When I wake to the sound of my alarm clock playing that irritating birdsong that I used to like but I've gotten so sick of, I'm exhausted.

Of course. I'm always tired and this is nothing new. I get out of bed, trudge to the clock at the other side of the room, and hit the off button. I wonder why I even bother to put the clock where I can't reach it from my bed, because it's not like that helps me wake up in the morning. I crawl back into the covers and go back to sleep.

BRRRING! Another alarm crashes through my consciousness. Fuck it, I think as I shut it off. I vaguely remember that today is important. It's Reaping Day. But the Reaping doesn't start until four in the afternoon so who cares about getting up early? I know I should, so I can get more things done, but I'm so tired and I feel so shitty that I just have to go back to bed.

A high, two-note piano chord wakes me up the third time, and I lie in bed, listening to a piano piece by a classical composer named Fryderyk Chopin - someone who lived very long before Panem was formed, long before the apocalypse, even. This is a scherzo, if I remember correctly. It's tumultuous and energetic, and by the time it ends I finally realize that I have to get up.

I'll just listen to this next one, I think as the next song plays. Then I'll get up.

It's a Nocturne. Opus Nine, Number Three in… I don't remember the key, but it's one of those ridiculous ones with too many sharps. It's in my Chopin Nocturnes book and tried to play it once on the piano. I didn't even make it to the middle section.

The next piece starts. I don't know this one very well - I think it's an Etude, but I can't remember which one - but I finally trudge over to the chair and throw on my robe. I can put on my clothes later, when I've washed the grit out of my eyes. I turn off the alarm.

Why am I still so exhausted? I wonder angrily to myself as I walk to the bathroom my sister and I share. I slept a good nine hours last night.

I did sleep at two AM because I was staying up writing crap and playing video games, but it's at least eleven now and normal people are up much earlier than this. At least the Reaping doesn't start until late afternoon, but nobody in District 2 wakes up this late on Reaping Day. They want to celebrate the volunteers, go party or some dumb shit like that.

And here I am, sleeping when I could've been doing something that's actually productive.

I am so exhausted. But I should at least eat breakfast, or brunch at this point.

"Pi, you're up," Mom greets me with a smile as I go back to my room with my teeth brushed, my face washed, and my idiotic dental device that supposedly treats sleep apnea stored. Mom never calls me Pyra, and nobody outside my parents ever call me Pi, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Her using the nickname on me at least means that, even though we don't get along, she loves me.

"Eh," I mutter, still too tired to look at her.

I walk back to my room. The bed is really tempting, but I've slept enough. I might as well write a little.

I open up my laptop and pull up the document I was working on last night. Man, this is crap. I've been working on this submit-your-own-character story for two and a half years and I'm barely halfway done. I'm considering discontinuing it, but I don't want to be a failure at this on top of everything else.

I've written one sentence when my computer announces that it's noon. I guess I got distracted with games. Fuck, I'm such a slow writer. Just like I'm a slow worker, a slow runner, a slow everything. Everything I do takes forever because I'm always tired.

I'm finally getting somewhere when I hear my mother's footsteps. Ugh.

"Pi, get dressed and go downstairs to eat something," Mom says, coming to stand uncomfortably close to me. "If you don't eat you'll faint."

No, I fucking won't, you're just being annoying, I think, but what I actually say isn't much better.

"I'm busy."

"Eat first, then you can write."

"Seriously, Mom!" I yell, turning to her. "I'm bu-sy. I'll eat when I want to, you can leave now."

"If you don't eat you'll have low blood sugar and be even more tired," Mom presses, and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. "Do your writing later. Come on, Pi."

"Leave me alone, I feel horrible," I say, grabbing my laptop and walking to the chair where I put my day clothes. I don't want my mother breathing down my neck right now.

"What else is new?" my sister says sarcastically from the door as my mother says she'll be back in ten minutes.

I find myself smiling, just a little bit. At least Niya isn't always asking me to do something.

"Hey sis," I say, closing the laptop and putting it back onto my desk. "Are you ready for today?"

"Yep!" Niya says cheerfully. "I'm going to Olivine's house after. We're going to have a Directors' Meeting."

"Good for you," I sigh as I get dressed. My eleven-year-old sister is always talking about her Directors' stuff, and honestly I wish I could be that passionate about something. I'd love to be more interested in her ridiculously complex Verse but I'm just so tired.

"Do you want a hug?" Niya asks, looking concerned.

"Yeah, sure," I mutter as I give Niya a hug.

