A/N: I was going to do the districts in order, but I currently am having some pretty bad writers block on how to write a Capitol Reaping... so here's District 2!

Hera Stonegate, District 2 Female, 17

"I refuse to become a monster. If I'm going to win these games I'm going to do it as myself: a girl from District 2 who wants to help people instead of killing them."

Someday I'll be living in a big old city

And all you're ever gonna be is mean

Someday I'll be big enough so you can't hit me

And all you're ever gonna be is mean

~7 Years, 6 Months Before the Reaping~

I had just started volunteering at a small local hospital. It was near where my family lived, in the Victor's Village, which was convenient, and plus I loved to help people in need. The staff at the hospital were very kind and welcomed me, a small ten-year-old, to their team. They always told me I was a natural healer. In no time, I had learned CPR, how to use defibrillators, and much more. It was so much more fun than the Academy my parents had enrolled me in. You see, they wanted me to win the Hunger Games like they did- but no, I just didn't see the point of killing rather than healing.

My parents always sat down with me and had talks about the Hunger Games. They said they were proud to have a daughter who could compete in the Games and continue the line of Stonegate Victors. They said I was going to volunteer when I was seventeen. Seventeen! That was so far away!

I let them force me to go to the Academy at 9, but the second I had walked in, I knew it wasn't for me. There had been so many huge, hulking boys and girls slashing their swords through the air and it was scary as heck. Then I had noticed the survival station. And the healing station.

There wasn't a single trainee at those stations. But I had stayed there anyway, and learned so much. I was the famous healer at the Academy- if someone got a scratch, they'd come to me- the little ten year old- and let me do my work. They'd be fixed up in no time.

Then one day at the hospital, I was watching a nurse hook up a patient to an IV line- he had become severely dehydrated- when we received an emergency call saying a nine year old boy had been critically injured in a crash. They instructed me to take care of the man while they brought in the boy.

All the while, I gnawed on my fingernails and hoped he wasn't someone I knew. My nails were down to stubs by the time the paramedics rushed the bleeding, coughing boy down the hall. I peeked at him and caught a glimpse of his gruesomely slashed chest, dark brown hair, and hazel eyes that were lost in a world of pain and grief.

He'd lost someone. I was sure of it. The pain in his eyes was more than just his own.

His coughs faded away into the distance as they wheeled him down the white hallway. I was stunned. I wanted to help somehow, and tears filled my eyes.

After replacing the dehydrated man's IV bag, I left him alone and tiptoed down the hallway. I had to see this boy. I heard calm but slightly panicked voices coming from a room, and the sounds of beeping machines keeping the boy alive. Swallowing nervously, I pressed my ear to the door, ready to jump back if someone rushed out.

"...is dead, yes. She was dead the second the impact hit her, I heard…"

"Okay. The boy, he's doing better…"

"...antiseptic, and sutures, please." I could hear the boy's heart monitor announcing his heart rate was slowing to normal.

I backed up to ponder that. So he was with someone else, who died. Maybe his mother? But what had happened? A car crash?

Suddenly the door opened, and I scuttled backwards and froze. Dr. McCallister smiled at me. "Hera, it's okay!" she said, flashing her brilliant white teeth at me. "We should have invited you in. Come. They're sewing him up."

I stepped forward, swallowed nervously, and walked into the room. The first thing I noticed was how pale the boy looked. He seemed about six, not nine. So small and helpless.

The doctors were huddled around his small form, shining their bright surgeon's lights on the boy's torso, which had been ripped open by some impact- probably glass. The dark red blood glistened in the light and dripped down his side as he inhaled and exhaled shakily. His dark brown hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and grime.

I stood back and watched as they began threading the sutures across the wound. It was a slow process, and he wasn't unconscious. His hazel eyes, still filled with pain and secrets, met mine and locked in my gaze. I knew what he wanted. Walking quietly over to his side, I took his hand in mine and murmured comforting words. He squeezed my hand, and I could feel his pain, feel his loss.

He was dealing with it well. He wasn't screaming out or thrashing about- which told me he had dealt with pain before. Which could mean he went to the Academy. I had never seen him before- although I never really saw anybody at the Academy, except the slingshot teacher, and the medic trainers and survivalists. I wasn't a very social ten year old, but I had made a few friends from school and things.

