Soli Deo gloria

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Disney or the Hunger Games. Thank you for the reviews! YOU ARE ALL SO AWESOME, IT CANNOT BE EXPLAINED IN WORDS.

Here's the next chappie, in the PoV of . . . Aladdin!

I walk slowly and carefully around the bakery. I need perfect silence if I want to get my job done. Being a thief here in District 2 isn't easy, but hey, it's a better district to steal from than others, for District 2 is better off. Being better off means better quality things to steal. Stealing, of course, is against the law, and if caught, you can be punished by whipping or worse, death.

Sounds bad, I know, but that's what life here in the districts is like. I'm Aladdin, and I'm a thief in District 2. You'd think that stealing is hard around here, but it's only hard when A), it's your first time, and B), you get caught.

Which, because I get distracted by thinking instead of concentrating, is what happens to me.

I have Abu, my best monkey friend (my only friend as well), working as a lookout. He's supposed to let me know when the guards (Peacekeepers are their real names, but they are guards. They keep us inside of our district. Leaving without permission is also against the law), come around.

I sneak into the bakery and snatch a baguette, still warm. I'm surprised that the bakery is even open. It's Reaping Day, and almost everyone and everything is turned off and doesn't work today. Still, it's nice for me, and seeing no one watching me, I sneak outside. I sneak around the corner to look for Abu and I dare, "Abu!"

And I see my pal suffocating in the hands of the Peacekeepers.

The next second, the bread is plucked out of my hands and I'm caught with large orange-ish arms. "Caught him!" one of them yells.

I know that they're all very excited to see me. I've been on their wanted list for a long time, I know. And all I can yell as I struggle against strong arms is, "All this for a loaf of bread?"

The tallest one, the leader, steps closer so that I can smell his nasty breath and see his buck teeth. "Oh, it's for much more than that," he hisses. He stands straighter and yells to his men, "Take him to the Justice Building!"

One called, "We can't. That's where the Reaping is taking place."

"Hmm, you're right," the Head Peacekeeper says, stroking his chin. He then stops and looks straight at me; an evil grin comes over his face. "How old is this street rat?" he says to no one in particular.

I stop struggling. I'm eighteen. What if—?

"Eighteen, sir. It's on his file," says one of his cronies.

The Head Peacekeeper's grin grows bigger. He yells to the man who is trying to hold me back, "Take him down to the Reaping. If his name doesn't get picked, it's off to the gallows with you, boy!" and he spits in my face.

My face contorts with disgust as I'm dragged away. The Head Peacekeeper folds his arms and yells, "And make sure that he doesn't make a run for it!"

Like I can with my arms twisted around my back. I yell, "Abu!" but I can't see the little monkey anywhere. What did they do to him? Stray animals aren't exactly liked around here. I gulp and try to think and see if there is any way that I can get away. The strong arms holding me stop those plans from forming quick enough, and my trapper yells, "Hold still, boy!"

We're near the square where the Reaping is going to be. Every Reaping takes place there.

My big trapper makes all the teens and kids part as he takes me to the registration table. They ask my name, and I struggle one moment before I spit it out. They look at each other, the Peacekeepers, and then wave me off.

I get taken over to where the eighteen-year-old boys are taken. My captor plops me next to some and then crosses the lines out of the marked-off area. He stays there to make sure that I don't escape.

If I had any chance of escaping, it's gone now. Peacekeepers are everywhere, and so are the cameras. If I try to make a run for it, I'll be caught in an instant.

I groan to myself. I have now basically no chance of survival. To add to the fact that I might get my name pulled and if it doesn't I'm still going to get killed, I have a little secret:

I've only been in one Reaping before.

It was horrible, my first Reaping Day. Ever since I was thirteen, I've been clever enough to evade attention and not get forced into it like I am now. If only I were able to hold it off for one more year, I'd be free.

If only.

I sigh and look at the people around me. We're one of the better off districts. We're actually called the Career Districts: 1, 2, and 4 are. Since we get better treatment from the Capitol, we have stronger boys and girls to go murder other humans. They say that the kids start training as soon as they can for the Games. I don't. I've never thought I'd actually be called into the Games.

Everyone around me, to my surprise, looks energetic, as if they're anticipating the Reaping's start. There are some first-year girls who look nervous, but the older girls all look ready and determined.

I'm worried, of course, but try not to show it, for the cameras watch our every move.

My thoughts are interrupted when I look over to the stage. On the white platform are four chairs. On one is our mayor, Sultan; the next two have our mentors, the ones who train the tributes of District 2 to win. One's John Smith, who won a few years back, and Thomas Bale, who just won last year. He is only nineteen, and it's showing, for his red hair barely covers his babyish face.

In the next chair is District 2's escort, a man by the name of Wiggins. He wears a ridiculous ponytail and is powdering his face.

The atmosphere grows tenser, for everyone is roped in and stops talking. My palms start to sweat as our pudgy little mayor stands up. A Peacekeeper hurries up and lowers the microphone so that he doesn't have to stretch several feet.

"Oh, yes, thank you," Mayor Sultan says. He taps the microphone with his finger, making a loud ringing noise. Not everyone covers their ears; we instead cringe as he babbles, "Oh, sorry about that.

"Now," he continues, "it is time for the story of the Dark Days."

And so he reads. I don't listen, because I don't care about what had happened a long time ago. I care about what's happening now. He finishes with, "And now, I'd like to introduce you to our district's escort, Wiggins!"