Quite frankly, I'm kind of annoyed by my sister's love of hugs - but then again, I'm annoyed with everything. Still, I'm touched that Niya cares enough to cheer me up in a way that isn't unbearably annoying.

"I'm sorry," I say as I step away from Niya and open the window. "I'm just so depressed."

"What else is new?" Niya says, and I laugh. It's become a running joke at this point.

"See, you laughed," Niya says with a grin.

"You're so funny, Niya," I say genuinely as my tiredness slowly dissipates. "I'm going to go eat."

"I'll be in my room if you need me," Niya says. "Oh, and I need the computer."

I want to groan, but I'm willing to sacrifice my computer time for Niya. At least she's doing something actually productive.

"Sure," I say as I hand my sister the laptop.

"Thanks," she chirps and hurries to her room.

I sigh as I walk down the stairs towards the kitchen. This is going to be a long couple of weeks.

I've never liked the Hunger Games. They're in their twenty-eighth year with no signs of slowing down, but I only watch when I have to. It's really depressing.

At least I live in District 2. For as long as I can remember there has been two trained volunteers from our District who want to be in the Games. I think they're dumb for volunteering for a death match, but at least that means that people like me who have no interest or readiness for the Games are safe. I'll still have to sit through watching the Hunger Games but at least I won't die. And I know I'll die if I ended up in the Games because I'm a depressed peanut - my sister calls me that - who has the physical fitness of a chair.

"Good morning, Pi," Dad says, looking up from his newspaper.

"Morning," I mumble.

I don't really want to talk to my father. I don't have a good relationship with him, either. My parents love me, but I still think they're disappointed in me for becoming depressed and they always want me to do more.

The worst part is that they're right. Why am I not doing more? Most people my age have a job by now, or are training in the Academy. I can barely get through school with a C average, and I know my parents are disappointed in me regarding that because I used to be a straight-A student.

I just need to finish school and move out of my parents' house because the longer I spend here the shittier I'll feel. But who knows how long that will take? How can I hold a job when I'm tired all the time?

"Pi, do you want to go to the Academy?" my father asks. "Mission is having free training today."

Are you. Fucking. Kidding me.

"No," I say as I get my food.

"It could be fun," my mother says from where she's sitting in the next room, working on her landlady stuff. "This is your last day to take advantage of the training facilities we have."

"I said no," I snap. "I know you want me to get out of my depression but I don't want to and I hope you can respect that."

"Can't you say that in a nicer way?" Mom says. She's trying to give me a hug. Who knows when she got here? I move away.

"Please, can I have a hug?" Mom asks.

"Fine," I mutter, but only because I want her to get off my back. I can't believe they're doing this. I've told them multiple times before that I have no interest in Career training and I'm already doing everything I can. I know that they want to cure my depression but it just doesn't work that way. It's been a long time. My depression can't be cured.

"I'm going to eat some fruit," I say.

"Good job!" Mom exclaims as if it's a major achievement for me. Which it is, but she doesn't have to be so annoying.

I wish I didn't think of my parents as annoying. I wish I had a better relationship with them. I know I'm being unfair to them because they're right in that I should be doing more and they aren't doing anything wrong as parents. But my therapist has helped me realize that me wanting to cut ties with my parents is valid.

I just wish life wasn't so shitty.

I grab a disgusting banana from the fruit basket and move to sit in the dining room rather than the kitchen, where my father is. This is going to be a long day.


A/N: Uh, hey. I've been wanting to write a story like this for a while now, and I've realized that while I can't have two SYOTs going on at once I also lose motivation with just one SYOT going on. So I struck a compromise with this story, which is a new concept that I haven't seen before.

You know those Hunger Games stories where an OC who is most likely an author insert is Reaped? Yeah, this is one of those, but with a twist. This is also a partial SYOT.

How does that work, you may ask? Well, this story will be entirely from the point of view of my character, the District 2 Female. That's how it's an author-insert story. However, I'm allowing YOU to submit the remaining twenty-three tributes!

Here's the Google Form, which is also on my profile (remember to remove the spaces):

forms . g l e / JBmor9P7tBhh2qd6A

I don't have many rules because I'm willing to take any tribute I get, but please visit my profile for submission guidelines. Also, I'll mention here in case you missed it that this is the 28th Games, so Careers have been established, but this story isn't canon-compliant.

I'm not sure how quickly I'll be writing this but I'll shoot for once a month. This is an interesting experiment with the story's style, so let's see how it goes.

Please let me know what you think, if you can! What do you think of Pyra? Is she sympathetic, and if she isn't is she at least someone you're interested in reading about? Let me know in the reviews!

I'll see you all hopefully soon!