Hiya my amazing readers!

My exams are over :D So I am going to try and update as much as possible in the next few weeks. Problem is, my documents got wiped out so I'm having to rewrite all the chapters from scratch, at least until my hard drive gets recovered :/

Anyway, here are the District One Reapings! Allow me to introduce 15-year-old Khione Raider and 18-year-old Alexander Stream! In this gem-studded District, everyone is expected to be glamorous, beautiful, and murderous, like a diamond-handled revolver; but as we will see, not everyone conforms to these standards.

Old readers, I hope this isn't too different to the previous One reaping, and new readers, I hope you like my writing! :)

Kara x

~Khione Raider, 15, District One~

I wince slightly as a wispy ray of sunlight falls across my eyes, forcing them open. Guh. I hate mornings. I'm about to curl up and go straight back to dreamland until I'm hit with two things; the realisation that it's Reaping Day, and the smell of pancakes.

Instantly I've bolted out of bed, shrugged on some jeans and a grey T-shirt (fits the mood, and admittedly brings out the silver in my eyes really nicely, and I'm not that vain normally but hey, it's the reapings, with lots of people around, I'm allowed to look nice) and am running down the stairs. Reaping Day and pancakes shouldn't really go together. It leaves a bittersweet taste that is quickly overrun by syrup.

Mmm, pancakes.

Kads (Kadis, my 17-year-old looks-like-someone-from-the-freaking-mafia-but-is-really-softer-than-melted-marshmallows older brother) and my dad, Orion, are both eating at the table, I'm surprised they made it that far before tucking in; they're both huge, and eat enough food to satiate a decent-sized rhino. They both look up at me, smile, and give a simultaneous grunt of greeting before returning to food.

I kinda love my family.

Just as I'm finishing, Maggie and Kista both burst in. I squeal and hug them both; I haven't seen them in a week-the week before Reaping Day is Training Week, where everyone crams in as much combat time as possible, just in case. It's not compulsory but if you stay at home and laze around you get mullered by your parents most of the time. I know my dad would've killed me.

Dad's one of the most famous trainers around; used to run a training school, but he's not retired so Kads and I are his only prospects. You could say he's half successful. Kads is built like a horse on steroids, but me? I've...never really been sucked into that kind of thing. It's not that I greatly disagree with the Games, and I have trained my whole life so my arms and legs are quite muscled and I know a lot about survival etcetera; it's just that I don't think I'd actually be able to kill anyone. I'm fifteen! I should be chatting with guys who aren't homicidal maniacs and dying my hair (actually, scratch that last one; I love my hair, it's so white-blonde it's literally white and sparkles under sunlight).

Maggie and Kista are similar to me. Kista's brilliant, she's been my best friend since I could eat solid foods, and she's kind, always optimistic and hyper all the freaking time. We need more people like her. But Kista spearing someone through the heart? That's about as ridiculous as a talking Russian meerkat. Maggie's like a mom or an aunt; always there for you, nags you, loves you to pieces. She's actually younger than me, but you wouldn't think it; she's about six feet tall and her rainbow-tipped dark hair makes her look at least eighteen. She's my ticket into every awesome nightclub in District One! I have quite a few friends; unlike most people, I tend to get on with people quite easily, and I don't challenge people to a duel as an 'initiation' into the friendship (you think I'm exaggerating, don't you? It's actually a fairly common occurrence) but Kista and Maggie have always been the most special ones, because I know they'd be there for me even if I was the weediest, most pathetic kid in all of One.

Maggie slips her arm around my shoulders and looks over my shoulder. "Kads, Jay, get your asses over here! If we're late to the Reapings and I have five thousand people staring at me when I've been up since four in the morning and I look like death, you are so on my list."

Another reason why I love my friends.

Kads and Jaede, Kadis' best friend who must've just come in when I was busy with Kista and Maggie, quickly clean up the plates and run after us as we saunter out of the door, giggling. It's a lot of fun messing with the boys, especially since they're basically made of granite, a stack of T-bone steaks and testosterone. Not much brain action going on.

Except for Jay. I glance back at him and blush slightly, and Kista notices and prods me in the ribs, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Okay, fine, I like him. I've liked him for quite a while; it's cliché as hell, but he's different to the others; he actually has a semblance of sweetness and sensitivity in him, and he listens to you and makes you laugh and is actually intelligent. A lot like my brother, actually, but I can't exactly date my brother, can I? Notwithstanding some members of certain incredibly rich families in One who have apparently tried. Shudder.

