District 1- Kyanite Larimar

I had finally done it; finally volunteered. After years of my father pestering me, I had finally broken down and done it.

I had not planned to volunteer, despite the demands my father made. I had of course recognized the power and wealth, the sense of pride, which came from The Games. Unfortunately, I also recognized the risk.

I did not want to die, not for things such as money or fame or pride that I could surely get from other means. My father, on the other hand, saw no such way out. He had always told me the stories of his greatest regret; never participating in The Games. He had been a coward, he claimed, but he had not raised his son to be a coward.

No, he raised his son to be a winner, a Victor. I had endured years of intense training that left both my mind and my body in pain, but stronger. I had been taught to adore The Games, to respect them and the peace they brought to Panem. I endured hours upon hours of lectures about my legacy, how I would change history when I won.

And yet, I had never fully had my heart in The Games. I craved the riches they brought as strongly as I might crave food or water, but I had also always imagined I would live past nineteen. While my father was confident I would win, I knew The Games could never be predicted or controlled.

I found myself pacing in the center of the room. There was expensive and comfortable furniture scattered all around, but I was too anxious to sit. Any moment now the door would open and my father and mother would greet me.

I had tried to think of what they would say; what they would do. I imagined my father would be beaming with pride, trying to hide his smile and stay serious, but unable to contain his joy and relief.

My mother on the other hand, would be disappointed. She too, would try to hide her true emotions. She had always been so supportive, assuring me I should always do what I wanted, and to do it for myself. My mother seemed to see through me, knowing the dread I felt when I thought about The Games. In no way did she approve of my father pressuring me into them.

Trapped in thought, I almost did not notice the door beginning to open. I straightened my posture and wiped all emotion from my face. Though my father may think this a joyous occasion, he would still expect his son to remain professional.

My mother rushed in, tears, stained black from her makeup, streamed down her cheeks. She ran to me, putting her perfectly manicured hands on the sides of my face.

"Kyanite… Kyanite, my son. Oh, my dear boy. What have you done? You've killed yourself!"

I was stunned. I had expected my mother to have a negative reaction, but not to this degree. She had always been kind, protective, loving; everything a mother should be, but she had always been respectful. She knew her place in this family, in this District. Acting out like this was an embarrassment. I was relieved there were no cameras in the room.

"Oh, don't listen to her. She's upset, although I can't imagine why. I have never been prouder of you." My father's voice was full of joy. It was a sound I rarely heard and I couldn't help but feel pride in myself.

"I can't believe you," Mother cried out, turning to face Father, "I can't believe either of you. He is our son, and you have convinced him to kill himself."

"I have done no such thing. I have only explained to him how he may achieve a wonderful life and he simply agreed to take it for himself. You are what is holding him back."

"There are forty eight tributes this year, not twenty four-"

"It is not my fault he waited to the Quarter Quell to volunteer."

"Even when he wins … if he wins, he will still be as good as dead. You know the tributes never really leave The Games. The second their names are called the Capital owns them. The second they enter the Arena, it steals their souls. There are no winners. Our son is already dead."

My parents continued to argue, seeming to forget I was in the room. I stood to the side, observing the fight. It was louder than usual, and the words exchanged were harsher, but it was no different than the fights that raged in our home when no one else was around.

I couldn't help but feel pissed off. My parents were spending what could be our last few minutes together arguing over something they could fight about just as well at home after I had left for the Capital.

I was too distracted by my mother's words to break up the argument. The second their names are called the Capital owns them. The second they enter the Arena, it steals their souls. There are no winners. Our son is already dead.

Those words were the ones running through my mind as my mother was dragged out of the waiting room. They were the words I contemplated on the train ride to the Capital. The words I thought about while watching the other District Reaping's.

There are no winners.

District 2 – Lincoln Tag

I paced around the room, despite to arrange my thoughts into a pattern that made sense. I had stunned even myself when I volunteered. There had been no planning. It had been instinct.

The boy who was Reaped was only twelve years old, not even a teenager. He was the same age as Macy, my sister. They were too similar. They were both short, weak, untrained; everything that would cause their death before the Cornucopia even ended.

I pitied him, just as many people would pity one of my sisters if they were Reaped. Though the boy was what started my thoughts, it was my siblings that, in the end, caused me to volunteer.

