybe I'm at the sharpest angle from the cornucopia, but that can't be. I'm positioned right in front of it, where I can see everything on the side of it and in front. I've even been able to see it slowly lower towards the ground.

"12 . . . 11 . . . 10 . . . 9."

Less than ten seconds left. Now, I need to forget my thoughts. Don't hesitate. Just fight. Fight, not hesitate. Because fighting and hesitating leads to imminent death. I need to let my senses take in. Let what I learned at the Career Academy lead me to success and victory. But I can't be cocky. You―I―might get close to victory, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to be the victor. I might see myself as a main character in this twisted story, being the only one to control myself and my thoughts. But everyone else has their reasoning and I can't always be the main character. And then I have Daenerys and what she knows to worry about...

"8 . . . 7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4."

Because odds are, I'm going to lose. I have higher odds than most, but I rely on my strength and height instead of my intelligence. Other tributes know how to deceive and to get into people's heads, two qualities I'd love to have right now, but others are weak and humble, other qualities I'd love.

"3 . . . 2 . . . 1."

Because right now, I'd rather be humble than think I'm the only one that could possibly win. I can imagine myself winning, killing the last tribute after throwing a knife into their forehead, but I don't know if I'll be able to do that. I might not even get there. Right now, I must rely on the bloodbath and the cornucopia. Take one step at a time. And then, I might win. But even if I do, will Daenerys reveal what I did?

"Gong!"

Taylor Dett - District 11
When the gong sounds, I quickly attach my harness to the zip line and fling my body weight forward, making sure not to look down. The air whizzes past me and my eyes start to water as it gets in my eyes. I blink away the air that gets into my eyes and narrow it, just barely able to see the cornucopia. As I get closer and closer, I put my hand near the zip line and detach my harness from it as soon as I see land underneath me.

I fall on my feet, but the pain ripples through my muscles and I fall to my knees, my legs in pain from the jump. When I look around, I notice only three other tributes―Silvia (12), Chakra (10) and Pompey (5). However, more drop down every second so I quickly scan the cornucopia for the sword I was looking at, but Pompey (5) quickly grabs it along with the backpack close by. I hastily grab onto a knife near me and turn to hear a scream.

I see Savannah (9) on her knees with Julius (14) standing over her with a spear, pushing it closer towards Savannah's (9) body and making feints, as if trying to frighten her before killing her. All I see when Savannah is on the ground her young age. She can't possibly win. Letting her die now would be easier and kinder then allowing her to live and face a worst fate. But I can't let that happen. She's a twelve year-old girl and I can't just stand here and do nothing as she is speared through the chest.

I feel a sudden rush of adrenaline when I start to sprint towards Julius and I tackle him to the ground before he can pierce Savannah through the heart. I lose my entire amount of energy as he wickedly smiles at me, although he's stuck underneath me. Savannah turns towards with with wide eyes and I mouth for her to escape, which she does with a backpack in hand.

"Goodbye, Taylor." Julius says as he pushes me to the side and pulls his spear out of my stomach. I groan with pain and stare at the spear before it digs into my chest and punctures my heart.

Sebastian Hive - District 2
When the tributes reach the cornucopia via zipline, the battlefield is turned into chaos. Some tributes rush straight towards the cornucopia, in a hunt for weapons like the idiots they are. I'll let my allies take care of them for now though. Right now I only want one thing. A kill. The kill that will show the Capitol just how dangerous the Careers are... or rather, just how dangerous I am.

So instead of rushing to the cornucopia, I jump let my harness fall, looking for a victim. The tributes wanting to reach the cornucopia are -of course- already running, but there's plenty of tributes staying in the outskirts because they thought it was safer. They couldn't have been more wrong.

And that's when I am find her. A weak girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. I believe she is from District 3.

I pounce on his back, feeling the thrill of the attack rush through me with the adrenalin. Pushing him down towards the ground, I hear her scream in shock and surprise, not even able to see what hit from behind. Still keeping her facing downwards, I grab his head and smash it into the ground a several times, killing her instantly.