I've wondered whether to ask him out for a while; but I don't really want to have a relationship with anyone while the shadow of the Reapings and training is being held over our heads like a grand piano dangling from a rope. Still, he is incredibly handsome; I can see his muscles every time he moves his shoulders, and his eyes are so bright blue you could just get lost in them...KHIONE HYACINTH RAIDER, THIS IS NO TIME FOR HORMONE-FUELLED DROOLING OVER YOUR BEST GUY FRIEND! I mentally yell at myself, and shake my head as we enter the town square, ignoring Kista's knowing grin with a scowl.

The escort staggers onto the stage in seven-inch platform heels-I think every girl over the age of eleven collectively winces-and smiles widely as she holds the microphone. I'm surprised she can see, with the amount of makeup on her eyes. She introduces herself as Onyx Lovegale and quickly takes a slip out of the bulging crystal ball, staggering back to the front of the stage

There's only a few seconds for fear to grip you like a vice; it shouldn't, but for me it does. I know I'm capable, I'd have a good chance of winning; but the idea of it fills me with dread.

As her lips form the name, I'm struck by the thought that Kadis might be reaped. Dad's famous in One; people have always said that a Raider kid was bound to be reaped, sooner or later.

(They just picked the wrong kid.)

"Khione Raider!"

What? No...freaking hell! Out of all the people in this godforsaken place who want this...

Shaking from shock and fear, I walk slowly up the stairs, flinching at the escort's ice-cold touch as she puts her arm around my shoulders and tugs me onto the stage, smile fixed and eyes blank. I desperately cling to the hope of a volunteer, but I know it's hopeless. There's a list tacked up in the Town Hall of tributes not to volunteer against for any reason whatsoever, because of their skill usually (or so they say) and I've been on it since I was eleven, mostly because of my notoriety due to Dad.

I've never hated my surname so much.

Soon the moment ends, as I knew it would, and I'm smiling and trying to keep my composure and the muscles in my legs have seized up from trying to hold me up and why isn't the world breaking? Everything's just broken for me, why is everyone else still smiling and standing and why is life carrying on without me?

I don't even pay attention to the boy volunteering, I just see a shock of black hair and a surly expression out of the corner of my eye. The second the crowd disperses, I sprint into the town hall into the Goodbye Room, guarded by ice-eyed Peacekeepers.

Maggie and Kista run in first, enveloping me in a teary hug. Kista somehow makes me laugh, when I didn't think it was possible; "Swear on your life that you'll come back and not die! Oh, wait, that's a contradiction isn't it? Darn." Maggie just stands there, shellshocked, and suddenly she's not glamorous and older-looking, she looks just as young as me, and just as scared. "Be safe," is all she can choke out before the Peacekeepers take them away.

My family's next. My parents, smiling happily, giving me last-minute pointers and telling me how much they love me. Maybe I should be angry at them, but life just feels too short. Kads is more subdued, but when my parents are gone he crushes me in an embrace and tells me I'm good enough for this, I can win, he'll be rooting for me at home. The words don't mean much but he being there does, it means everything. For a second, I almost believe I can win. Then I look at my arms-slender, nothing compared to the other Careers, that is if I'm accepted at all-and deflate like a pinpricked balloon.

I collapse back into the chair, tears streaking down my cheeks now that they can, thinking I've had all my guests. But then the door opens once more, and I hear a barked "Two minutes." It's Jay, the sun lighting up his light brown hair as he runs a hand through it nervously.

"Hey..." he says nervously, soothingly, and walks up to me. "How're you holding up?" I laugh in spite of myself.

"Been better, thanks."

He stands there, uncertain, for a second before shaking his head. "Okay, I'll cut the crap and get to what I want to say. I've got 90 seconds, I've liked you for about a year but always been more than a bit scared to admit it because I'm best friends with your brother and he could rip my head off and use it as a bowling ball." I giggle slightly, cut off by a sob, then fall silent as his words sink in. "But if I don't do this, I'll regret it for the rest of my life, whatever comes of it. And I've wanted to do this for quite a while now." He forcefully pulls me up, and meets my lips with his, and for a second I'm twirling through meadows and it's way too fast and isn't even close to sinking in but it feels like a happy-ending movie instead of what it is, which is real life.

After a second, or maybe more (however long it was, it was too short) I reluctantly pull away, smile ruefully and shake my head, trying to keep my legs from turning to jelly. He visibly droops like a sad puppy, so I quickly explain.

"Jay, I like you too. Trust me, I do. But I'm going to the Games. There will be people better than me there. You know it as well as I do. 48 people go in, 47 come out in pretty oak boxes. I have no intentions of being one of them, but I have to be honest with myself; I doubt I'm going to win. I don't want you to constantly be thinking about what might have been if I do...y'know...die," I sigh. "The thought scares me to death, but hey, I've been training for it my whole life. And you know as well as I do that the Victors aren't the same as they were before they entered the arena. Something, whatever it is, changes them. I don't want to hurt you." I lower my head and let his hand, twined in mine, free as the 'keepers escort him away. He stares at me, unreadable, his lips slightly tinged with cherry lipstick, and his eyes like misty glass.