Our parents died two years ago in a fire, leaving me to raise my four younger sisters. The oldest was only thirteen when it happened. We had already been a poor family, but with our parents gone and our house burned, we had even less money and no home.

We had gotten by because of my countless jobs that forced me to spend the majority of my days and nights away from home. Tiffany, the oldest who only turned fifteen four months ago, was forced to take over responsibility for the other three girls while I was away.

This dynamic had worked up until two months ago. We were forced to move into a foster home. Now we were getting threats of separation. I couldn't let that happen. We had to stick together.

I knew what I had been think when I volunteered. If I won The Games, my sisters would be set for life. Never again would they have to wonder were their next meal was coming from or when I would be home. We would have a roof over our heads and more money than we would know what to do with. We would be adored by many, given the attention that they so desperately desire.

Now I was wondering how I could ever have such a stupid plan. The chances of me winning were slim. It was a horrible thought, but it was the truth. If I didn't win my family would be spilt up and I would not be there to fight it or protect them.

I had been so idiotic. I had fucked up their lives because of some crazy idea that won't work.

I didn't want to see them. They would be shocked and sad and confused and it would be my fault. Seeing them would also mean saying goodbye, possibly forever.

Despite my thoughts, the door opened, and four young girls ran into the room. Tiffany was the only one who did not race toward me. Instead, she stood a few feet back, tears in her eyes but her jaw set and face stony. She knew as well as I did we would not be seeing each other again. She knew she would have to step up and be strong because I could no longer be strong for them. It broke my heart.

The other three were clinging on to me with all the strength they could. Macy was sobbing, her whole body shaking violently. Angelica, who was nine, was crying too, but mainly because Macy was so upset. Little Jennifer, only seven, could not fully comprehend what was happening and was simply curious to why her older sisters were crying.

I quickly explained to them what was going on, which only upset them more. I pulled Tiffany aside to explain to her what she would need to do, who she could go to for help if she ever needed it.

Finally, I asked for her forgiveness. Out of all my family, my decisions would affect her the greatest.

The three minutes went too fast. Just like that, my sisters were gone.

District 3 – Felix Rhodes

It was almost impressive how my parents managed to cry more than I had. I would most likely be remembered for my pathetic display during the Reaping, yet it was still nothing compared to the tears flowing in this room.

I had tried to comfort them, but quickly gave up. Comforting them only made me feel worse. I was their son and I was the one going into The Games. They should be the ones comforting me, but they weren't.

My mother was crying loudly before she even entered the room, going on nearly incoherent rants about the Capital taking her baby away. My father on the other had cried quietly and remained silent. It wasn't until the Peacekeepers flooded in that he began yelling and throwing punches.

When they were gone I felt more hollow than ever, too exhausted to cry or fight. I was left with the last memory I would ever get of my parents.

They had been so consumed by their grief they had forgotten to even say goodbye.

District 4 – Ladon Pallas

I lounged in one of the many plush armchairs in the room. I thought I would feel some stronger emotions after volunteering, perhaps joy or excitement or at the very least a burst of energy. All I felt was impatience.

The second my feet hit the stage, my mind was completely immersed in The Games. While my face had been unreadable, strategies were already running through my mind. I had quickly sized up my fellow District Tributes.

Calder isn't even a Career, so in no way was I concerned about him. Amphitrite already annoyed me and I was fully convinced the only way she would live past the first few days was because of her good looks. It was Delphine that I was interested in. I knew she would never be able to defeat me, but she was smart regardless. Even the way she held herself made her seem as if she was an actual competitor. I had made a mental note to watch her carefully.

I continued wondering about The Games, testing multiple scenarios in my mind. Meanwhile, it took all of fifteen minutes for the Peacekeepers to realize my family was not coming to see me. I had already told them as much, but they didn't believe me.

I was not surprised at all. This was my parent's way of telling me that I had to win, or they would never so much as think of me again, reminding me if I lost it would mean nothing to anyone but myself.

I had to win.

Well, that was my official first chapter. I will more than likely put four Tributes per chapter until they get into the games. I would love it if you would comment something. I am mainly doing this to improve my writing skills, so constructed criticism is welcome. I would love to hear what you think about the characters, who you want to hear more of and who you can do without. Thanks for reading!