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Adele Prescott
25 Years Old – Victor of the 22nd Hunger Games
District One Mentor

I wasn't supposed to win.

I wasn't chosen to volunteer, I wasn't trained as well as the others, I wasn't ready. It wasn't supposed to be, it was supposed to be someone else. After I was reaped, I waited for the girl to volunteer, but she didn't. She didn't live up to her expectations, so I had to suffer.

I had to take part in the Games, not her.

I might have won, but it doesn't feel like it. I still feel guilty about being in the Games, that I took her spot, but if she wanted it, she would have volunteered. She made some big spectacle that she would volunteer, that she would win for District One, but she never did.

She didn't keep her promise.

So I had to suffer.

And even the mentors see this. At the time, Radiance was angry with me, saying that I ruined it for District One that year. It wasn't supposed to be me there; it was supposed to be someone else. She did nothing to help me, so she revoked being my mentor. She put it on Pryce, who wasn't that happy with having to be with me.

He didn't want me either. No one did.

No one wanted to mentor me after I was reaped. It was all for something that wasn't even my fault.

I was all on my own then, and to this day, I still am.

But, I won. Somehow, I went against all odds, and won. In retrospect, I shouldn't have been the victor, the other trained Careers should have been. Even my District partner was better off than me, but it all worked out for me in the end. My allies took out my other allies, the tributes took out the other tributes, and the mutts took out the last ones.

I didn't have to kill once. I didn't have to get my hands dirty or run for my life once.

It all seemed too easy. And still, I don't know how or why I won.

Radiance said the Capitol wasted their time by letting me survive, Pryce said I am better off dead, and Glass says I'm just lucky. I don't understand the situation completely, but I don't want to. What happened, happened, and I don't want to reflect on the Games that much anymore. But, being with the three other mentors makes it hard. They constantly bring it up, ridicule me publicly, and ostracize me.

At some points, I wish I never won.

I would wish I was never reaped, but that'd be asking for too much.

If none of this ever happened, I wouldn't have to be here, having to deal with the three of them. Not even the escorts or Peacekeepers appreciate me much. All of their words just put pressure on me, making the whole mentoring process even more challenging and taxing.

After the Twenty-Second Games – the year I won – they put me right into mentoring. They wanted to prove something to me; how hard mentoring is, how much it can affect you, and how much it hurts when someone the Training Center picks to volunteer dies. Tributes from One died year after year, even with Glass being the other mentor for One. After his son died in the Twentieth Games, he's fallen apart.

He's slipping up, and now, District One has me.

When the First Quarter Quell came around, where the District had to choose their tributes, Radiance and Pryce made me choose two girls and two boys that the District had to choose from. I don't think it was supposed to be that way, I thought the District would have been able to pick anyone they wanted, but it was rigged. It was all rigged.

I didn't know what I was doing, and it clearly reflected. I picked two boys, one was sixteen years old and the other was seventeen, and for the girls, I picked a fifteen year old and a sixteen year old. I regret those decisions entirely, for picking tributes so young and so unprepared. I was put under a lot of pressure and I pick stupidly. If I had thought it out, with some help from the others, then maybe things would have turned out differently.

But, after I put forth my four choices, the District was shocked. They had no idea who to pick, since none of them were really prepared or willing to be in the Games. I don't know what I was doing, but I did it anyway. I made a huge mistake, and I still can't forgive myself to this day. The sixteen year old boy and the fifteen year old girl were chosen, and in the Games, they both died in the Bloodbath.

They were killed nearly at the same time. And it was my entire fault. Every single part of it.

"Ready to mentor this year again, Pryce?" Radiance sneers, placing her hand on Pryce's shoulder.

"What about you, Radiance? Are you planning a tribute home this year? Or are we just going to watch another pair because of our mishaps?" Pryce banters, both of them giggling at each other.

"Wait, wait!" Radiance throws her head back, barely containing her laughter. "I have an idea!"

"What is it, Radiance? I'm sure it's genius!"

"How about Adele mentors? How about we put District One on her shoulders, letting her deal with both tributes this time around?" Radiance jeers, glancing over her shoulder at me. "What do you think, Adele? Are you up to the challenge?"

"It's not funny," I mutter, knowing they won't listen.

"It's hilarious, isn't it, Pryce?"

"Almost as hilarious as the thought of Adele's victory."