I once more locked eyes with him, and stayed like that while they bandaged up the wound and injected him with some painkillers. I slid the IV into his arm and hooked up a bag of the saline solution to the IV. One of the nurses added a sleeping drug to the flow. I made eye contact with his hazel eyes as they grew far away and distant. Soon his eyes slid shut and his breathing became quieter. A few of the doctors left the room to check on other patients, as it was clear the boy was finally stable, at least for now.

"Do you know him?" a nurse named Merandah asked quietly from behind me.

I turned around to face her. "I don't think so," I replied, trying to keep the worry off my face. She looked relieved.

"You're okay, then?" Merandah questioned, adjusting her white nurse's coat.

I took a while to respond, but smiled reassuringly at her. "I'm okay. Did he lose someone?"

She inhaled sharply. "How do you know?"

Shaking my head, I shrugged. "Just a feeling, that's all."

Merandah tried to change the topic. "How many times have we told you you're born to be a doctor? You just have that way about you… like some intuition. You're a healer at heart, you know."

"Did he lose someone?" I persisted.

"Yes. His mother." She sat down on a nearby plastic chair and crossed her legs.

I scanned Merandah's face, but didn't see anything written on her face other than pity, and sadness in her dark eyes.

"Oh," I responded as nonchalantly as I could. In reality, I wanted to burst into tears. "How'd it happen?"

Merandah took her time before answering. "His name is Flint. Flint Sawyer. He and his mother were eating lunch at a café by the square when a car with some… drunk Capitol tourists crashed their car through the front. The car impact killed his mother on the spot, and-"

"A big shard of glass ripped his chest open," I cut in. Her brow furrowed, then she smiled.

"How'd you guess that?" she asked, although I suspected she knew my answer.

"It looked like a glass cut," I remarked, shrugging. I tucked my wavy black hair behind my ears and gave Merandah a small smile.

"Honestly, Hera, we want you here until you retire," Merandah praised me enthusiastically. I blushed and snuck a peek at the boy, who now had a name- Flint Sawyer. He looked relaxed in his drug-induced sleep.

He didn't look like a boy who had just lost his mother. He looked like a boy who had had a long day and was resting in bliss.

I knew that when Flint woke up, he'd be confused for a few seconds before he'd remember what had happened.

Enjoy it while you can, Flint, I thought. He looked like a sweet boy. I wondered if his parents were going to force him to volunteer when he was older, and if he was from a Victor family like I was.

When I left the small hospital later that day and began my walk home, a small ten year old girl, little did I know I'd see more of Flint Sawyer.

Flint Sawyer, District 2 Male, 16

"People love to hear their own voice"

I'm a survivor

I'm not gon' give up

I'm not gon' stop

I'm gon' work harder

I'm a survivor

I'm gonna make it

I will survive

Keep on survivin'

~Reaping Day~

I couldn't speak. They fixed everything else about me, yet not my voice. The crash… the crash had sliced me open and battered me, and the fumes had taken my voice, I had survived what was supposed to be a death sentence, and I had the scars to prove it.

Sure, I could make noises, but they were horrific and I sounded like a monster- so I steered clear of that, unless I was scaring away bullies when I was younger. I didn't remember much after the crash, just flashing lights, blood, screams, pain, and the broken body of my mother…

And one more thing.

A girl's face. She looked about ten years old, and she had long, wavy black hair and chocolate brown skin. She was beautiful, and had the kindest expression on her face. And she held my hand through the pain and sadness that day.

I looked for her sometimes, even dreamed of her face. But I had never seen her ever again.

Now, I awoke on Reaping Day to a thunderstorm shaking the walls of our house. I lay in bed listening to the drumming of the rain on the roof and the thunder rattling the windows every few seconds. I rolled over and felt around on the bedside table for my watch and clicked the glow button. It was six-thirty. I would have to be at the Academy at seven to train- because of my dad, of course. He had missed his chance to volunteer for the 209th Hunger Games- he had hesitated a bit too long, losing his place on the stage to Hades Olympus. Hades ended up winning that year, and to this day my dad was still seen as a coward for hesitating.

And now, he was using me to get his glory back.

The only reason my dad wanted me to train to win the Hunger Games was because he didn't want to be seen as "the coward from 2" for forever. He thought that me winning the Games, a Quarter Quell for that matter, would make him more likeable and he would be able to get a good reputation again.

