The reaping

Diego's POV

District One is a proud district. From an early age all we learn is that honor and values are above anything else family, friendship, love, even life. We are born to serve a purpose, to be faithful soldiers to our beloved president, for the greatness of Panem. Yes, that's what they teach us until reaping age and that is the reason we are the Capitol's lapdogs.

Sometimes I wonder how honorable is killing an innocent twelve- year old when you are a trained swordsman and him an inexperienced child who gathers fruits all his life or takes care of kettles. But I can't voice my thoughts out loud; they are the thoughts of a traitor. The funny thing is that I betray not my country but them, my parents, my friends, my classmates at the Academy of Ethics and Values aka the murder school.

And today is the ultimate test, the Reaping. The day when I should step out and volunteer for the Hunger Games, the day I will sacrifice my life for the entertainment of some simple minded Capitol citizens with no other purpose than watching us killing or be killed.

If you ask me, my dream is to become a guitarist, to create music. But even for a district which industry is nothing more than luxury items and spices, music is not a profession a man should do, needless to say a son of two previous victors.

That is the other reason I'm here today, my name is Diego Silver, son of Miracle and Ares Silver. I was born and raised for this day, to become the third tribute of my bloodline and of course the third victor. If I don't volunteer, I will de dishonored, even kicked out from my own home. If I lose and die, I will be a disappointment, an ungrateful child. Yes, my family is a tender one.

I'm watching as Cleopatra, our escort, is playing with the slips inside the huge bawl. How pathetic! We all know who is going to the Games this year; I just hope that I will save a young boy. She finally decides to pick a name and announces it to the public.

Copper Black.

I volunteer as a tribute, I shout and with the corner of my eye I see a twelve-year old step aside with a sign of relief in his face.

At least he is not some lunatic who wants to go in and die.

Emily's POV

Just one more. And then I will be free. Free, that's a funny word really; there aren't many choices in a district like Twelve let alone for someone like me. Some people call me rebel, others free spirited but the only truth is that I don't belong here. ''It's her father's blood'', my grandmother used to say to my teachers when they called her to complain. Then, they were looking at me with a pitiful look on their faces; they were patting my head and sent me back to class.

My father was killed during an attempt for a rebellion. The winter was hard, even harder than most of Twelve's winters, and many people were dying from cold and hunger. We had no means to protect ourselves because Capitol thought we hadn't reached our monthly quota so we were punished and no goods from the other Districts were imported to ours.

The coal-miners union, an organization that secretly was searching for an excuse to rebel, decided to stop working at all until the forbiddance was cancelled. Of course Capitol answered back with all the strictness it could, double Peacekeeper force, public floggings, execution of all the members of the union's council, my father included. If I was at reaping age, I would be forced into the Games immediately like other children.

If that was the case, I would be proud because it would be my sacrifice for the benefit of our country. Because no matter what the others say, all those miners are heroes and not some crazy guys who destroyed us. The traitors are all those who didn't help them, didn't participate or even helped the Capitolites to capture them and of course, those who deny them.

Unfortunately my mother is one of them. Feeling ashamed of her husband she filled out an official declaration that either she or her children had nothing to do with his ideas, that he was mentally ill and dangerous father for me and my sister so she asked for her marriage to be annulled. Her excuse was that she was trying to protect us and I have to admit that her plan has worked well so far, none of us was reaped. She leaves happily now with the mayor with only one cloud to cover her blue sky, me.

Because I'm proud that Dylan Walsh was my father and I will keep saying it everywhere I stand. I'm the daughter of a real hero, a real warrior not some Capitol- loving victor who murdered defenseless children. From where I'm standing today, waiting for someone's death sentence to be announced, I can see him smiling at me. ''Don't be afraid little witch'', I hear his voice in my head. ''There are worse things that death''.

Crystal, our escort, is pulling a slip from the bowl and she reads with her high pitched voice:

- Emily Walsh.

Wait for me father, I'm coming home.