Mayor Sultan claps and Wiggins takes the stage. He uses his hands to cup his hair as the same Peacekeeper makes the microphone taller. "Yes, thank you," he says pleasantly in his accented voice before turning to the microphone. "Happy Disney Games!" he says excitedly, clapping his hands. He smiles as he adds, "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Oh, yes. The odds haven't exactly been in my favor of late, considering I got caught stealing red-handed, my best friend is nowhere to be seen, and I'm in a place where I can be chosen to die for people's entertainment. Stupid odds.

"Ladies first, of course," he says. He walks in his unusual style (his hands become balls and he's on his tiptoes), over to the clear ball filled with several white slips. I have no clue how many slips are in there with names. I wonder if anyone put theirs in more for what people call tesserae (for each slip that goes in with your name, you get a small meager ration. I haven't done it because I don't want my name in there more than it already has. Just because I've only been present to the Reaping once before doesn't mean that they haven't been keeping an eye on me. I've been managing to slip away from people's grasps for years. I'm surprised I haven't been shot yet). I don't think so, because nobody here is starving to death, except, of course, street rats like myself.

The air gets even more tense as Wiggins opens a little clear hole in the clear ball and sticks his hand inside. His hand hovers over the papers for a moment before he plunges his hand gleefully into the bottom. His hand comes up with a paper, and he hurries back to the microphone.

"Now, who could it be this year?" he says, more to himself, for no one is going to answer him. He opens the slip and his eyes light up as he looks over toward the girls.

"Jasmine Sultan!" he cries.

A pit forms in my stomach. The first tribute. I turn to see the girls in the eighteen-year-old crowd part to the right and left, leaving one distinct girl in the center, looking on with a mixture of horror and astonishment.

My jaw drops as she takes a deep breath and calms down as she heads to the center of the square, which is cleared so that people can walk. Wow, she is so . . . beautiful. She had long black hair pulled back into a ponytail that trails down her back. She wears a sweet blue outfit for the Reaping. Though she's from our districts, she looks rather rich, and I remember that she's the Mayor's own daughter. Her arms are strong looking, and so is her resolve to look blank. She holds her head steady as Peacekeepers pop up to walk her down the aisle.

"Wow," I say, and all the boys around me look at me. They wrinkle their noses and roll their eyes and instantly turn back to the stage, which Jasmine is stepping up to.

Mayor Sultan wrings his hands as she steps next to Wiggins, who happily claps his hands.

"Our female tribute! Are there any volunteers?" A dead silence follows, save for the sound of the mayor. She must be good in training, for after a moment of silence, Wiggins claps his hands again and says, "And now for our male tribute."

He walks over to the boys' ball and the air around me gets even more tense. I se several balling their hands into fists, ready for the fight if their names get chosen.

Wiggins resumes his stand at the microphone and calls out, "Aladdin Ababwa!"

And everyone's gaze turns to me.

I cringe when their faces grow surprised as they begin to talk quietly amongst themselves. I suddenly realize that they all recognize me. Don't I steal from their bakeries, their stores? Don't I occasionally give something that I stole to the poorer kids?

When I don't move, they shove me to the exit where Peacekeepers come to escort me. There are even more than Jasmine had had, for they all know that I'm a convicted criminal and I can escape.

I'm not able to as they lead me to my imminent death.

They give me a poke when I hesitate to go up the steps. I shoot them a look before joining Wiggins and Jasmine. She looks even more beautiful up close. She's not smiling, though, but restrains a hidden ferocity.

"Any volunteers?" Wiggins asks. Nobody calls. Nobody is willing to risk their life to save someone they don't even know, someone who looks strong enough and is strong enough, from the way that they see me leaping around houses, to survive; someone who steals from them and makes the Peacekeepers stay on edge. I sigh and look down at the ground a moment before Wiggins continues.

"Now, District Two, I present your tributes! Jasmine Sultan and Aladdin Ababwa!" Wiggins exclaimed. He has a hand on each of us and now drops them together as he says, "Shake hands, now."

And I hold out my hand and she does the same. Her hand is small yet firm. It feels so smooth. What does she do in that mayor's house all day?

Speaking of the mayor, he now stands, being ushered by Wiggins to the microphone, which is once again brought down. His voice stutters as he reads the Treaty of Treason.

I ignore his speech and look over toward the mentors. John Smith and Thomas Bale are looking us both over and nod. We seem to meet their expectations, I suppose.

The Treaty of Treason soon ends and Wiggins puts a hand on our shoulders and ushers us through the Justice Building's open doors. I take one look over my shoulder at the other kids and teens. Those safe for another year. Those who don't have to kill each other.

I then look at Jasmine. Her face is indifferent, making her radiant. Pride (something noteworthy of a Career and something I lack), is on her face, making her hair look blacker.

I try to take my eyes off her, but I can't. I shouldn't be liking her. Even though Careers typically team up, I don't want to get attached to her.

Then suddenly I realize that I'll die no matter what. Even if I win the Games, they'll stage an accident of sorts resulting in my death, for I am still a common thieving criminal ten times over, even if I am a victor.

Looking at her now, I realize that between her training and my determination, she's coming out of that arena.

Alive.

There's chapter 2! This story won't be focused on Aladdin/Jasmine romance, but in the movie the first time he lays eyes on her, BOY, WAS HE A GONER. I think the only person I can think of who can live on the streets, avoid getting caught, and avoid the Reaping for years is Aladdin. (Yes, his name is in there several times due to the number of slips growing each year, but he doesn't exactly remember that.)

I hope you liked it, and please, review!