I knew it wouldn't work like that. He'd still be "the coward from 2" if I won. If anything, I'd be the one with the special treatment.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and leapt out of bed, knowing if I didn't get up soon I'd never get up at all. Pulling open my small closet, I scanned the hangers for some athletic clothes. I picked a pair of loose athletic shorts, a specialty shipped from District 8, and a plain T-shirt.

My bright hazel eyes stared at myself in the bedroom mirror as I lightly traced my scar that ran from my shoulder to my hip. As goosebumps rose up on my tan skin, I touched each stitch mark softly. Those stitches had saved my life. Those doctors had saved my life.

But my mother…

I sighed raspily and shook my head, pulling on my clothes. I couldn't think like that, if I wanted to win the Hunger Games. I couldn't let my guard down by thinking of my mother.

There I went again.

"Flint! Get your lazy ass down here this INSTANT! You won't win the Hunger Games by sleeping, boy!" my father snarled from somewhere downstairs. He said something else, but it was drowned out by a crash of thunder outside.

If I could speak, I would have shot back some things that shouldn't be repeated.

. . .

After enduring a long, stupid lecture of strategy from my father at breakfast -who clearly knew nothing about strategy, and loves taking advantage of my disability because it means he can speak all he wants- I ran in the rain over to the Academy. It was still fairly dark outside, and by the time I arrived I was dripping wet and soaked to the core. The kids who could afford cars smirked at me and whispered to each other, laughing, when I walked in.

I shook the water on them like a wet dog. They didn't laugh so much then.

While the more experienced Careers (including me, since I was the chosen volunteer) waited by the hand-to-hand combat section for the trainers to instruct us. One of the big, brutish, and utterly stupid Careers scooted over to me. I rolled my eyes; I knew what was coming.

"It's such an honor to be the volunteer, ain't it?" the big dude, Silas, drawled, flashing me a smile full of yellow, crooked teeth. His nose looked like it had been broken multiple times.

I flipped him off.

"Well," he continued, "too bad you can't volunteer- being mute and dumb and all. Sure you have the fighting skills- but you can't be the volunteer unless you say the words 'I volunteer', kid. So sorry, but I will be volunteering this year." He didn't sound sorry at all.

I flipped him off again, this time with both hands.

"Leave him alone, or I'll bust you up," someone said from behind me. I turned around and saw my best friend Sterling standing there, arms folded across his chest and a scowl plastered across his pale features, his large dark eyebrows furrowed deeply. He was flanked by my other best friend Cora, who was chewing on her lip nervously and twirling a bit of her auburn hair between her fingers. Cora wasn't really a Career at heart- more of a 'Carer' than a 'Career'. Sterling, on the other hand, acted very intimidating at all times- but he had a good heart too. I had known them both since preschool.

I could bust him up on my own, thank you very much, I signed to Cora. She giggled at the comment- I respected Cora because she had took the time to learn sign language to accommodate me. It wasn't that Sterling didn't want to learn it; it was just too much of a task for the guy.

Silas shot me a look before turning away to pay attention to the instructor. "I'ma beat you up today, Flinty boy. You just wait 'till sparring. Those trainers'll change their minds about who volunteers today," he hissed under his breath so only I could hear.

I flipped him off with my hands and toes.

. . .

"Sterling Sanders, fighting Maysen Bricker," one of the bulky trainer boomed. I swallowed nervously- I was next in line. Even though I had the training, and had already been selected- or rather forced- to be the volunteer, I couldn't help but feel a bit shaky. I was nervous for Sterling too; he was hoping to volunteer for the 226th Games and as much as I didn't want him to follow in my footsteps, I wanted him to win this fight.

The two opponents stepped into the fighting ring and sized each other up. They were each handed a heavy, blunt sparring sword and given ten seconds to get into position.

Maysen was about Sterling's height and build, but had softer features and lighter, shorter hair. I had a feeling he was less brutal than my friend, but I knew looks could often be deceiving,

"GO!" barked the trainer.

