Disclaimer: The Hunger Games concept and story belongs to Suzanne Collins. She owns all the characters except those I create.

The Reapings

Krystal's POV

"Do I look good?" I asked my sister Lacey, who just frowned. She had this look on her face that only she could somehow muster: disappointment, anger, fear and hope mixed together into one expression. I had no word for it, and I doubted she did either. "What's up?"

"I think you know what is up," Lacey said. I looked at her again. "Don't volunteer. It's not worth it. Please."

"Lacey, you are saying this like we are living in one of those poor districts. I'll be back in two and a half weeks; three weeks tops," I reassured her.

"You'll come back a murderer," Lacey hissed.

"Would you rather I don't come back at all?"

"I'd rather you not go," Lacey squeaked. Her voice always got very squeaky when she got angry. I glared at her. Lacey did not really belong in District 1. She complained about everything, and her moral compass pointed directly north. Mine probably pointed west; I could work out by process of elimination what north was, but did not really have any intention of going in that direction.

"What, would you rather go instead? I fought long and hard to get the honour of volunteering this year. If I don't, whoever is chosen will be forced to go into the games."

"Then I'd just get myself killed off in the bloodbath," Lacey said defiantly, the look in her eyes saying that she was not joking. I pushed the lamp off the table in frustration and it clattered down onto the ground. Lacey looked at it in shock.

"I'm going!" I yelled at her.

"It's your funeral," Lacey yelled, then immediately clasped her hands over her mouth. "I'm sorry. Just don't go."

"Do I look good?" I asked again, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself and twirling around in the silvery dress. Flat shoes, not heels. I had been practicing in heels as all the girls seemed to have to wear them in the Capitol during their interviews. It was like walking around on stilts, except only half of your foot was on the stilt so you were completely off balance.

"Yeah," Lacey said, looking down defeated. I felt sort of guilty leaving her like that. She would have time to say goodbye after I'd volunteered, but that time would be very limited. There were tears in her eyes when she asked, "Do you have a token?"

I looked at her. I'd completely forgotten that tributes were allowed a token to remember their districts by. I never knew why it was relevant because I'd be back home within weeks… well, maybe not home, but even better: a brand new house in Victor's Village.

"Take this," she said, holding out an elegantly woven bracelet and turning it over. I read the inscription: never forget who you are. I had to ask.

"Do you even want me to come back at all?" I asked.

"Without blood on your hands," Lacey said. There was going to be no winning this argument with her, but I slipped the bracelet over my wrist anyway.

"Don't worry, I'm sure there will be some very bloodthirsty tribute in the pack that takes everybody else out, then I can take him out and it would be morally right," I said, my attempt to reassure her. It did not work.

"Really Krystal?" Lacey gasped. "That is what prisons are for."

"When have you ever seen a prison?" I wondered angrily.

"I haven't. They should have them rather than public executions," Lacey said.

I forced myself to calm down again. Emotions, whether good or bad, were weaknesses. Love was another one. But as that particular weakness was not going to come with me to the games, all I had to do was convince Lacey and everything would be as it should.

It was obvious why Lacey failed out of training. If you ignored the fact that when she was little she cried whenever she got muddy, a habit she had long grown out of, she froze up as soon as she saw the weapons. Lacey could run, and she still ran with me sometimes, but refused to throw knives even at a target. She claimed that it would be far too easy to accidentally do it to a person. I'd dismissed that there was no possible way to accidentally kill somebody. There would have to be intent.

"Look, I've been training all my life for this. I deserve tons of money and a new house for all that I had to endure. You would be able to come live with me; you wouldn't have to work a single day of your life," I tried a different tactic. If I'd been trying to reason with Lacey's moral centre, I had obviously used the wrong one.

Lacey opened her mouth to say something else but was interrupted by Mother calling from downstairs. "Get down here and eat something. The reaping starts in an hour and we don't want to be late!"

"Look, we are going to get an upgrade from this," I whispered to Lacey, motioning at the house in general that was relatively large and had two floors. "And most of those poorer districts don't even have this. They have to live in one room. Wouldn't a week of luxury then a quick demise be better than dying in youth in some sort of factory accident or mine explosion?"

"No," Lacey said pointedly.

"What took you so long?" Father asked when I sat down. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, I'm ready," I repeated, something I'd told myself a dozen times since I had woken up this morning. I picked up one of the knives off the counter. Just a simple kitchen knife, nothing like I had trained with. I preferred machetes, almost like knives but longer and sharper. I turned it over in my hand then tossed it into the target above the kitchen counter. It hit dead in the centre and Mother smiled at me.

"Good. Okay, who do you want to come to your big house warming party? I'm already inviting Cashmere and Gloss's parents. They'll finally see that our family is full of Victors as well," Father said.

Gloss and Cashmere were the brother and sister that had won the 63rd and 64th Hunger Games respectively, and were the most recent Victors from District 1. Their parents and mine had been rivals for as long as I can remember. If I thought about it, I was their only hope. There was no way Lacey would ever win the Hunger Games. She had made it clear enough.

I glared at him as well. "I have every intention to come back, but I do not want you to manipulate me like that."