Radiance and Pryce begin to banter back and forth, occasionally looking back at me, only making them laugh and more. They keep going until the sound of the door opening shushes them, both of their attention looking to see who's coming in. I sit there, still looking at the ground, trying to block them out from my head.

"Cut it out, guys," Glass berates, going right in between the two of them, separating them. "Stop fooling around."

"We're only having a little fun, Glass. No need to get all worked up," Radiance pouts, spinning around, her hair hitting Glass in the back.

Radiance and Pryce sit down at the table in front of Glass, and Glass looks over, gesturing for me to come over with them. The table is rather large, and I choose to sit at the end of it, a few seats from Pryce and Radiance. The reaping starts only in a few minutes, so I'm not sure what Glass wants to talk about since we won't be here for much longer. I lay my head down on my arms on the table, letting myself drift off for a little bit. The sounds of their voices help me drift off, letting my mind roam freely.

"Come on, Adele. It's time."

Lifting my head up, I see Glass in front of me, waiting for me to come with them. Radiance and Pryce are already gone, and as much as I don't want to, I have to go. I have to somewhat pacify District One, even though they will never again be happy with me. As we make our way outside, I see the faces of the audience all staring at me, and it just makes me jealous.

It makes me jealous that they're all standing there, not having to be a mentor. Only if they knew what it's like to be a mentor.

"And here they are: Our beloved mentors!" The escort chirps, holding out her arm towards us.

As the four of us sit down in our assigned, me being on the furthest end from the stage since I've won the most recently, I instantly become uncomfortable because I'm next to Pryce. He ignores me completely, positioning his body away from me. He doesn't even look at me once. The escort's already at the female's bowl, and before I realize her even taking a card out, she reads the name out loud.

"Flare Rodoir."

Before any girl that could be her moves, another one comes flying out from the eighteen-year old section, her long, light brown hair flowing behind her. She makes it to the stage quickly, the sun reflecting off her tanned skin. She walks up the stage gracefully, eyeing the mentors in front of her attentively. If her looks are anything like her personality, then I'm sure Radiance already has mentoring in mind.

"Aoife Cosette."

She's just another one.

"Congratulations, Aoife!" The escort chirps, already at the male's bowl. "Now for the males!"

Before the escort can pick a card out of the bowl, a boy, who's apparently a little eager to get the stage, is already making his way down. He has a wide, bright smile on his face, almost tripping over himself just to get to the stage. He climbs up the stage, immediately standing right next to Aoife.

He's just another one.

"Fabian Verdite," he says, holding his out to her. "The pleasure's all mine."

"Aoife Cosette," she replies, gripping his hand in hers.

Another Radiance.

Another Pryce.

Another person who will treat me like shit.

Both of them are exactly what District One puts forth every year. The same appearance, the same personality, the same volunteers. They're all duplicates of each other. All of them.

Radiance and Pryce whisper to each other, judging them already. They're judging them like they judged me. They know nothing about them, and neither do I, but I can tell that this year is going to be a loss for District One.

This year, I hope I'm not mentoring. Then, they can deal with the both of them on their own, without me helping. Without my words of advice, deemed nonsense and foolish by all of them. Without another pitiful attempt by me to bring home another victor, ending in a huge fiasco. This year, it won't be my fault.

They will finally learn that they, too, can't bring home a victor every year.

As bad as it sounds, I want District One to not win. I hope we don't win. Just to prove something to all of them.

I want to rub it in their face that they aren't as good as mentors as they think they are.

I might not have been able to bring anyone home, but I can assure they can't either.

And they'll learn that soon enough.

Nashira Vire
23 Years Old – Victor of the 25th Hunger Games
District Two Mentor

"Role-call: Tyson Recknor."

"Here," he says, lifting his chin upwards.

"Marcel Petrone."

"You called?" He banters, taking another sip from the tall glass.

"Serpentine Nott."

"Mhm," she hums, her eyes locked onto the screen covering the Reaping stage and audience.

"Nashira Vire."

"Present, sir," I say, bringing my hand to my forehead, saluting him.

Placing my hands on the table, folding them over each other, I adjust myself in the chair, straightening my back. I look around, crinkling my nose at the distasteful way the other mentors are presenting themselves. Whether you're in public or not, following etiquette and acting like a mentor is vital. Watching the television, drinking some colorful liquid, or just fiddling with your hands is completely out of order. I shake my head, trying to hide my disgust with them and the way they carry themselves.