The boys circled each other for a few seconds before Sterling made the first move and dived in for a jab. With a clang of the blunt swords, Maysen quickly and effectively blocked the attempt, leaving Sterling's guard down. Luckily, when Maysen tried to attack his opponent with a side swipe, Sterling brought up his foot in a roundhouse kick and smashed Maysen's nose. With a sickening crunch, blood flew everywhere and Maysen stumbled backwards, swinging the sword blindly as his eyes flooded with tears. I would have gasped if I could, and the audience of trainees jeered at the injured boy and cheered Sterling on. However, Maysen wasn't done. As Sterling knocked him over to hold his sword against Maysen's neck to win the fight, Maysen whirled over and threw out a fist blindly, smashing into Sterling's crotch. The dark haired boy howled in pain and kicked Maysen in the head, the swords lying forgotten on the mat. Sterling and Maysen obviously both wanted revenge for different reasons. As the boys both tried to punch and kick each other, equally desperate to win the match, they both noticed the swords at exactly the same time and lunged. Sterling reached his first, and while Maysen was bent over quickly trying to retrieve his sword, the former stuck the point of his sword to the bleeding boy's back.

"You're dead, boy," Sterling growled as Maysen jumped, startled. "You surrender?"

Maysen shook his head defiantly. "Nope. Never," he snarled stupidly, crimson blood dripping from his crushed nose and running down his chin.

"You're dumb, then," Sterling concluded. He stepped forward, roughly punched Maysen in the face once more, and strode confidently off the mat as everyone cheered. Maysen spat out a wad of dark blood, and a tooth, muttering obscenities under his breath.

I gave Sterling a thumbs up and grinned- that and waving was about the only sign language the big guy could retain in his memory. As Sterling clapped a sweaty hand on my back, I couldn't help but feel a bit out of place. Although I'd never admit it, especially to my father, I didn't particularly enjoy violence. Of course, growing up at the Academy and with my harsh father, I had grown to accept it, but hurting someone always gnawed at my heart- and I had to pretend every person I fought were Capitol citizens; the ones who crashed the car into the cafe that horrible day.

Did I mention they got away without a scratch?

The damn Capitol. They deserved to go to hell and burn there forever.

"Flint Sawyer, fighting Silas Kramer," the trainer, Bruce, announced, folding his bulky arms across his chest. Hearing my name, some people started cheering. Silas stepped forward, smirking and cracking his knuckles. I scowled and tried to look as intimidating as I could. I was taller than Silas, but he was bulkier and could probably bowl me over with a swipe of one of his paws. Although I knew I was definitely more skilled and agile than Silas.

Gripping the sparring sword so tight in my hands that my knuckles turned bone white, I gritted my teeth and kept my brows furrowed as I sized up my opponent. I was pretty sure he'd cast aside the "useless" sword and try to batter me with his bare hands; he looked like he was more of a brute force guy. I was totally unprepared when Bruce blew the whistle and Silas immediately charged at me at full throttle.

I nimbly leapt out of the way and swung my sword, easily catching him in the arm as he swung his fist to punch me. "Idiot bitch," Silas snarled, throwing some more terribly aimed punches. I managed to roundhouse kick him in the face, all the while remaining unscathed. As my opponent realized he had a sword in his hand and slowly swung it at my stomach, I slammed the length of my sword into his, and his went flying across the mat. As he leapt towards his now cast aside weapon, disarmed, I wormed my foot in front of him and watched triumphantly as the big oaf smashed face first into the mat. A classic move on my part. Sterling and Cora were hooting proudly, although Sterling seemed a bit more enthusiastic about it.

I stood over Silas with my sword raised, waiting for him to surrender. Suddenly he shot upwards and grabbed my sword hand. I didn't panic, though. I was going to wait for him to have his second of glory before I took him down.

"Any last words, boy?" Silas sneered. "Oh wait, sorry, you can't talk. Oopsies, my ba-" but he didn't finish, because I had kicked him in the face with all my might.

I hadn't meant to do it. A face had flashed through my mind that made me do it.

The face of the Capitol woman driving the car, milliseconds before she crashed drunkenly into the cafe.

The face of the Capitol woman who killed my mother.

That's what I saw when I kicked Silas in the face. And I wanted to do it again, and again…. But the face of that woman, laughing merrily as she carelessly toyed with two lives, disappeared and I was thrown back into reality and I saw myself kicking Silas in the face before I could stop myself.

He was out like a light.

Victory.