I clenched my fists like I usually did when I was mad, my nails digging into my palms.

"Okay, overview: what angle are you going to play in the interviews?" Father checked.

"Cocky, arrogant, sort of flirty," I told him.

"Make sure that they know you are going to win," Father told me. "Tactics at the Cornocopia?"

"Go for the weapons. Team up with District 2 and 4," I parroted. Personally I thought that the other Career districts were insufferable, but all alliances formed would be temporary anyway. "And… um… don't get killed."

"Good girl," Father said. I scoffed some food and then it was time to head for the square. The boys' trials were more complicated than those for the girls as there were so many more boys that tried to volunteer. There had only been me and four other girls competing for the honour of volunteering this year. We were separated into our age groups. There was not nearly as much tension as there apparently was in the other districts. Those that were going to the Capitol already knew it.

The stupid escort mounted the stage. I remembered her from last few years; her name was Hatty. "Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour!" Then there was a long and boring speech which was always repeated every year. I never paid much attention to it at all.

If I understood correctly, the people from the Capitol were the alien overlords with their stupid accents and crazy wigs who enslaved humanity and forced them diminished human populous to live in 13 districts. Then one was destroyed and 12 remained. Every year a boy and a girl from each district had to compete in the Hunger Games, the Victors of which pleased the alien overlords enough to guarantee a life of fame and fortune.

"Ladies first," the escort trilled as I finally paid attention again. Good job too, or I might have missed my opportunity to volunteer. Hatty reached into the bowl and drew out a single name. "Diamond Blakely!"

A girl from the fifteen year old section started mounting the steps close to where my sister was standing. Lacey looked at me pleadingly and shook her head, but I had already started moving.

"Any volunteers?" Hatty asked the crowd.

"I volunteer," I said, making my up the steps and over to the microphone. "Krystal Alrich."

I gave the crowd my best cocky smile, then waved slowly and repeatedly. The Capitol, as usual, would start analysing the actions of the tributes from this point on. I'd watched enough games and reruns to know that for a fact.

"Now for the boys," Hatty continued, grasping at another piece of paper. I did not pay much attention to the name called, but perked up when a tall muscular boy called Garnet volunteered. I smirked at him, and grasped his hand tight when we were forced to shake hands. Having no idea what the rest of the competition would be like, being the first district reaped and all, I decided that comparatively everything would be just fine.

The odds were certainly going to be in my favour.

Dina's POV

Today was the annual day off. It was not a good day. At least two families would be sobbing uncontrollably in their houses, their children sent to impending doom. For as long as I have been watching the Hunger Games I have not seen anybody from District 3 win. Sandwiched between the Career districts, even those with high scores of around 6 were hardly noticed. Sponsors don't flock at their doors.

And the turning point: the interviews with the families. Nobody from District 3 had got to the final eight in a decade. In the last five years there have been two Victors from District 1, then handsome Finnick Odair from 4, the girl from 6, and last year the boy from 2 won. Nobody from District 3.

The odds, for whoever is picked, will certainly not be in their favour.

District 3 is the technology district. Schools teach children to be intelligent, but I have never been much good at that. I always belonged to one of the richer families so there was no need, never having to take out tesserae. I'm sixteen now. I had 15 entries in the bowl, which was lower than just about anyone that I knew.

"You'll be fine," I assured myself. It was more my brother that I was worried about. He was a technological wiz, which meant that he might be able to use his intelligence to his advantage if he went in… I refused to even think about it. Being eighteen it was his final year. If he got through this year he would be totally safe. Another two years and I would also be. Then I could stop worrying about immediate family.

But today worry was like the constant pit in my throat. I started pacing forwards and backwards, knowing that I could have a lie in but far too nervous to. What if I was chosen? What would I do?

There was a knock on the door. It was only my brother, Mark.

"Are you okay in there, Dina?" he asked.

I shivered but said, "Yes."

"Want to go for a walk before we have to attend the reaping?" he asked. I was far too restless to have any chance of getting back to sleep so I said "yes" to that as well. Grabbing my coat and shoes, I made my way outside with Mark.

As usual the streets were filled with smog. If I had not been living on the same street my whole life it probably would have made me cough up. As District 3s industry was mainly sedentary, there was not a good level of medical care that we were subject to. It was best not to have any allergies to the smog, not to mention injuries or shocks on the job.

"You know, sometimes I wish we could live in District 11, the agriculture district. It must be so peaceful there," I knew that I was making myself sound like an idiot. With Peacekeepers, nothing was ever really peaceful, and I'd heard the security in District 11 was tougher than most.

"Or District 7," my brother said, playing along with me as usual. "They have forests there."

District 7: forestry.

"It would be nice to actually see trees for a change," I said. There were no trees in District 3; it had all been built up.

"We should probably get going soon. Our reaping is quite early," Mark said after we had just sat around wordlessly for what felt like minutes but probably was just over an hour. The reapings were done in District order, and we were one of the first districts.

I got changed into something for 'special occasions'. My father smiled a reassuring smile at me. The chance of me being picked was so improbably that I had almost convinced myself that it was not going to happen. While I was not a technological genius, probability just came easily to me.