I run to the carriage, sit there and stare ahead, thinking about what might have been and what might be as the train pulls away. Thinking about whether I should have told him the truth; that what I said is true, but it's only a small part of it all, of everything. Thinking about what I'll miss.

At least I had a first kiss.

I don't want to die, but if I do, I'm not taking anyone's heart with me.

~Alexander Stream, 18, District One~

"ALEX! Get your skinny ass up now or I'm going to kick it into next Wednesday!"

Ah, the most beautiful of wake-up calls. I scowl in the direction of the stairs and drag myself out of bed, muttering obscenities. I mean, it's Reaping Day, for god's sake. If I'm not reaped there's no point going; if I am, might as well just go back to sleep and let them shoot me for not cooperating.

Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I smile sarcastically and rub my eyes. Shock of black hair that resembles a hedge no matter what I do with it. Muddy eyes. Skin pale enough to make me look like I've been stuck in a sun-deprived basement my whole life. Sunken cheeks. Skinny arms and legs, which never seem to get any stronger visibly, even though I've been training my whole life. Explains my incredible track record with girls then. As in, zilch.

Well, at least I have my winning personality.

"ALEX! Don't make me come up there!"

"Good morning to you too, sis," I mutter as I trudge downstairs. Josie Riviera, my older sister and Victor of the 91st Hunger Games. Technically I should be Alexander Riviera, but...it's a long story. I wouldn't say we're close. The only thing that realy keeps us under the same roof is that when a 5'4" girl can take down three Careers with just a sharpened stick and a clump of stinging nettles, you do what she says.

I'm halfway through my plate of low-fat, sodium-free, high-carb crappy cereal (training has its pitfalls) when she tugs it away and fixes me with a slightly unnerving stare. "You're not going to the Reapings like that. You look like you live in the bins. At least tie your hair back."

After a few minutes of bickering- "Yes, mom,"- I eventually admit defeat and tie back the straggles of my hair with an old elastic band, rolling my eyes. Josie is kind of like my mother. Nagging, overbearing, domineering...but I suppose she must care about me, on some level, otherwise she wouldn't have stuck around. Though you'd probably need a fairly heavy-duty submarine to reach that level.

We have to get to the Reapings early because Josie's a Victor. I lean disinterestedly against the railings, watching the people trickle in, in a long, unbroken line. I like watching people. Never been too great at making friends with them; I always end up pissing them off, plus I'm quite quiet and intellectual I guess. Always loved finding things out, random facts. Means I don't have much in common with the meatheads who inhabit my District. They prefer discussing battle techniques to philosophical debates.

"Me District One man, eat meat, make fire, bang girls, beat other men with stick."

Charming.

Oh, and there's the tiny, insignificant little fact that my father's the Head Peacekeeper of District One.

Turning around, I catch sight of him, done up in his precious uniform with gun slung over his shoulder. He knows I'm there, but he won't look at me, keeping his cruel, cut-glass eyes staring straight ahead. They're almost the exact same colour as mine; just a little blacker. Josie has my mother's green ones, but we both got my dad's hot temper. I got his mean streak. Josie, strangely, didn't.

I hate him.

Josie was always his prize prospect; I'm the proverbial disappointment. I was named after Alexander II of Russia, an ancient king in the Old Civilisation; he always wanted me to follow in this King's footsteps, volunteer at age sixteen, become a worthy Victor and rule my District into a new generation.

Fat chance.

So now, I don't exist. That's fine. I'm used to it.

In fact, I'm pretty grateful for it as I clamber over the railing and slip unnoticeably into the crowd. Practically all of the boys are the same height; they're way over six feet (the rumours of inbreeding in this place are not without evidence) whilst I'm lagging around their elbows at about five foot nine. Both my parents are pretty small, but my dad still complains to me about my height. Josie managed to hit 5'11", why can't you?

But it's not like I'm bitter or anything.

Crowd falls silent, ridiculous escort staggers onstage, mildly amusing. The girl reaped, a short-ish blonde with startling blue eyes who I vaguely recognise from training, looks...normal. No spark of bloodthirst in her eyes. No clenched fists in victory or anger. Just emptiness and glazed-over eyes, and a slight tremble in her step she can't quite cover up. Maybe if I was nicer, I'd feel sorry for her. As it is, I'm merely a little curious. She looks too cutesy to be interesting, though. A basket full of goddamn rainbows.