Hera Stonegate, 17

~At the Reaping~

"Hand," the Peacekeeper said a bit roughly, grabbing my finger and stabbing the needle into it. I didn't flinch, I just walked quietly over to the seventeen year old section to wait for the mayor to begin his speech.

"You know what to do. Volunteer, Hera," my father had slurred before I left for the Reaping. My mother, always agreeing with him, had nodded vigorously but hadn't said anything.

They had both been drunk at the time. Like always. Most people said how glorious it was to be part of a family of Victors- but in reality it sucked. You never knew when they would snap, or when their next outburst would be or who they would take it out on.

I hadn't been going to the Academy lately. Why bother? It was just the one-on-one fights and I was no good with a sword. My parents were usually too inebriated to care. I guess they just thought I always left the house to go train or something.

If I did volunteer, it would only be to get out of my parent's house. I hated it- I spent all the time I could working at the local hospital. The hospital would miss me and I knew all too well that I was one of the most valuable nurses at the small hospital, but at least I could be the Career's medic and escape when I could. And poison them… if I could.

That was my plan. I'd show them I was worthy of being a part of their pack- and then I would do everything I could to make sure they trusted me. The killing part I'd have to become accustomed to; it worked out fine in my head but I knew when it came time for me to poison them I would without a doubt have my regrets.

I knew I'd have to ignore them if I wanted to get home.

"Hera! Hi!" the carefree voice of my best friend, Attina, rang out next to me. I turned towards her, rolled my eyes, and grinned.

"Come on Attina, you have to be quiet!" I shushed her fondly. Attina was a daredevil and quite adventurous and very much the opposite of me- but somehow we clicked together. She wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she could be smart when she tried. I knew her from the Academy- Attina was definitely more of a Career at heart than I was, but she liked to visit the medic station occasionally- when she wasn't showing off for the boys, that is.

Attina tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder and glanced around. The mayor was currently speaking at the podium, his monotonous voice droning on and on, but I ignored him like most of the other teenagers.

Leaning forward with her signature up-to-something twinkle in her dark blue eyes, Attina whispered softly, "D'ya think I should volunteer?"

My heart leapt in my chest and I froze up. Did that mean she'd hate me if I volunteered?

No, she'd always have a chance to do it next year, I realized. "No, Attina, don't! If you're dying to do it, next year you'll be even more prepared!" I hissed, trying to sound convincing.

"The boys like it when a girl who's seventeen volunteers. It shows courage! And plus, it's a Quarter Quell!" Attina shrugged. The mayor had just finished speaking and the escort, Belle Meyor, had taken the stage, flouncing out on impossibly high heels and fluffing her galaxy hair.

"Don't you dare," I warned my best friend. "I'll knock you out if I have to." I knew I'd do no such thing.

"You say that and you wouldn't even harm a fly," Attina countered, giggling. "But okay, I'll wait until next year. If you insist."

As Belle welcomed everyone to the occasion and reminded the District of our past victors and accomplishments, I noticed the chosen volunteer for the girls, Inca Athins, swaggering closer to the front of the eighteen year old's section, already showing off and making a big deal about it.

"Time for… the BOYS!" Belle cried dramatically, twirling over to the boys' bowl with a flourish. Some people giggled at her going against the tradition of pulling the girls first. I didn't mind, though. If I was going to volunteer, I could see my competition and decide whether I really wanted to do it or not.

What was I thinking? I wasn't going to volunteer.

"FLIIIIINT SAAAAAAAWYERRR!" Belle screamed, waving around the slip of paper in the air.

The square fell silent as no one stepped forward to volunteer. Then a large boy whose face was purple, battered, and swollen started staggering to the stage from the eighteen year old section.

Then a second boy, lanky and around six foot four, emerged from the sixteen year old section and desperately started sprinting to the stage, determined to beat the other boy.

Wait a minute. Flint Sawyer? I blinked rapidly, squinting at the dark haired boy as he beat the beat-up boy to the stairs. It couldn't be him… the boy from so many years ago…

Belle looked confused. "Do we have a volunteer? Which one of you is Flint Sawyer?"

The dark haired boy raised his hand and frantically nodded, as the large boy spat out, "I volunteer as tribute!"

The square fell silent as the lanky boy kept gesturing hysterically.

"He doesn't accept volunteers!" a booming voice called from the seventeen year old boy's section. Everyone turned to look for the source of the voice- it was a scowling boy with deep set features, a large nose, black hair, and dark bushy eyebrows- he probably had Italian ancestors.