I smile as I stand, hands slick with blood. My first kill!

Lionel Armani - The Capitol
I feel the wind rushing past me as I run straight towards the cornucopia. I have to reach it before too many Careers arrive. Luckily for me, being a dualist not only gives you good techniques in sword fighting, it also makes me quick on my feet, at least in short sprintes. Yet, it still feels as my heart is exploding through my chest, knowing that this sprint can either safe my life or end it.

I am one of the first who reaches the center of the cornucopia field, where a pair of slender, long dual knives are lying waiting for me, their edges glistening in the sunlight. Those will be all I need really, to stay alive.

Not bothering with supplies, I look up to see if anyone has noticed me. Doesn't seem so. Most of the careers are either killing in the outskirts or still running to get a weapon. I had originally planned on killing someone to show my strengths, but as no one is around, it's foolish. So instead, I rush straight out of the cornucopia, making my way towards the northern steps and exploding into bright light.

I blink several times, adjusting to the sudden and intense light. A salty scent sweeps over me as water laps at the sand surrounding the dome. Four little rowboat's float at the water's edge. In the distance, across a vast lake, I can see land.

"Boats are necessary to escape the bloodbath," I mutter as I fling myself into the nearest one and shove off. My boat is already heading off as everyone else still battles it out to the death.

Pompey Wattson - District 5
It's hard not to stop running. Had my life not been at risk, I would have. But just witnessing the way Sebastian, the Career from 2 killed an innocent girl, by smashing her skull, makes me want to kill them. The Careers, all of them. Not that I pity the girl, she was gonna die anyway, but causing unnecesary pain to a human being that way, just to show off... It's sickening....

... How could anyone wonder why I choose loneliness over the company of these others?

But still, I don't stop running towards the golden cornucopia. I can't afford it, I can't afford pity or disgust. At least not now. I have to keep going if I don't want to die, and so, I do keep on running.

I finally reach the mouth of it. Looking around me, it seems like I am one of the first to reach there. I put my hands around the first sword I lay my eyes on then look up, ready to run back out.

"Too bad you didn't join us, huh?" His arrogant voice echoes inside the cornucopia walls. Niels, the Career recruit, is standing in the opening of the mouth with an confident smirk on his face and a dual spear in his hands.

"You're in my way," I spit at him, charging towards him. He sticks outwards with his spear in a horrible predictable fashion. It's almost sad to kill him... his predictable fighting style is quite amusing. I think to myself, while diving out of the way of the spear. But I don't have all day. And with that, I slash downwards with my sword, on the spears handle, almost slashing through it, causing to fall out of Niels' hand. The frightful expression on his face is quite amusing too, I think, as I let my sword pierce through his chest. Luckily for Niels, I am not like him. Not a Career. So he gets a quick death, which is more than he deserves.

Freddie Peck - District 7
I duck inside the cornucopia, hiding carefully behind some crates. The Anti-Careers and the Careers had started to fight right in the middle of the cornucopia areas, making it hard for people like myself to try to get around them. I've only noticed two tributes flee down the passages' so far, who were Ace (8) and Cadence (0). The others seem to be hopelessly trying to kill others or get whatever they can from the cornucopia.

I notice the Anti-Career alliance consisting of Jrue (3), Billie (4), Kade (6) and Lofton (10) all gather together close to the mouth of the cornucopia as they grab some weapons. Kade (6) grabs onto a dagger close to my crate and I duck even farther down as she throws it into the thigh of Paulette (4). This doesn't slow her down, though, as she throws an axe back in return, which is easily dodged and would have went right into my forehead if I hadn't ducked.

Kade finally finds what she's really looking for―a bow with a sheath of arrows―which is deeper inside the cornucopia. I realize that, as she turns back, she'll see me, as I don't camouflage into the black crates around me. When her hand pulls the bow away from the crate on which is lays on, I get up and quickly sprint away, though I'm brought to the ground by one of her allies.

