Sorry if there are too many reapings... but for you to understand the story, ya'll have to know the characters! Well, actually, Evenade's reaping was just a comical relief... it was really fun to write!

Thanks so much to FlitterCherub and QuidditchPlayer for reviewing! We all love you now! XD

Also, the disclaimer. "We solemnly salute that we do not own Hunger Games in any way. We only own our own creations, and our ideas. Please do not sue us for copyright." *grins* Now that that's all over, we can start the story!

Sentencing Myself to Death
Dusk Saphira's POV

I blinked my eyes as light shined through the thin gossamer drapes. I got up and stretched, my legs tangled in my soft bedsheets. The air was cool, drifting in through my open bedroom window. The District 1 buildings seemed bright and happy. I wondered why I felt so despairing. It seemed a nice enough morning. And then it hit me. Reaping Day. Right.

I got up and slipped on a simple white tunic. Courtesy required that I wore something special when people got chosen for slaughter. But hey, simple's fine. At least, in my opinion. And that's all that really mattered to me. The Capitol could spend as much time prettying me up if they decided I was too ugly. Their waste of time. Although I probably wouldn't be chosen. At least I hoped not.

District 1 hadn't had a victor for a decade. All the others had been killed off within the first six days. And for District 1, that was a disgrace. Usually the teenagers would be clamoring for a chance to volunteer. But not now. No one wanted to volunteer when they thought they would lose.

That wasn't why I didn't want to volunteer, though. Have you ever had a role model, someone who you admired more than anyone else? That you believed nothing could kill? That's what my older sister Night had been to me.

But her name was reaped. And she was sent to the Hunger Games. I had known what that meant. But it still didn't prepare me.

"DUSK! GET UP!" My younger sister, Dawn's, voice interrupted my musings. I slipped into my sandals and dashed out of the room, careening through the kitchen doors just as Dawn opened her mouth to holler at me again. Dawn and Kaen looked up at me as I almost barrelled into them.

"Geez, what are you, a kamikaze?" Kaen demanded, leaning back and ruffling his dirty blond hair. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Shut yer trap," I told him. My eighteen-year-old brother rolled his eyes at me. Dawn just looked at me sadly, her large blue eyes blinking back unshed tears. I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around her.

"You'll be fine," I assured her. "You're only twelve. I'm much more likely to get picked then you are."
"That's what I'm worried about," Dawn whispered as she clung to my tunic. I stroked her long hair. She clung to me harder.

I eased her grip on my clothes as I made my escape. "Sorry, gotta go. Don't wanna be late." I ran out of the house, but not before I heard Kaen chuckle. I resisted the urge to turn right around and set his ego in its right place. Fortunately, I couldn't bear to leave Dawn without another sibling, so I left him alone.

"Idiot brother," I grumbled as I shut the door behind me. "I still can't believe you and Night were twins."

As I stepped outside, I realized all was quiet. That was all I could hear. Nothing. I wanted to prolong this moment, knowing that once I got to the square I'd be facing a certain death if I was chosen. A death that would mean humiliation. Bloody, dangerous murders. But I pushed on, anyway. For what, I don't know.

And finally, I was there. In the square, surrounded by girls my own age, all clamoring for the chance to enter a game of death. I couldn't hear their chatters, no matter how loud they were. Meaningless. That was what they are. Pointless. Empty.

Charity Arketa, the Capitol fool who was our escort, called a name after a long, droning speech. I wasn't surprised when she pulled out a slip of paper and was about to call out the name when Paris Troy, the brother of the one who killed my sister, the arrogant idiot who was always grinning at others though there was nothing to laugh at, volunteered. I raised my head, watching as he made his way up to the stage.

And I expected it. The sudden hate that took over me, threatening that I would commit a murder that would happen anyway. Loathing the way he strutted up the stage, winking at the cameras. Anger washed over me as he flashed a grin at a group of swooning fourteen year-old girls. I covered my ears with the palms of my hands as the citizens of District 1 chanted his name over and over.

"Paris! Paris! Paris!"

This one drunkard leaned over to his equally drunk friend and slurred, "Mebbe we'll have a - a vic- vit- winner this year."

I gritted my teeth, my fingers twisting around the rough fabric of my tunic. Dream on, fools. But these people didn't stop their cheers. Maybe they thought that District 1 finally had a tribute that would stand a chance at winning when a decade of them had failed. It wasn't until that Charity Arketa shouted for silence that they actually shut up.

"Please, ladies and gentlemen! I know you're excited for this handsome lad over here, but you must be quiet! I have draw the next tribute!" she squealed in her silly, high-pitched voice. Paris grinned at her, gesturing for her to continue. And continue she did. She stuck her hands into the glass container, fingers closing around for slip of paper, and pulled it out. I prayed it wasn't me. I didn't want to kill people. I didn't want to murder for entertainment.

She cleared her throat, and called out...

"Dusk Saphira."

