I wake up with the wrench still in my hand. Last night I was up late repairing a Peacekeeper's engine. Sometimes I wonder why I couldn't be something else. Why not become a conductor? Or maybe just open a small shop near the middle of town? Either of those would probably better suit me than this greasy job anyway. It is just a shame that I was put in school to become a mechanic. Our district needed more at the time. Someone needed to make, fix, and repair devices. By the time I was entering school, we finally had enough students learning about conduction that the study was no longer open.

District six. We are the transportation district. Our conductors go off to run the train systems, often for the Games and Victor's tour and what-not. How high-class. We mainly don't see our District when we go to the Games. Speaking of such events today was my fifth reaping. I am 16 years old and have been dreading this day every year since I was 12. My name is Elianna. Everyone today would more than likely have nothing to say to each other when we did our quick jobs in the shop. We would make the smallest chat possible, and then after the jobs were complete, my mother would make sure I was dressed properly in order to look my best.

I was in a low-cut, navy blue, mid sleeved shirt with a black skirt that went to my knees. I was wearing a pair of shoes that I found incredibly uncomfortable and hard to walk in. After thirty minutes of practicing with my mother, she and I left our warm little house, and began to head to the city square, where I, with all the other 16 year olds, would wait and silently pray that no one we knew, or anyone 13 and under, got called.

Alright, that one might need a little bit of explaining. A group of my three closest friends and I, made a deal that every year until we can't, we would volunteer for each other or for a younger tribute. We had this pact since we were fourteen. Surprisingly, the coincidence has never occurred. I was thankful for it, but every year we take a turn as to who will go, and this year, it's mine. I was so dreadful, I was shaking. My mother walked me as far as she could before I was being corralled into the pen for my age group. My small quartet gathered around me, and hugged me. This was the warmest feeling for me every year.

Then, like always, it is interrupted by the sounds of the beginning of the reaping. Our mayor, Mr. Marteau, came up to read a history of Panem, as well as the Games, stressing the Dark Day, which was when there was some type of war between the districts, and 13 was demolished. As punishment, we get reaped, thrown into an arena, and kill to the last man- or woman- standing. What. A. Joy.

Being sixteen, most people only have their name in the drawing about five or so times. I have mine in fifteen. Why? Because I decided to get the tesserae for both my mother and I since I was 12. Living on two mechanic's salaries in this District is like being homeless. We didn't eat much at all. Therefore, I was lanky, but muscular. I could lift about 180 pounds and carry it for a good time, which was good. I lied about it because some people would think it as training for the Games, which is forbidden.

The mayor finished with his speech, and introduced our escort, who was a tall, well- proportioned Capitol man, named Ignitus (which was what a language used a long time ago translated into "Flawless"), who had a dyed, yellow body. Last year it was blue, the year before, a light red. He wore a bow tie that always matched his skin, and had his hair dyed a darker color. It was quiet hideous in my opinion, but I wouldn't dare say a thing about it. I also supposed that he was a short guy, because he wore boots that made him appear around four inches taller than his really was. People quickly cheered for him.

The next few people who were introduced were District 6's most recent Victors, who would be this year's mentors for the Tributes. There was a male, around 27, who has won when he was 17 in the 13th Games, which as to make a pun about an old superstition that 13 was an unlucky number, never saw the sunshine in the arena, and had about four times the triggered death traps than usual. The other Victor was a girl, who was about 29 and won the 10th Games. She won by betraying everyone in the more-trained group, which I had been told were called Careers, and killed them off in their sleep once it was down to three of them.

The male Victor, who had dark brown, wavy hair down past his ears, brown eyes, and a smile to die for, was nicknamed Express, because he could tell you exactly what was wrong with a machine with a very fast time, and was always accurate. The female with her reddish colored hair that went down to her mid back, with piercing green eyes, was called Motor, because she could run, or get running, just about anything. Nicknames were common in our District because it made things more fun. They are mostly for adults, and Victors got them as well. I always dreamed of getting one, but doubted it.

They took their seats with Mayor as Ignitus took his place on the pedestal between the two glass orbs, containing boys' and girls' names in each. He pulled out his gold coin from his coat pocket, looked into the crowd, and spoke into the mick. "Heads is boys, tales is girls. And remember; Let the odds be ever in your favor!" He spoke in his Capitol accent, like he did every year, and tossed the coin several feet into the air.

It seemed to flip up in the air for an eternity, spinning several feet in the air before spiraling into Ignitus' open, waiting hand. The whole area was quiet, minus breathing. Who would be called first? Thoughts began pouring into my head, my heart thumping louder with each question.

He walked to the left. Boys were getting called. He reached his hand in and ruffled the slips of paper. He pulled one out and went back the pedestal. I watched him ever so carefully as he went to read out the name. He spoke in a clear loud voice, smiling at his next bit of entertainment. "Setth Smith, you are District Six's tribute."

I quickly snapped my head as he made his way to the stage. I could hardly believe the odds of this. I had known him fairly well, because his family ran a small shop that sold parts and tools. He was a year younger than me, 15, and he probably weighed a little bit more than me. He was around five foot something. He had red hair and blue eyes, which looked strange because normally, if you had red hair, you had green eyes. Either way, he was attractive enough, but still average looking. I don't know if he had any strength, so I couldn't tell how long he would live.

As he was on stage, Ignitus was already making his place back at the pedestal with the name of the girl who would become tribute. The panic and sweats came in all at the same time as he unfolded the paper and read the name. Once I heard it, I was glad that I wouldn't have to volunteer for anyone else. It gave me a sense of relief. The shock came once I was being nudged by everyone.

Ignitus repeated himself. "The female tribute is Elianna Avashiona." He looked out in the crowd, waiting for her to step up.