There were thousands of slips of paper. I had my name on exactly 15 of them. I could do some advanced calculations with the amount of children that there actually were, to predict the possibility for each of them being picked, but doing that often only made me feel worse. What if it was one of my friends?

So I wore the dress, completely blue with puffy sleeves. We actually had enough money to occasionally buy new clothes. We still had to patch things up like most people did, but not nearly as much as the true poor people.

I waited in line at the register to show that I was present, then waited in the area that was cordoned off for the 16 year old girls. I waved nervously at Mark in the eighteen year old section. I knew, if he had the ability, if I went he would volunteer for me. But as guys could only volunteer for other guys, and girls only for other girls, he couldn't. I told him never to volunteer simply to keep me safe. My parents could not lost two children in the same year.

The escort was late, which surprised me. Escorts were big on manners, and showing up late was very rude. I waited through the speech, my stomach getting more and more clenched. I gasped and continued gasping, willing myself not to have a nervous breakdown. I spotted my father watching and forced myself to get a hold of myself.

"Dina Larson!" the escort called, and staying calm was completely forgotten. That was my name. I panicked and the Peacekeepers forced me forwards. And then it was like I felt nothing, and I actually managed to hold my head up high enough to not look like a total snivelling wimp. I stood on the stage wordlessly, playing with my nails like I always did when I was sad or nervous despite simply feeling hollow.

I was going to my doom. There were no two ways around it.

Then the boy's name was drawn. I only had time to beg not Mark, not Mark, not Mark, before the escort called out the name. "Bert Long."

The crowd gasped as a twelve year old made his way forwards. He was crying and did not even try to disguise it. It was so cruel, forcing twelve year olds to play this sadistic game. No twelve year olds had ever won.

This had just got worse. I would not be coming back. I did not even really want to try if my success meant the death of a twelve year old, one that my brother used to babysit when they were both younger. I could see the confliction on Mark's face. He almost wanted to volunteer to safe Bert, but that would mean that he would face off against his sister.

The time passed. I felt sick with myself for being glad that he did not volunteer. And then we were whisked away. My feet dragged and I seemed to grow heavier with each step. I was not going to survive, but this being the Hunger Games probably meant that my death would be long and drawn out.

I already missed home, and I had not yet left. Forget leaving to any of the other Districts, forget District 11's fields and District 7's forests, I just wanted to remain home in District 3.

Suffra's POV

I was up early like I had always been, simply running. Running laps around the house, going faster and faster until I forgot everything that had been bothering me. Today was the day of the reaping. My identical twin sister Iva sat inside, drawing a picture. I ran instead. We both needed to do something to occupy our minds, wait for District 8's turn in this awful event.

The only good thing that ever came from a reaping was that we did not have to go to school or to our job. Usually days were long. School started early and finished mid-afternoon. Work began late afternoon and finished late in the evening. Then we usually went to bed ready to get up early for the following day.

Today, I ran instead. I was fast. Very fast. I could just keep on running, but was unsure exactly how far I could get. I wasn't going to try. There was nowhere to run in District 8. It was too built up to really appreciate any scenery at all. There was probably scenery out there somewhere, beyond the tall and domineering fence. But it might as well not be there at all. There was no way to cross the fence.

So there I was, running around the house. The house was small, and ill maintained. We did not have much time to maintain it. I probably should not be running off the small amount of food I was able to get, but I found that I could not stop. I needed to do something that was not sit around all day.

Of course I regretted it when I finally sat down an hour later and there were pangs in my stomach.

"Is there anything for breakfast?" I asked hopefully, not really expecting anything.

"We are saving the food for when we all get back from the reaping safely," Iva said. I nodded. That had worked every year in the past. I sat down, twirling my hair in my fingers. We didn't have anything nice or formal to wear, so I just picked out my least messy pair of clothes and the pair of shoes with only one hole in. Iva borrowed one of my tops and did the same. Our parents put on pairs of clothes that weren't work clothes then we left.

The waiting was horrible. Not to know whether my sister or I would be picked. If she was picked, I knew that I would volunteer. There was no way that I would allow my twin sister to go to the Hunger Games if I could have prevented it; I would never be able to live with myself.

I felt a twinge deep inside me when I thought about it. It was as if thinking about it might actually make it come true, and I did not want that at all. The waiting was still horrible. The square filled up more, and I imagined that we lived in one of the Career districts where there was practically no risk even if you were chosen. I yearned more than anything to be from one of those districts. They were richer too. There was no risk of starvation, which occurred frequently in my district especially in winter.

Baba, the escort whose name I really thought sounded like that of a sheep, got up to the stage and talked. Did she not know that nobody in the crowd was listening? They were all just wishing for the safety of themselves and those that they cared about.

Baba picked out the boy's name first. "Stitch Margo!"

A sixteen year old boy that I did not recognize mounted the steps. Then it was the girls' turn.

"Iva Hadley!"

Okay, I guess I am volunteering then, I thought surprisingly calmly. Sometimes when something incredibly bad happened, I somehow stayed deathly calm. That had happened before. Before Iva could even mount the steps I was in front of her as if in a daze.

"I am Suffra Hadley and I am volunteering," I said.