"Jrue!" Kade screams at the boy with his knife to my neck. "He's only twelve, let him go."

"Why? He could kill us later?" He replies. I look into his eyes and only see confusion. I sense that he doesn't want to do this. No, I know he doesn't want to do this. I've been watching him a lot and he's seemed really nice and I would have loved to be his ally, if I wasn't afraid of allying with people. But he's different now, more angry and prepared to bring anyone down who dares to cross his path.

"Jrue!" Kade's basically whining now. "We don't have the time! This isn't right and you know it."

I feel his posture get straighter as he turns towards her. "Yes...You're right."

Before he can say anything else, a large shape smashes into his side. Dark hair flares around her head as she stares down at the boy who was about to kill me. Silvia. My sister.

"Run, Freddie!" She screams at me as she spins to block a sword strike from Billie (4). Tears burn in my eyes as I realize she means to give herself up so that I may escape. No! I won't let her!

I reach for a dagger just a few inches away. Silvia continues to fend off the attacks, and I've noticed that most of the Anti-Careers have turned and fled towards the eastern stairs. I feel a shudder go through my body when I feel the cold metal on the dagger's blade, but quickly leap up and slam it into Jrue's side once I have it.

He screams and falls to the side, but I ignore him. I grab onto my dagger and leap to my sister's side as Billie and Kade grab onto Jrue, dragging him away from the cornucopia. "We did it!" I smile in relief, but then Silvia staggers to one knee and I see the long, bloody gash across her side.

My sister is wounded.

Wisteria Widow - District 10
Out of the corner of my eyes, I notice one of the alliances consisting of four tributes, fleeing and the female tributes from District 8 running away with just a backpack, knives and a blowgun. Chakra (8) looks over her shoulder and our eyes meet. She glares towards me and I glare back before she goes up the western staircase and goes out of my sight.

When I turn back to the battle, I hold onto a sword and slice it across the knees of Elias (9), who was trying to attack. He falls to the ground and turns towards me, his eyes wide with hatred and fury. Part of me wants to kill him slowly, make him pay. But right now, I can't. I can't afford to waste time flaying him alive. My life is in jeopardy inside this dome. I bring my sword towards his head and slam it down into the crown of his skull.

He crumples like a tin can, dead on impact.

I spin back to the carnage and watch five tributes attempting to flee. Two of them, Billie (4) and Kade (6), break head of the others, racing for the stairs while dragging an injured boy. I'm wondering why the other two--the Peck siblings-- are moving so slowly when I see the gaping wound in the girl, Silvia's (5), side. She's wounded. The boy tries to drag him, but he's not fast enough.

Like sharks smelling blood in water, the Careers descend on the pair. Thalia (2) unleashes with a knife and the blade sticks in the boy's head, taking her down. Uzi (1) walks up to the wounded girl and jams his spear into her throat, killing him.

An axe lands beside my feet and I see Amber (14) glaring. anger building inside me, I grab onto the axe that just missed and fling it right back towards Amber (14). She's lunging towards me, but doesn't even have the chance to duck or get out of the way of my attack as the axe goes right into her shoulder. She screams and falls to the ground. I charge towards her with my sword, raise it high above my head, and bring it down on her neck, claiming my second kill of the day.

Then I turn as I run as fast away as I can, raising my backpack to my head to protect it from any arrows. When I finally get to the rop of the staircase and emerge onto the northern beach head, I quickly scamper into one of the remaining two row boats, paddling away into the lake.

I survived, and with two kills to boot!

Autus Spanner - Ganymede
The fake sun beats against my head. The cornucopia shines in the light. We stand in a wide circle at a large crossroads, the Director Balcony looms above us, protruding from the black glass Training Center that goes straight up into the sky. The training center is not the only building around, but it is the tallest.