Being a mentor for more years than me is no excuse to act like a slob.

The Capitol had assigned this man after Tyson won, to coordinate the victors, as well as mentors, to homes, to select time slots at the Training Center, and so forth. The man – Eryx Callis – does his job well, by speaking to us each personally to work with our schedule. I'm always the first one to volunteer myself to travel to the other Districts for public spectacles with the other victors, or to train teenagers at the Training Center or just simply walk around the District, attracting public attention.

After you win, your life isn't the same. Everything is organized, ordained, and everything becomes specifics.

Eryx passes out a few pieces of papers, and I crinkle my noise in distaste again as Marcel casually disregards the papers and uses them as a drink coaster. Eryx is used to all of this by now, so he just rolls his eyes, continuing on to Tyson who's next to him. Everyone here has gotten to know each well, especially Tyson and Marcel. Serpentine is more reserved and distant than the rest of them, but I don't blame her.

I wouldn't want to get involved with Tyson or Marcel either; they're such distractions.

But, then there's me: The Victor of the Twenty-Fifth Games, or the First Quarter Quell.

If I had to pick anyone that I get along with most, it's probably Eryx. Not Tyson, Marcel, or even Serpentine; none of them are up to my standards. None of them follow the etiquette and have the mannerisms that every victor should have. They're sloppy, especially since some of them are approaching old age. They're slipping, not bringing in any District Two mentors in a while.

This year will be different, though. I'll be taking over Serpentine's job.

After she won the Seventeenth Games, she went into mentoring immediately. Whether she understood it completely or not is still a question to me, since she only brought a victor eight years later. And she really didn't mentor me; it was Tyson, and believe me when I say this, he didn't do much. He always compared every tribute he mentored to his son, to show them what he had done wrong with his son and what he doesn't want to happen to the tributes.

I don't blame him about being a little upset about his son, but it's time to move on. It's been time to move on.

"Just some information on some possible volunteers," Eryx states, shuffling the papers in front of him.

I flip through the pages, scanning the information for some stand-out names. I usually prefer when the volunteers are already decided before hand, but that hasn't worked out too well. It's all disorganized and no one really follows the rules or follows what we say. Besides, it's usually just me who makes the decisions, with some assistance from Marcel, if anyone. Tyson is too nonchalant and Serpentine is just indifferent to the whole process.

And, in a way, I like it more that I can do my own thing.

Besides, if I was chosen by the District to participate in the First Quarter Quell, I can do this on my own.

They had to have faith in me, and I can't let them down. Now that I am victor, I must fulfill their needs and desires just as much as before the Games. Even after you win, people still want more from you.

But, I like challenges. It makes me feel that I'm needed here, that without me, District Two wouldn't function. It's true in some aspect, especially because the other victors barely have any clue with what they're doing. Eryx can only do so much, so at least one of us has to step up.

Luckily, they have me. For one thing, I know what I'm doing.

"As if any of you have read it," Eryx murmurs, eyeing all of us up-and-down. "Reapings are starting soon, anyway."

I stand in a refined manner, pushing out my chair first, and then standing back up. I push the chair back under the table, placing my hands on the back of the chair, waiting for my fellow mentors to follow me. Figures; none of them do. They all stand there, still in the same positions they've been in. Eryx looks at me, a smirk on his face. I smile back, beginning to walk to the front of the Mayor's Building. Outside, the Reapings are taking place.

Outside, my first pair of tributes is waiting for me.

As I approach the doors, I fix my female dress-suit one last time, making sure that I am fully presentable to all of District Two. I look myself up-and-down one more time, smiling at how classy I look. You have to look the part, too, not just play it. The large metal doors open in front of me, the sight of the audience in front of me making me feel something that I haven't felt before. This is it.

I glance behind me, hoping to see the others following me, but I know they won't. They don't do anything, really. They're so useless now, and that is why I have to redeem District Two this year. Walking forward, I make sure to look back and forth through the crowd, sharing my attention to everyone.

Public showings aren't as easy as you think.

I stand in front of my chair for a moment, giving one last look around the audience, and then I sit down. There are three open chairs next to me, all with a little placard on them saying what seat is reserved for her, and I just choose to get over it. Those not doing their job are the least of my problems right now.

"Welcome, welcome, District Two!"

