(Not) Author's Note: Okay, so, Hi! I'm BeccaBlaze, and I didn't work on either of these chapters, but I am writing this A|N to just say thanks for checking out our story... We'll try to update twice a week but in a collaboration project this is kinda hard to do, especially when people don't get their chapters to me in time. I guess you could say I'm sort of the captain of this brigade, because it was my idea, but we all share equal power. Reviews mean the world to our authors, I'm just putting that out there ;)

So the tribute that wins the games is based of author reliability, character chance, and whichever tribute the fans like best! Once all the reaping chapters are up, you can vote on the character poll on our page! That's that, so enjoy the District One reaping, with the hot-tempered Aenoa Startina, and the... Interesting Darian Fo!

Happy Hunger Games. Doh.

By: Pearlythebird

Darian Fo, Age 15, District One

"Sometimes, you feel like you need to do something stupid so people know who you are,

but then people only know you

as someone who did something stupid."

-Anonymous

"Gooood mooorniing Darian" says my parrot, Killer. Of course, its not really morning, its the night before the 34th reaping. I'm already up, pacing the bamboo floors of my bedroom. My mother has a strange obsession with bamboo, and nearly everything in our house is made of it.

Today I am finally going to volunteer for the Hunger Games. I have been training since I was 10 years old, been able to kill at such a young age. People said that it was sad how I wasted my life, but it's not over. Not until I am crowned victor. They'll see, I won't have wasted my life when I come home, surrounded with riches, and knowing that people will finally respect me. "Goooood morning!" Killer repeats, bringing me back to my senses. I know I should be getting last minute training, but I know that after preparing for 5 years, I'm as ready as I will ever be. Also, my mother will kill me if I get my good clothes dirty. "Goood-" "Shut up, will you?" I shriek at the top of my lungs.

Reaping. Reaping. That is the only word that I can think about. Today is the day I can get my hands on those shining weapons in the training center, show people how good I really am. "Come on people, don't you want to see me volunteer?" My parents scramble down the polished bamboo staircase and walk out of the house with me. Only they know that they will never walk with me again. At least if they do, it won't be the same. When I come back, I won't just be their "little baby boy". I will be a killer just like my parrot. Only he kills flies.

We are herded like sheep into little sections organized by age. Then Curt Towerpew walks onto the stage in his silly capital get-up. He looks like a llama every year, because apparently llamas are a symbol of luxury in the capital. He tells a few corny jokes about llamas and everyone laughs, even though they aren't funny. District 1 actually treats the games as a festivity, mainly because we usually win. Curt then proceeds to show a lame video about the uprisings and how terrible they were. Of course I think they sound awesome! I would be one of the few people, who didn't die, but got to have fun killing. Just like the Hunger Games.

"Now!" Curt Towerpew says very seriously, "Let the games begin!" Its funny, the way that he says it, it sounds like a question. Honestly, he could probably get fired for saying that. He walks over to the girls reaping ball and pulls out a name, his hand-claws looking for the perfect prey. "Sanatos Silicos". At that, about 20 other girls sprint up to the stage, but only one reaches it first. "Aeona Startina. 14."

She is drop dead gorgeous. Her short strawberry blonde hair frames her pale, heart shaped face, and her eyes, a beautiful sea foam green- snap out of it Darian! You're going to miss your chance! "Jordan S-" Before he can even finish reading the name, I'm up on the stage, wrestling another boy off. "Darian Fo. 15.". "Congratulations to our tributes of the 34th annual hunger games! Lets have a big round of applause for our brave volunteers!". As the crowd cheers, I keep glancing over at Aeona. She has a smug look on her face the whole time, but keeps shooting me disgusted glances. I wonder why. Aren't I just as gorgeous as she is?

Then Curt whisks us off the stage and into the Justice building.

To The Sky

By: cookiethecat

Aeona Startina, age 14, District 1

"To the sky

From the Earth

In lofty flight

Softly now, with the dawn

I will ride with the wind

O'er the hills

through the mist

On the wings of thee."