I'm in an artificial valley. Massive buildings surround me on all sides. Directly behind me, I can see the Champions Walk we had all come traipsing down only days before. The stadia that had held thousands of cheering and screaming citizens of every Nation are now empty. Hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of seats lie empty, an eerie silence hanging over them.

I've lived on Ganymede for my entire life. I've grown accustomed to noise. To the never-ending hum of machinery, the rattling of NovaTrains, and the take offs of JetWings. Noise has always been with me. But now, now there is nothing. The only sound in this immaculate, impeccable city is the breathing of my competitors and the beating of my own heart.

I am certain this is a copy of Utopia. That much is obvious. But it's a good copy. I'd committed the details of Utopia to memory--as I've often done--and everything is spot on. There's a few minor differences though. The buildings are taller, for one.

Then there's this ring of death, with twenty-four teenagers waiting to sprint off their plates and kill one another.

I turn my shoulders, gaze flickering to the cornucopia. Clear crystal, angular, and sharp, there are backpacks and small weapons strewn across the surrounding paved streets.

But inside the cornucopia--Inside the cornucopia I can see a plethora of steel and pulse weapons. Things from a by-gone age, like swords and spears. Then things from the current age, like PulseDaggers and IonSwords. Those will be the most sought after. When activated, an IonSword can go through the toughest of steel.

There is also crates upon crates of food piled inside the crystal cornucopia. Supplies that will keep us alive throughout the Games. If we could risk fighting for them.

I flicker my gaze to my apparent ally, Raven. She's located on the opposite end of the circle, shoulders tense and feet shifting as she gazes out at the cornucopia, to the sky, and then to me. Some unknown emotion passes through her eyes.

I know our strengths, our weaknesses. I am the brawn, the muscle that fights for us. She's the brains, the mind of the alliance. She can find food and supplies for us in any environment. At least, that's what our handler told me.

Raven nods at me, and I slowly return it. For some reason, I don't think either of us knows what that means.

Barker Caspum - Venus
A light flickers on above the cornucopia, coalescing into a holographic image of the number "30".

Beside me, one of the younger Champions abandons her laboured breathing for a horrified, high-pitched wail. It echoes around the deathly silent square, bouncing back to fill our ears with dread. I know that it's not mandatory for everyone to die, but I also know that won't stop the killing. We're fighting for our planets, and that means til death do we stop.

The holographic light coalesced into a "29". This time accompanied by a low thrum of noise, almost drowning out the girl who still wails. I think she's from Io. Or Rhea. Maybe the Asteroid Belt. Somewhere weak, I think, because I committed the names and faces of everyone important to memory. I don't remember this girl.

The number shifts to "28", and the noise thrums again, world buzzing beneath my feet.

Panic nips at my side, my breathing becoming quicker and shallower. I need a strategy. Thistle and I didn't think of one before the Games. And I've seen the game played often enough to know that those without a strategy die first. Judging by the look on Alexis' face, I will be lucky not to get killed within seconds.

The light thrummed once more and the light coalesced as my mind spins, taking in every available strategy.

Behind me was the Champions Walk, which leads to the prep building. I could try to slip through the stadia, or run to the prep building, past which I would find the landing pads andnd possibly the end of the city. Sounds good.

But the Champions Walk is long and will make me a clear target for anyone else. And trying to get through the thin slots of the stadia at my size might not end well.

In front of of and around me lies the Training Building. A long road spans the front of it, splitting into two separate paths, right and left. Entering the training building is the obvious choice because of it's size and familiarity, but obviousness is not a boon here. Besides, it's right beside the cornucopia and that puts it firmly in the Career's territory.

I discard that plan, focusing on the two paths away from the center. They are the only sensible choices left to me.

But given how thin they are, and the lack of other options, I just know that this area will become a bottleneck full of bloodshed and death.

The world thrums in tune with my rapid heartbeat. The countdown is at "15". Half my time is gone. Soon these Games will begin. And death will be upon us all.