The battered boy on the stage reluctantly started back to the crowd after the other boy raised his fists threateningly. The crowd cheered as the dark haired boy raised his hands in the air, grinning proudly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, um… Flint Sawyer!' Belle said with less enthusiasm than before.

For a second, Flint's eyes met mine and it all clicked.

Those hazel eyes pulled me back in time to that day at the hospital when the bleeding nine year old had to be stitched up in front of me.

I knew what I had to do. I had to protect him.

I was closer to the stage than Inca was- and I had longer legs. I bet she wouldn't be expecting anyone else to volunteer- the over confident volunteer hopefuls were always like that. They were too stuck up to realize someone might want to volunteer.

"Rafaela-" Belle started, unfolding the slip she had pulled from the girls' bowl. She didn't get to finish. I was already shoving the girl to my left out of the way and shouting, "I volunteer! I volunteer as your tribute from District Two!"

Everyone turned their attention towards me, no doubt hoping for a fight as Inca screamed obscenities and threatened to bust me up as she chased me towards the stage.

I leapt up the stairs and landed nimbly next to a surprised Belle and a confused Flint. "I'm the rightful volunteer, Inca," I announced as she got into a fighting stance and threw a punch, which I easily dodged. I may not have been good at fighting- nor have the morale to fight, but my reflexes were way above average. Plus, dodging someone's kick or punch never hurt anyone.

Inca's fans in the crowd immediately started booing at me and shouting at her to get me- but before she could do anything, a group of Peacekeepers rushed Inca and grabbed her by the armpits, dragging her away as she kicked and screamed. I turned to Flint and we both smirked at the spoiled brat's reaction to not getting what she wanted.

"Tributes from District Two, please shake hands!" Belle said quite unenthusiastically. It was clear she thought neither of us would go far.

As I shook Flint's hand and locked eyes with the boy I had watched suffer so long ago, I made a promise to myself that I swore I'd never break, not even on my life.

I would get Flint Sawyer out of the Arena alive.

On my death.

Flint Sawyer, 16 (Goodbyes)

It was her. I was sure of it. Why she volunteered, I had no idea. So I sat, emotionless, on the cold hard floor of the goodbye room while I waited for people to either come see me or take me away to the train.

The door burst open and Cora and Sterling flung themselves around me. As we group-hugged, Sterling began to give me a pep-talk as Cora kept her arms wrapped around me.

"You can do this, Flint. Your story will get you sponsors, your weapons skills will get you really far. I believe in you. We all do." Sterling said slowly, running a hand through his wiry hair.

I grinned at my friend and gave him a big thumbs-up.

"I know the twist is that you stay with your partner, but kill her as soon as you have to. You can't get attached, Flint. Do it while you're still able to," Sterling continued, taking a deep breath.

I stiffened, and Cora pulled away, looking concerned. "Everything okay, Flint?"

I know her. Well, kind of, but it's a long story, I signed to my caring friend. She gasped and said to Sterling, "He knows his district partner. Sterling, he won't be able to kill her."

Sterling's mouth fell open in surprise. "Flint, dude. I know this'll be tough. You got this, okay?" I nodded and smiled at him, giving him one last hug- for now.

There was one more thing I had to do. I turned to Cora and quickly signed, You have to promise me, if I don't come back, that you'll tell Sterling how you feel about him. Please!

Cora blushed a maroon color and giggled. I motioned for her to watch me again, and then told her, Tell Smith how I feel about him too, okay?

"Awwww," Cora cooed, "You have to come back to tell him yourself, okay?" Sterling laughed, as he knew who she was talking about. It was my turn to blush a beet red- Sterling and Cora were the only ones who knew I was gay. Smith Harrison was a cute boy I knew from the Academy, who happened to be gay, too. I had never worked up the nerve to admit my feelings to him though.

My two best friends smiled at me, and as they turned towards the door, Cora took something out of Sterling's shorts pocket and pressed it into my hand. My mother's silver bracelet. It was beautiful.

Then without another word, they left the room.

No one else came to visit me.

Not even my dad. Maybe he didn't believe in me anymore.

Whatever. I wasn't going down without a fight.