-Carl Strommen: To the Sky

Each morning I wake at 4, so today is no different. But it is, I think to myself. Today is the day I prove my worth; mine and my family's. Today is the day I finally get to shine. Today is the day I volunteer for the Hunger Games.

I tiptoe quietly down the stairs, so as not to wake the orphanage director, Mrs. Sandley, a fat, stupid woman who couldn't tell the difference between a cobra and a lima bean. She's been the director for as long as I've been here, ever since my family was killed by Peacekeepers when I was four. They were accused of being "spies", which I know isn't true- all that matters is that they took my chance for a happy, normal life away from me.

After successfully making it out the door, I figure I have about four hours for training. You see, I've been practicing since I was ten, every day in the morning, and I'm sure my skills are some of the best in the district. Before my back-breaking exercises, I grab an apple from the orphanage's "mess hall" and head to my tree, a beautiful, slender oak on the orphanage's property which has a perfect spot for me to sit. I jump onto its sturdy frame, and watch quietly while the sun rises. A new day, they say the sunrise symbolizes. I say it symbolizes endurance, love, and justice. What my family deserved. What they didn't get. What I deserved. What they tore away from me when I was a little child. What I will earn.

Nostalgy done, I jump off and harden myself for three and a half hours of brutal training. Off the bat, I take my hard-won training knives and throw them onto the trees, running while doing so. After about 15 minutes in, I stop to inspect them. Bullseye in all except 1. Not bad, getting better. I practice again 3 times, until I can get bullseye in all of them. Next up, strength. I'm already sweating like a cow in slaughter season.

People say men are stronger than women. That is not true. I could beat all of those brainless doofs at the training center every day and any day. Anywho, I use my hands to try to lift myself up and onto the tree. I haven't quite been able to do that yet, and today is no different. After at least 50 tries, I stop. But I'm getting there.

After a few mix and jumbles of various other activities, I look at the time and find I've missed my deadline by far. I race back to the orphanage, hoping to miss Mrs. Sandley. Well, thank you, Universe. When I come in, all 5 feet of wrinkles, gray hair, stupid skirts, and giant glasses of Mrs. Sandley, hands on her hips, are standing right in front of me. "Young lady, you are in serious trouble. No meals today for you. Get out of your stinky clothes and head down to my office showered and dressed for Reaping day. You'd better have a seriously good explanation for this." Good luck with that. When I win the Hunger Games, you'll be the first one I kill, stupid. Evil and twisted thoughts run through my head as I smile and Mrs. Sandley sniffs and fans herself with her hands, muttering something about stupid children and walking away, extra fat jiggling all around.

When I get dressed for the Reaping, I am extra careful. This is how people in the Capitol will see me. This is how they'll see their victor. If things had been different, it would've been Mom that did this for me today. My whole family would've been congratulating me, cheering me on. This thought saddens me, and for a moment, I'm not the tough little orphan anymore. I'm the poor little girl who never knew what it felt like to be loved, and wished more than anything to have a family. With a firm tug on my hair, I jolt out of my daydreams and carefully french braid my hair and slip on an ugly, no doubt used frock, smeared with dust and with a gash at the knee, something that once was a beautiful shade of light pink. Ugh, I think in disgust. This is the only things those bratty, spoiled little fatties will give to the orphanage. Without much more to do, I look at myself one last time in the mirror, and for the first time, notice how, oddly enough, I look quite a lot like my sister, part of my family that died that same day with Mom and Dad. My green eyes, strawberry blonde hair, fragile-looking build, and slender frame, are all just how I remember Karolanne. Outside, sun shines through a circle of clouds, almost as if my family in heaven was showing me that they always watched, would always be by my side.

With one longing look at the room I will never walk into again, I head out the door, and already begin imagining how I will design my house in Victor's Village. Of course, there is the chance I may not win, but I completely disregard that nasty thought and push it to the back of my head. The only thing I can think about is my district partner, and what I'll do if he's a big doofus like everyone else. Ugh. I might have to kill him before the games even start. Of course, that's another advantage I have. When I was 7, I killed the Peacekeeper that killed my family and learned how to use his gun. Of course, nobody thought for a moment that it would be poor, family-less Aeona that'd brutally maimed the Peacekeeper. I'll show them. Now if I could only get a gun in the Arena...