My body seized up for a moment, then relaxed as I made my way up the stage. This was my chance to finally avenge her death. After all, he was there. I would kill him.

And may the odds ever be in my favor.

Unexpected Factors
Rai's POV

As soon as I woke up, I knew something was off. I got working in my father's hardware store, when I noticed that he was still in bed, and the sign that hung on the doorway read closed. Then I remembered. It was reaping day. I shrugged it off as I continued making digital watches. Last night, I had already calculated the odds of my name getting drawn. 50,092 to 1. The population really wasn't that high, it was just the tesserae that people were forced to buy. I knew some families who had to enter their children's names up to 20 times. I pitied them, and always wondered if they resented me for having so much. They probably did, even though I helped them with hardware whenever I could. As I rewired the radio system of a sophisticated alarm clock, only for sale to the Capitol, I realized the my hands were clumsier than usual, and they were shaking. It was useless. The odds were so greatly in my favor, and yet I was nervous. I wrapped the parts in an oilcloth and stepped outside.
I got a good look at my District. District 3. I loved everything about it, the geometrical way the buildings were placed, the exactness of the streets, and the brilliance of the citizens. But this day, even the buildings themselves seemed solemn, hushed, as if in anticipation for the reaping. It was eerily silent. The sound of welders, power saws, and hammers than I grew accustomed to over all these years were replaced by nothing. It reminded me of the first time I build a flash-bomb. I over-fused the perk cord, which resulted in it having too large of a blast radius. When I tested it, the sound caused by the explosion knocked me to the ground and I couldn't hear anything for days. I knew that thinking so much about such abstract topics was not good for my health, so I sat down and tried to do something math related. I couldn't get my mind off of morbid topics, though, and I found myself calculating how many years I had left in my life. The figures were high. I wish I felt that way.

The District was gathered in the square, which was really a regular hexagon. Our escort, the usual flamboyant Capital fool, called for the crowd to be silent. But in the anticipation, the fear, we already were. As he went over the usual formalities, my brain wandered, like it usually did. I began calculating my lifeline in my head. I already did the easy part, finding the average lifespan and subtracting it from my age. Now I factored in other things, such as the risk for unnatural deaths and the hazards of living in my environment.

I saw a girl walking over to the stage, her face stunned, disbelieving, like the antediluvian animals when they saw the ark built. Was that... Valta? From my math class? It took me a full second to realize that she was chosen. Then I went back to my calculations as I absent-mindedly watched our escort pull out the other name. Sixty-nine minus twelve, the age length I subtracted in account of breathing fumes from auto-mechanics equaled fifty-seven. I racked my brains for any other factors. The escort pulled the name out of the bowl. Fifty-seven plus twenty-three equaled ninety, and once you multiplied that with thirty-four over eighty-one, accounting for natural hazards... you got...

"Rai Sean," the escort called.

You got zero.

Evenades POV

I felt like my lungs were going to burst as I ran toward Jordan, a super handsome boy in my reading class. No! Too late. "I volunteer!" he cried out in his husky tone. So brave and courageous of him! Wait. Volunteer? District 5 hadn't had a volunteer in years!

Then, I blinked. Where was I? Pink ceiling, yellow walls, I was definitely in my parent's room. I looked around and saw my mother looking at me, concerned. "Are you alright, honey? You were yelling, 'No! JORDAN! My Jordan!' in the middle of the night. After all, today is the reaping day." I felt blood rise up to my face. I muttered a quick assurance to my mom, and stuffed on a plain white dress. I flounced out of the house, eager to meet Jordan. I even didn't eat my breakfast! I ran all the way to the square, not because I was eager to go to the reaping but because Jordan was there.

I beamed at him when I saw him. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. He looked like sooooooooo totally cute! He didn't notice me. Humph. I pouted and then glanced at the escort, who was a lean man with a potbelly, ironically. Ugh. How ugly. Totally unfashionable! He walked up to the platform and began to blab about the Hunger Games. I mean, like, who cared? It wasn't like I was going to be chosen. He smiled at the audience, and reached for a slip of paper. Then he spoke.

"Evanade Ayisha."

NO! I almost fainted right there and then. Me? In the Hunger Games? Oh! I saw my precious Jordan in the crowd. What if I never got to see them again? No! Never! I would win for my Jordan. After all, such a pretty girl as me would win, right?

I walked up the stage, smiling, though there was no applause. How offending. Then, the escort read of the next slip of paper.

"Jordan Samuels."

I saw him stumble up to the platform. No. Not him. I shrieked out loud. "NOOOOOOO!" The audience stared at me. I was sure the whole of Panem would laugh at me, but... my Jordan... was in the Games... As the escort said how happy we would be, I couldn't help but think that only one of us would survive. Something wet ran down my cheek. It would be me, of course, but... my Jordan... As the escort nodded for us to shake hands, I fainted. No... my Jordan...

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