Apparently, I missed the introductory video of the Dark Days and the inauguration of the Hunger Games, and honestly, that doesn't bother me. I've recited it so many times and I can tell you every piece of information you need to know like it's an instinct to me. I took it into my own regard to learn all of this before I was chosen, and afterwards, I expanded my knowledge on it even more. You should at least know the history of your District and the Games before you put yourself forth into the world.

"Let's get down to business, shall we?" The escort waves her hand, stumbling a little on her excessively tall heels.

The escort, Iona, stumbles over towards the female bowl. It almost saddens me that she even bothers going to the reaping bowl, since every year – or most – there is a volunteer. It's a waste of time, to me. If a girl were to be reaped, I would still mentor her, but I would not feel as comfortable.

A reaped tribute does not have that extra edge that a volunteer does.

Dipping her hand into the bowl, she doesn't waste any time, picking one up quickly and opening it immediately. She stares at the piece of paper for a while, and the sight of her not being able to read as promptly as she should makes me want to go up there and do it. She's just giving District Two a bad name; illiterates, now.

"Rena Harter," Iona states, stuttering a little bit. "Rena Harter – there we go! Rena Harter, please come on up!"

It brings a smile to my face that the reaped girl doesn't even reveal herself; the volunteer takes action right away. Down the center of the aisle, a rather tall girl, but with a petite frame, saunters forward. Her brown hair is all disheveled, and she doesn't really have much expression on her face; it's more of a peculiar look, as if she's watching everyone as she walks past them.

I won't judge – she could be the next victor for District Two.

As the girl walks up to the stairs onto the stage, she pushes her hair out of her face, her arms remaining slung to her side. She doesn't reach for the microphone or to greet Iona at all, and that's something we'll have to talk about. Manners and the proper way to interact with someone are vital for a victor to know; it's not all about killing and the sole aspect of victory. She goes to the front of the stage, taking it into her own liberty to say her name without a microphone.

"Cassiopeia Bryony."

And then, that's it from her. She retreats, standing directly behind the escort. The escort moves to the side, but wherever she goes, Cassiopeia follows her. This girl really is something, which interests me greatly. For some reason, now that I have a better look of her, she seems familiar too, but I am not sure as to why. I'm sure the other mentors, since they are older and more knowledgeable of the citizens of Two, would know something about her.

Iona walks over to the male's reaping bowl, with Cassiopeia following right behind her, and Iona quickly gets the male's card as well. Before she can even read the name off of it, the sound of heels clicking against the floor silences everyone. Down the aisle comes a broad-shouldered boy, very poised and well-kept. He doesn't seem to be affected by anything surrounding him, only wearing a smug grin on his face.

"Helios Villard," he states, walking up the staircase, his voice very solemn. "And I will be representing District Two this year."

Helios stands next to Cassiopeia, who only glares at him, her lips curling into a smile. Helios looks down at her, broadening his shoulders at her. They both look away from each other, but Cassiopeia takes one more look, staring at the features on his face.

"Here you have it, District Two!" Iona shrieks, the excitement in her voice scaring everyone in the audience. "The tributes who will represent District Two this year – Cassiopeia Bryony and Helios Villard!"

Examining them up and down, I find myself smirking. Something about them – about both of them – is rather intriguing. I can't put my finger on exactly, but they have an edge. An edge that will help them win.

An edge that I can work with.

I can see it now already. The President shaking the next District Two's victor hand, congratulating them on all the work they can do. And, in a way, I would have helped them. I would have brought them to victory. I would have won with them, giving them the tips and advice they need in order to win.

If I can win once, I can win again.

Jericho Powell
31 Years Old – Victor of the 16th Hunger Games
District Three Mentor

"I finally think I'm ready to mentor, Jericho," he says, the eagerness in his voice showing that he is, in fact, not ready.

I pause before answering him, knowing that Nora will have something to say back to him. She always has something to say to him, no matter what it is. A question, comment, concern, threat, or anything else, really. Nora's a big-mouth, something that she's always been, even before winning.

"You're still young, Everett," she says, her words making me think that maybe she is genuinely concerned for him. "Once you hit the age where you know half of the stuff I do, then maybe you can mentor."

There's the Nora we all love.

"Leave him alone, Nora," I berate, knowing that Everett is still impressionable and is probably offended. "He just wants to get it over with."