When I make it to the town center, I realize I forgot to "report to Mrs. Sandley's office." Whatever. It isn't as if I'm going to see her again anyways. I offhandedly fiddle with my dress as I think about the Games. Being one of the first people there, I sit down far away from everyone else and into the shade; it's only about 10 o'clock but already burning hot. What will I bring as a token? My thoughts drift away and I fall into a slow, half-slumber state. Other people will bring what their family has given them, I will bring what I have left of my family. My memories, my feelings, my thoughts. It's the intangible things that matter most.

A loud noise jolts me awake. All of a sudden, I am crowded by other 14 year old females. Ughh, Reaping time must be near. Wiping the hair off my face, I stand up and face the stage, only to find our escort,Curt Towerpew. He is dressed as a llama, as usual. Why? He claims "llamas are a sign of true luxury in the capital. His suit is every shade of color imaginable, and along with a thousand laces, ruffles, and sequins, drags on the ground with him. Not appropriate. He is a boyyyI take one look and turn around to cover my eyes, thinking, Seizure!

In mere minutes, Curt's sharp voice rings out. "Welcome, everyone, to the 34th Hunger Games! Aren't we all excited?" The district claps half heartedly, all waiting for the Reaping itself to begin. Then, we watch 'The Video', the one about how the Games were created and why we have them, blah dee blah blah. I have a hard time believing anyone watches that anymore. "Now, for the male tribute," Towerpew purrs.

Anywho, his clawed fingers find a slip of paper, and he trills, "Jordan S-" Before he has even finished, an ugly looking boy struts onto the stage, and with an air of superiority, shouts, " I volunteer! Darian Fo, 15," Bleh. Typical career, only this one seems uglier than most. "Now to the girls," Curt is barely keeping a straight face, obviously very disappointed with this year's male's looks. He's a blondie, with sea-green eyes and LOTS of pimples; so many a rat could drown in them. No joke.

Curt pulls out a name, " Sanatos Silicos." He's barely finished before I race up to the stage, along with half the other girls. However, I've practiced doing this, and make it onto the stage just in time. " I volunteer. Aeona Startina. 14." I lift my chin up and my trademark smirk is back on my face. Curt gives me a nod of approval, and shouts, " There we have it, folks! The District 1 tributes for the 34th Hunger Games!" Ugh. His voice is even sharper up close. How do people deal with it? Gah. When I look down, however, half the girls are giving me murderous glares. If looks could kill, I'd have melted into a puddle of human just now. After all, no orphan has ever volunteered. They probably think this honor is wasted on me. My district partner, D something, is giving me a glazed over, moony-eyed look. With one last triumphant glare, I head off the stage and into the Justice building.

I'm just sitting in this room alone, waiting for the visitors that will never come. I don't know why I bother. It's stupid, sitting in this blank room, waiting for encouragement that I find in the sky. My parents and sister are all the encouragement I'll ever need. Sure, I had a small scatter of friends in the orphanage. They were irrelevant, though, and I don't expect them to come. They don't. Bored out of my mind, I take in my surroundings. A plush, floral rug adorns the floor, and two tapestries cover the otherwise blank walls. One depicts how the Games were created, and another shows a flower blooming. Weird Capitolites. The thread off it seems to unravel, and in the light, gleams like woven gold. Two mahogany tables sit at the sides of my sofa, one supporting a cut crystal lamp, one holding up a beautiful vase with one snow white rose in it. Once again, weird.

"Come on," a Peacekeeper comes to take me to the train. This Peacekeeper is relatively young, in his twenties, and instead of looking at me with disdain, he gives me a soft, almost encouraging smile. For a moment, my hard shell disappears, and I give him a rueful smile back. It really means a lot to me that there is someone out there who doesn't judge me for my past, but determines it from who I am. Then again, it all takes time...

He takes me by the shoulder, and leads me out the building. Before we enter the train, my last look is not at District 1, but at the sky. The sky so vast that will follow me wherever I go, holds all my memories, my few joys and sorrows, and my only reason to live.