A/N: What the crap we are writing things togethaaa!

Thomasina Rose (writing as True Sherrs, District 6, 13 years)

Josh Thorne (writing as Stormy Vicc, District 6, 14 years)

Stormy's POV

I ran through the streets. Peacekeepers were shooting at me. I grabbed a car's hubcap, deflecting the bullets. They screamed at me, trying to get me to stop. Luckily, I had my trusty mask on. The black mask, the one with the eyeholes that were covered with the Mockingjay pin. I wish the Hunger Games never started again, that the President hadn't been killed. Everyone pretty much hated it, but the Capitol's reaction, good Lord, you would've thought the world was exploding. Anyway…

I threw the hubcap, ran into the crowd of Reaping kids, and took off the mask. I had my name in that bucket, the one only 30 yards away, 61 times. I hated it. As I walked into the crowd, I thought about this year. It was the 150th games. It had been 75 years since Katniss Everdeen held that rebellion. But Katniss had been contaminated and killed. That sucked.

Because it was a Quarter Quell, we had a special opportunity. It was said that this year, in honor of the 50th games' winners, each district would have to submit 8 tributes. And there were 2 winners for this, if they came from the same district.

That's double of the 50th games.

But, it was my luck, they let us know this after we submitted our names. And, as if the odds were in our favor, the Quell arenas were always double the more deadly and horrible than the regular arenas. Our lives were hell.

By the way, that's 96 tributes. That like, 4 times the normal arena size. 4 times the bloodbath times. 4 times more likely I'd be in the arena in a period of 4 weeks.

Our escort, Mayha Shimmer, walked onto the stage. "Welcome, children," she said in a dreadful way. I looked at the girl next to me, gave her a look like, Our lives are hell! Mayha continued.

"We have a very important, new video this year! Shall we?" She played the video, with consisted of exactly 1 minutes and 26 seconds, as I counted. Then she took off her overpriced gloves and walked to the reaping ball. Ladies first.

The four names were called in this order.

"Calliba Mitchelles!" A 12 year old walked onto the stage, now crying. Poor kid.

"Kissie Shox!" An 18 year old girl, who seems determined, is called.

"Cassy Meridot!" A girl screamed. The Peacekeepers grabbed her and held her on stage. She was about my age.

"True Sherrs!" I knew that name. I moved away from the girl standing next to me. I faintly remember her from my childhood. We were close friends, but after I became, well, a delinquent, we parted ways, fearing for the safety of her family.

Now the boys. I was scared. I was definitely one of the kids who were most likely going to be betted, as the adults did, to get in. This really was crap.

"Felix Cot!" A stocky boy walked onto the stage. He was in my class at school.

"Max Herrell!" A fatter kid walked onto the stage. He barely knew what was happening. The mayors' kid.

"Hexi Harding!" A black boy walked onto the stage, probably about 12. He seemed scared. He was a poorer, dirty boy, but I felt bad. I wanted to hug him and tell him it was ok.

I was feeling assured. Maybe I wouldn't get in, I was safe. I could survive through this. The dreaded, final name was called out.

"Stormy Vicc!" I felt my face draining of any life that showed. I walked, staring and nervous, onto the stage. I looked into the cameras focused on me. I felt my wild side returning.

"I HATE YOU!" I yelled at the cameras. Then, fuming, I stood on the stage and waited to shake everyone's hand. Everyone was watching none other than me. Then I knew, this was my moment, the day the Peacekeepers would win our everlasting battle. I felt defeat.

I grabbed my mask. I pulled it onto my face. I faced the Peacekeepers, their multiple expressions. Surprised. Confused. Excited. Others I couldn't read. I took it off and shook everyone's hand. Now, it was time to say goodbye to the people that would never come to say goodbye.

True's POV

I looked at my mother in the distance. She had tears in her eyes, I could tell. She was lucky, she didn't have to go through this traumatizing event. It hasn't been 75 years since this has happened. The Hunger Games, I mean. Little Anise was bawling her eyes out and not letting go of my mother's hand. She is so sweet. Only seven years old. She is only seven. And Philip, he's ten, but he knows what's up. He stands up straight next to my father. Looking straight forward. Staring at the stage. They may lose their sister in the next four weeks.

My name was in there forty-three times. I can't believe it. And there is an even greater likelihood of me getting selected… four times as likely. Not good. Four girls are going in this year. I'm scared, though I'd never admit that to Anise.

That lady… no idea what her name is… she walked up to the podium in her traditional Capitol attire. She looked as though she walked right out of a circus act. Her neon yellow makeup was blinding, and her green dress was making me nauseous. I swear, the Capitol people haven't change from the day the war broke out. They claimed that the way they dress was "part of their culture". I still think that they should have to dress as normal people everywhere else do: in tattered clothes, not pristine clothing that you can replace in a nanosecond when a single stain got on it.

"Welcome, children," she proclaimed in a disgustingly sing-song voice. My God, what is the matter with her? How can this be such a happy moment? I guess it's just because it's her first day on the job. But this is my first experience with the Hunger Games as well, so I guess I shouldn't talk.

The boy next to me gave me a look that I interpreted as "This is Hell." Yeah, understood. Wait, what's that weird mask he's holding?

She then showed us a graphic video from the Capitol. A very graphic video about the war. I wanted to shout that there were young children here. I didn't want them to have nightmares. But I kept my mouth shut. They were going to have nightmares anyway from just the Reaping.

The video ended and that lady took off her gloves. Oh no. It's time for the girls.

"Calliba Mitchelles!" Not me.

"Kissie Shox!" Stupid name, not me.

"Cassy Meridot!" The girl a few rows down screamed. No. That's… that's Gwen's twin sister. Gwen, my best friend. Oh my God, I will never have the heart to see her get killed… or kill her. The thought sent shivers down my spine.

The last girl. Please, God, if you're up there, please… please…

"True Sherrs!"

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening. I looked at the guy next to me. He gave me a weak smile, like a "better luck next time". If there is a next time. I kept a straight face. Nothing will get past me. I must be strong. I must be strong. Slowly I walked toward middle row. And I took my time walking up there. Peacekeepers from either side tried to hook their arms around mine, but I wouldn't let them touch me. I must show my family that I can be strong. No backing down from this. I must be strong. Keep breathing, True, keep breathing. I don't need help from the enemy.

I made my way onto the stage. The boys were announced. I don't think of it much. I don't pay much attention; I am too busy fighting back the tears that are trying to force themselves to come out of my eyes. Until I heard the last name called and a shriek of "I HATE YOU!"

Stormy. That's who the boy was next to me. He was the boy from grade school. Memories flooded forward from the back of my mind. We would play in the yard and pretend to be Katniss and Gale. We never played Peeta because he was the most boring of the group. I always played Katniss, since I was the girl. And he'd be Gale.

The doors of the Hall of Justice opened. The woman with blinding makeup and outfit beckoned us into the hall. I walked in slowly. "This is it," I muttered to myself. "I've got to be one of the last ones standing. For Philip. For Anise."