Okay, after this has been deleted, I'm putting it up again. But this version is not interactive. DO YOU HEAR THAT, FF OFFICALS? I'm not asking anyone for their own tribute ideas. I already have tribute ideas given to me by other people for another story (This doesn't count as the other story they took down because I changed a few words.) . Therefore, this story is not interactive and is not the (exact) same story as before.

Killian Taylor

No one thinks I'm good enough. No one knows I can do it. Sure, Garna could do it if she wanted to, but she doesn't, so of course her little sister can't accomplish anything. Not that I blame Garna.

We get along fairly well together for two siblings. My parents couldn't be prouder of the both of us. At least they believe I can do it. In fact, it was their idea I prove to everyone else that I can do it. I may be younger, but I think it's brilliant.

The Hunger Games aren't exactly Garna's thing. She tried to discourage me, she tried to tell me I'd be killed and then stuffed in a wooden box to be sent home. I didn't know what she talking about. For a moment she sounded like everyone else in my District.

I shrugged it off. Then, I added her to the list of people I'd have to prove wrong. I wish Garna was more encouraging. She's my sister, and there's nothing like a sibling telling you, "You can do it. I believe in you."

I wake up with a smile on my face. Today is reaping day. Or, in my case, volunteering day. I just hope no one else messes it up for me. I make a mental note to volunteer right after the female name is reaped.

I get up and look in the mirror by my bedside. Oh, God…

During the night my long brown hair has decided make a little knot just above my eyes, so you can barely see the light blue irises trying to peek out. I grab the brush from my nightstand and try desperately to comb through my hair. It's no use for me… but maybe I can get a little help.

"Mom!" I yell. She opens the door to my room without knocking.

"Yes, oh soon to be the next victor of the Hunger Games one?" she asks. I smile. Mom loves to bring that up ever since I decided to volunteer this year.

"Can you help me brush my hair?" I ask.

She look at the "rat's nest" on my head and frowns. When I was little I used to wonder what a rat's nest was. Dad said it was the nest of an animal that lives in the lower Districts. Then I asked why a nest was on my head. He told me it was a figure of speech.

"I can try," she said doubtfully.

Half an hour later she succeeded. My hair now looks somewhat normal. However, there's little time left before I get to the reaping. Mom knows this too, so she quickly ties my hair back in a ponytail with a sapphire jeweled hair pin.

"Thanks," I tell her. "I'm going to get dressed now. You can head down to the reaping if you like. We'll say our real goodbye's in the Justice Building." She nods and goes downstairs to gather the family who must already be dressed.

I quickly strip out of my night-clothes and slip into the dress that was already lying at the foot of my bed. It's a simple T-shirt dress, but I like it. I tie the ribbon in the middle into a knot. I put on the black flats that were also at the foot of my bed, and run down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the door of my house.

I run all the way to the town square where there's a stage set up, and all the victors are there along with the mayor and an escort from the Capitol. There are two glass balls filled with paper slips. One is for the boys' names. The other is for the girls' names.

I run to the 15-year-old section of eligible kids. I take a deep breath and wait for the excitement to begin. The mayor gets up and announces the Hunger Games. The crowd cheers for a while, and then we settle down.

The mayor reads off the victors of District One. There must be at least ten, so far. Then, he introduces our escort, Gee Moon. His hair is dyed silver, and his skin is covered in some sort of white powder.

"Happy Hunger Games!" he announces. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!" The crowd breaks into applause once more. "Now I will call the female tribute up to the stage. If anyone wishes to volunteer, they must say so after the name is told to everyone."

I brace myself. I look back at my parents; they are giving me the thumbs up sign. Then, I look to Garna. She is staring at me with sad eyes and shaking her head.

Gee sticks his hand into the women's ball. He pulls out a slip of paper. He clears his throat to say her name. "Sparkle Fille!"

Before anyone else can do anything, I raise my hand and scream at the top of my lungs, "I VOLUNTEER!" I run to the stage and proudly overlook the crowd. Everyone's faces are shocked, except my parents who are just as proud as me, and my sister who is sobbing.

"What is your name?" asks Gee.

I smile. I've already become a contender in these Games. "My name is Killian Taylor."

Flame Worx

I can hardly wait for the male tribute's name to be called. The girl tribute is small, but she has a certain determined smile that makes me believe she would be a good ally. Maybe we can become part of the newly-formed Career pack.

That Moon guy smiles and claps his hands gleefully, much like a small child who was thrilled with a new game or toy. "Congratulations, Killian Taylor, female tribute of District One. Can I get a round of applause?" The audience claps.

"And the male tribute is…" says Moon guy in his Capitol accent. He reaches into the men's ball. "Alabaster Hearth!" he tries to say dramatically. I practically jump up when volunteering.

"I volunteer!" I yell at the same time someone else does, but I make it to the stage before him. "I'm Flame Worx!" I scream before Gee even asks me for it. The audience claps for me, too.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the tributes of District One!" announces Gee, obviously trying to bring the attention back to him.

The Treaty of Treason is read by the mayor, but I'm not paying attention. I'm already imagining my homecoming after I win. I'm imagining the fame and the riches. I'm imagining all the luxuries of the Capitol right here at home.

Killian and I are told to shake hands. "May the best tribute win," I mutter, hoping this will scare her.

She just smirks at me. "I plan to," she says, and we're whisked away to custody. The room I sit in isn't unlike the one at home. My parents visit, crying about how much they love me. All I can think is whatever.

My friends come to visit. They slap me on the back. They tell me hopefully my training will pay off. I know it will. Too soon, they're asked to leave. Then, I'm taken to the train we'll be riding. There are cameras everywhere.

I could get used to this.