(A/N): Hello! Welcome to my first fanfiction! I started writing this around a year ago and finally decided to start posting it. This story includes the point of view of all 24 tributes, but unlike a lot of stories like this there will only be 6 chapters about this length before the actual games start, with 4 new tributes per chapter, instead of the usual 12 reaping chapters and then a bunch of capitol chapters. Chapter 1 is reapings, chapter 2 is farewells and train rides, chapter 3 is getting settled at the Capitol and chariot rides, chapter 4 is training, chapter 5 is private sessions, and chapter 6 is interviews. It might be a little fast-paced but I wanna get to the actual Games. So yeah, here are Districts 1 and 12 with the reapings! Enjoy :)

Destiny Hartman, 16, District 1

"Destiny! Come on! We're late!" Charity calls.

I can't help rolling my eyes. "Shut up, I'm coming!"

I check my reflection one last time. Cherry-red hair slicked back in a perfect ponytail. Black tank top. Jean short-shorts. Check. I slide on some white flip-flops before I thud down the stairs. I'm not volunteering today. No need to look nice. The cameras won't be searching me out until two years from today. I can't wait.

"When are you gonna dye your hair?" I ask my sister for the billionth time, tugging her simple brown locks. I'm sorry, but me, Faith, and Hope all dyed our hair the day we turned twelve, and she's already thirteen.

She rolls her eyes. "Come on," she mumbles, and leads me out the door. Lila's already pulled up in front of our house. She just got her license. I get in front and Charity slides into the back.

"Seriously, though," I continue. "You'd look so cute with purple hair."

"You totally would," Lila agrees.

"No. I get it," I say. "Red is the best color, and it's already taken." I give a dramatic hair flip, my ponytail swishing.

"Pshhh. Obviously green was the best hair color."

I have to laugh at that. I still don't understand what Faith was thinking on that one.

"I don't know," Lila says. "Hope looked pretty cute with that blue."

"Well. Red's still the best." I turn around and look at my sister, picturing different colors on her. "Yep. You should do purple."

She rolls her eyes again. "I'm not doing anything," she says. "I think brown is the best color, actually."

I laugh. Whatever. She'll change her mind eventually.

We reach the square in about twenty minutes. We swing by the stage, and Lila honks the horn. My parents look up from where they're helping set up—they're SUCH people pleasers—and wave. Then we find the parking spot Lila reserved. What, did you really think everyone in the entire district would be able to walk to the square?

Soon Lila and I are crowded in with the other sixteen-year-old girls, Charity far away in her section. I stand on my toes, trying to see the eighteen-year-olds, but I can't see over so many heads, especially with my short height.

"Looking for the volunteers?" Lila asks. Her sister is eighteen, so she tells Lila all about that kind of thing. I nod. She points. "That tall blond. Her name's Crystal something, I think. And I think..." She looks awhile, then points again. "That big guy. With the short dark hair. His name is Tison Maxwell."

I lose interest in the guy fairly quickly. Tall, muscular, but serious-faced. Not particularly good-looking. Typical Career, but more of a District 2 type. I turn back to the girl, Crystal. I notice that no one's talking to her, unlike most volunteers. She glares around, like she looks down on everything and hates us all.

"Annoying, right?" Lila says, seeing me looking. "My sister wanted to volunteer, but the instructor picked Crystal over her. Everyone was really mad. Apparently no one likes her."

I watch her annoying face for a little longer. The more I watch, the less I like her. She's not even pretty. "Ha, maybe I should volunteer just to annoy her."

Lila's face lights up. "Omp, not even kidding, you should! I mean, you're trained enough, right?"

I think about it for a minute. I actually could. Maybe I will. Faith and Hope were both sixteen when they volunteered. Of course, they didn't win, but still. I'm better prepared than them. Everyone says I'm the best in the class. Crystal flips her hair and gives a little eye roll. That does it.

I smirk, thinking of Charity, of my parents—of everyone here, actually—all thinking this is any other reaping. Well, District 1 is about to get a little surprise.

Tison Maxwell, 18, District 1

I tense up as the mayor concludes his speech and the reapings finally begin. The escort pulls out a slip and calls up some thirteen-year-old blond girl. She doesn't look the slightest bit worried. Sure enough, that blond from my academy and some sixteen-year-old redhead race each other up to the stage. The redhead gets there first, and a shrieking battle follows. But according to the escort, "Rules are rules!" Peacekeepers have to drag Crystal off of the stage. She's still screaming. Idiot. Should have thought ahead like me. I camped out here last night, so now I'm right up against the stage. Sure, the instructor declared that I would be this year's volunteer, but that won't stop people from trying to volunteer in my place, like that redhead jus did.

The escort calls a boy's name, but whoever it is doesn't even bother coming forward. I'm already running to the stage, along with two other guys. I get up there way before them, though, so they just turn around, clearly defeated and not wanting to make fools of themselves.

"Well, I'm pleased to announce District 1's tributes, Destiny Hartman and Tison Maxwell!"

I shake the redhead's hand. She grins up at me. It's clear she's dumb, but hey, at least she's pretty.

Ella Smithsonian, 15, District 12

"As always, ladies first."

I can almost literally feel the tension in the air. I find myself briefly wondering what it's like in other districts, where there's not so much fear on days like today. But I quickly focus again as those claws snatch up a slip. It's not gonna be me, it's not gonna be me...

"Ella Smithsonian!"

It's me.

I walk up to the stage in a daze. All I can think is that this can't be real, that I live in the richer area of our district, the village, that I've never taken tesserae, that my name was on four slips out of thousands, that they couldn't possibly have called my name. This isn't real. It wasn't me.

But then I face the massive crowd of sullen faces, and find my family's stricken faces, and I know that it's real. I concentrate on keeping my thoughts numb for now. I can't cry; I can't show fear. I'm already considered an easy target because of my district. I can't afford to look any weaker. But somehow, I know I won't cry. At least not here. In the justice building, my thoughts will probably clear, and then the emotions will hit me, when I have to say my goodbyes. But here, I'll stay strong.

I distantly hear the escort ask for volunteers, but of course there are none. That's it then.

Goodbye, District 12.

Frederik Carter, 15, District 12

Poor Ella. At least she's not crying or throwing up, both of which I've seen a fair amount of times. But Ella keeps a stone-faced expression. I've never seen her in my life, so she must live far away from me, but I can tell she's from the villages, like me. She doesn't have that Seam look to her, like most of the kids who are reaped. Like me, she's got brown hair, brown eyes, and paler skin. Like me, she's fifteen. And judging from her fairly nice dress, her clean appearance, and styled hair, she probably has a decent amount of money like me, too. I wonder if she's ever taken tesserae. I have, when I was younger. But that was when we were in a rough spot. We have more money now. My name's only entered a total of seven times. I watch the sea of kids before me, most of them clearly underfed and poor. I feel bad for them. I can't imagine how scared they must be, having their names entered on so many slips of paper.

I focus again and see that the escort's already back at the microphone, slip in hand.

"Frederik Carter!"

Weirdly, the first thing I think of is what a weird coincidence it was this year, with two less-poor kids being reaped. Then the full reality washes over me and I feel sick. I stagger to the stage. Up close, I see that Ella's shaking, and when I shake her hand, I feel her palm sweating. At least she put on a brave outward appearance. I wonder if I look scared myself. Because believe me, I'm petrified.