As her tapered fingers (a little too long and tapered to be natural, I wonder; wow, I knew the Capitolians were big on surgery, but that's just kind of weird. Not that Capitolians interest me much; they're all sparkle and no substance) reach for a slip in the second crystal ball, I smile slightly to myself. It's my last Reaping. When this is done, I can go get an internship, at the gem mine or anything, really. Get out of the house; Josie's been dropping less-than-subtle hints for months. And hopefully piss off my dad in the process for not becoming a Peacekeeper.

Life really does start at nineteen.

"Cable Tyne!"

Relief runs over me like ash settling from a volcano, but I narrow my eyes in annoyance as the kid starts walking slowly, stiffly, up to the stage. He looks barely thirteen, and he's just skin and bone; not a muscle to be found. I wait to see who'll volunteer. The idea of a District One being a bloodbath is so revolting to most that they'd happily send themselves in their place.

(Since that 'blood traitor' from Four in the Third Quarter Quell, I happen to know that there have been no Career deaths in the bloodbath since, except at the 93rd where the kid with a vendetta against the Careers for killing her friend a couple of years before, Silver, massacred half the Careers in a frenzied attack in the bloodbath before managing to escape into a maize field. Three days later the Careers attempted revenge by releasing viper mutts into the field. They killed both her allies but she managed to get away, and she was actually felled by a genuine accident with a faulty skylight in the end.

Now that was an interesting Games.)

I hear footsteps behind me, and assume it's the volunteer that managed to brave the scuffle between the annual crowd of meatheads who wish to go sacrifice themselves at the Capitol's altar. Then I feel a hand seize the back of my jumper and snap my head back, sending the elastic band to the floor and freeing the last strands of my hair. Shock reverberates through me as I try to struggle free, but his fist's like a vice.

My blood runs cold when I hear his voice.

"I VOLUNTEER!"

Confused, I recognise my father's clipped, icy voice. What the hell is he doing? He crouches down and begins to whisper in my ear, tone calm, dangerous, deadly.

"You've been nothing but a layabout, an endless disappointment. You'll never make something of yourself, so I'm giving you one last chance to let you merit the name Riviera, like your sister gladly did nine years ago. If not, you can do the world a service and go get yourself killed. And I swear on my honour, you will die a Stream and never a Riviera."

Then he slips back through the crowd, and the Peacekeepers seize my arms. It's only then that I realise, he's just shot me through the head.

I don't try and fight back. I could. I could fight my corner, say I was forced (though not by the precious Head Peacekeeper, of course) and a thousand idiots would do anything to get on the stage. But I don't. What's the point? Life's never going to get any better and I'll never measure up to Josie. I'll never have my dad (and it shouldn't hurt but it fucking does) and I'll always be alone. So what's the point in living out the next fifty or so years in my dad's basement, and ending up in an unmarked grave? At least this way, someone, somewhere, might remember me.

Glancing out into the crowd, most people are impassive. The eighteen-year-olds are mixed between happiness, relief, but mostly disappointment at missing their 'opportunity.' Some are staring me down with hate burning through their irises.

Come and spit on my grave. I dare you.

But there's one person I didn't expect to be showing any emotion. At a sideways glance, the seven alive Victors are all still as stone. But Josie, the youngest, the one who was nicknamed the 'Ice Queen' in her glacial arena, is crying.

Wow. I guess she cared more than she let on.

I don't look at my District partner, I don't look at the Peacekeepers, I don't look at Josie or the crowd, and especially not the monster who makes up half my blood. I try and head straight into the train, but I feel a hand on my arm and instinctively wince.

Josie's dark chestnut hair comes into view and I relax slightly, turning around and seeing her vivid green eyes glassed over with tears.

"I saw what he did, Alex." She surprises me by enveloping my smaller frame in her stocky one as she hugs me, which I don't think she's done...since she left for her Games. "I'm sorry...Alex, you can do this. You just need to keep your head down, never sleep for more than two hours at a time, and don't trust anyone." She chokes up slightly but swallows it down, angry at herself. "Here." I recognise the gold band she slips around my wrist as her token from her Games. "For luck."

My head's spinning, but I smile slightly at her. I don't smile. But maybe I want her to remember that I could.

"Bye, Josie."

"Wait!" She clasps my wrist again. "Alex, one last thing. Prepare...to be a different person coming out as you were going in."

I raise my eyebrow. "I imagine I'll be a lot less chatty."

With that, I meet her eyes once more, twist the gold band awkwardly around my wrist (it's a perfect fit) and step into the carriage, closing the door slowly behind me.

She doesn't leave the platform when the train departs; the still figure is still faintly visible miles later, until it disappears into the distance.

I think of useless facts as we race through countryside.

They make good distractions.

And god knows, I could use a break from reality right now.

I hope old readers like the new spin on this Reaping, and new readers like Kiki and Alex! They're very different... :D

District Two Reapings will be up ASAP!

Kara x