Hera Stonegate, 17 (Goodbyes)

I barely had time to sit down on the uncomfortable couch in the freezing cold goodbye room before Attina burst in, looking like she was having an anxiety attack.

"What the hell, Hera! What the HELL! YOU HAVE TO COME BACK WHAT THE HELL!" Attina panicked, wringing her hands and looking paler than ever. I swallowed and wrapped my arms around her.

"Don't worry," I promised hoarsely as she stayed deathly silent. "I'll do my best."

"I know you won't kill. I know you'll think of others before yourself, Hera. But you have to come back. What were you THINKING?!" Attina's voice raised in pitch and volume, and her eyes filled with hysterical tears. She quickly looked away and fell silent again.

"I… I know Flint from… a long time ago," I told her quietly, placing my hands on her shoulders. "Please stay out of trouble, and… I'll be back to you, okay?"

Attina grabbed my face and pulled me close so she could whisper in my ear. "If… If you see Dino… will you say hi for me? Don't look suspicious though, okay?"

I nodded vigorously. I knew what she wanted. Her brother, Dino Mason, had won the 218th Hunger Games- they were originally from District One but had fled to District Two after Attina's father had disgraced the Peacekeepers two years ago. Her father was killed, but Attina and her little sister Pearl and their mother had escaped to District Two and taken refuge here. I was still mesmerized that they had managed to pull it off so smoothly.

"I'll see you around, Attina," I sighed. We embraced and she left reluctantly.

My other friend, Rachaella Bradford, came into the room full-on crying, her usually perfectly styled pixie cut messed up. She was a sweet, intelligent girl whose parents made her go to the Academy. She really could never be a fighter- she was just good with survival skills and logic puzzles and things that required above average intelligence.

"Hera! Why did you volunteer? I'm going to miss you so much," she sobbed. I wrapped my arms around my friend and comforted her for a few seconds before pulling away.

"I knew the boy. I thought I could help heal him if he got hurt, you know?"

That set Rachaella off again. "Don't value him more than you value yourself, Hera! You have to believe in yourself!"

I smiled reassuringly at her. "Don't worry, Rach. I have a plan. You just wait and see." Her green eyes glittered with tears and she watched me glumly for a few seconds before nodding, smiling sadly, and slowly walking out.

Lawson Kentwell was my next visitor. My heart sank when he entered the room, tears streaking his perfect face. He ran a hand through his short blond hair, messing it up, and I wanted to fix it for him. His blue eyes were shiny with tears and full of emotions. We had been going out since I was sixteen and he was seventeen, and we clicked right away. We had actually met at the Academy, but he was one of the only trainees who was in to survival and healing skills besides me. Our personalities made us inseparable, and though I had never told Lawson I loved him, i knew right away I would today.

"I... " Lawson started breathlessly. Then the trance-like barrier broke and we ran to each other. I buried my face in his shirt and let him stroke my cheek.

"Why?" Lawson finally got out sadly. His breath hitched and I stared up into his tranquil blue eyes.

I shook my head and closed my eyes, sagging into his arms. It was like the old days- I'd come over to his house after a long day at the Academy and we'd curl up on the couch reading, watching movies, or just talking.

"You mean the world to me, Hera," Lawson whispered softly, hurt evident in his voice. I could feel his warm breath on my face and I looked up and melted.

"I'll come back, Lawson. I promise you that." I breathed. He brushed his lips against mine and I felt the electricity that was always present; a spark that always signified more to come- except for when it was a goodbye kiss.

Lawson looped a necklace around my neck, a bronze-gold locket. "Open it when you need motivation," he told me, kissing my cheek softly.

"I love you," I whispered so quietly it could have been a breath of air.

"I love you too, Hera," Lawson murmured. Our eyes locked for a split second, before the Peacekeepers came in and took him away.

For a few seconds, I had a fiery determination to get home. I had to win this thing. Then I realized what I was thinking.

No, I thought. I was a healer, not a killer.

And healers accepted their fate at the price of other lives. If I died, it would be in the comfort of knowing I had saved a life. A life that I hoped would be Flint Sawyer's.

A/N: The next Reaping will be District 6, and like I said, my upload times are going to be very unpredictable. I got 2 done fast because I had written it awhile back and just needed to make a few edits. Anyway, thanks for reading! If you have any constructive criticism or thoughts, feel free to leave a review! ~MM~