"Well, he shouldn't go at blindly," she scoffs, resting her head against the back of the chair. "I'd rather not let District Three go through a bigger fiasco with a child mentor."

"Because you've done so well, right?" Everett retorts, clenching his fist.

I don't blame him for getting so aggravated with Nora. She's always been up on her pedestal lately and it gets worse every year. Even though District Three hasn't brought home many victors, she thinks it's not her fault. It isn't necessarily her fault, but it's just the fact that she doesn't care is what bothers me. She has no second-thought about the Games she's witnessed where another pair from Three die. I care, but I've convinced myself that I can't do much about it.

Still doesn't mean I'm not hurt by it, though.

I just don't want Everett to have to go through that so soon. He's only won three years ago – the Twenty-Seventh Hunger Games – at the age of fifteen. He was so young, and I'm still shocked that he even won. That year, Nora didn't even bother with the female, knowing that she'll die in the Bloodbath. Of course, she did, and that only made Nora more arrogant. Nora now thinks that she can predict when someone will die. Her delusion is another thing that bothers me. Always thinking that she's right, that she's the best one in the room, that she will live never die.

She'll learn eventually.

"Let's go, Everett," I say, gesturing for him to follow me.

I guide him through the doors, shutting them behind us. He stands there, waiting for me to direct him somewhere else, and I just go into the next closest room. I shut the door, hoping that Nora won't follow us. She probably won't; she probably thinks we're talking about her because it's just always about her.

"I'm sorry about that," I say, feeling genuinely sorry about everything Nora does to him.

Everett shrugs, playing with some decorative piece on the table. "It really doesn't bother me."

"She can be a big handful, I can tell you that," I chuckle, thinking of all the bad things Nora has ever said to me. "You just learn to deal with her."

"I told you, it doesn't bother me," he repeats, knocking over the piece on the table. He picks it back up, beginning to play with it with his fingers, looping them in and out of the open circles of it.

"I know you say that, Everett, but I can tell…"

"It doesn't bother me," he interjects, his voice a little more serious and edgy. "Does it bother you?"

"I guess."

"It shouldn't."

"And what is that?"

"Because she'll die eventually."

I go silent, taking his words into consideration. From time to time, Everett actually helps me, rather than me helping him. Just because I'm older doesn't mean much. Now, he's just as wise and knowledgeable, but in a different way. He knows what he's talking about.

Even if it's a morbid thought.

Nora will die eventually.

After Everett won, I remember I tried to talk to him. Talk to him about the deaths or the people he's killed, but he didn't want to talk about it. He seemed almost undisturbed or unaffected by it all. It was weird at the time, but now I get it. He's accepted death, whether he wants to or not, and I guess I have to too. I dwell on all the tributes we lost occasionally, while Everett doesn't even mention it to me once.

It's one way to cope with everything.

"So, can I really not mentor this year?" He asks, placing down the item he's been playing with.

"I'd prefer you not to."

"Give me one good reason?" He asks, with a joking tone in his voice, but I know he's being serious. I don't know why he wants to mentor so badly.

"You're too young," I blurt out, saying the first thing that came to my mind. "You're not ready."

"When will I be, then? After I witness two more tributes die? Four? Six?"

"I can't tell you what to do, Everett, and you know that. I'm only advising you not to mentor yet," I concede, giving up any attempt I tried to convince him otherwise.

"When was the first time you mentored?" He asks, and I'm not sure if he's curious or just wants to prove a point.

"Right after I won, of course. I was the first male Three got, so I had to, really," I answer him, being completely honest. "I didn't have much of a choice."

"How was your first year of mentoring, then?"

I close my eyes, trying to bring back the memory of that first year I mentored. Nora was younger, only at the age of twenty-three, and I was about seventeen. I didn't know what to expect, how to act, or what to think. It was all new to me and I didn't know how to grasp the situation.

At the time, all I thought about was winning, not about mentoring. That was one of my mistakes.

"We're different people, so we will all act and think differently," I say, avoiding the question.

Sighing, he rolls his eyes. "Whatever, whatever."

There's a knock at the door, and I expect it to be Nora, but the voice is most definitely not hers. It's a Peacekeeper, telling us that it's time for the Reapings. From where we are, I can hear the video about the Dark Days and Games playing, something that I tend to avoid. Everett still likes to watch it, but I should try to get him away from that habit.

What they say in the video is nothing like what it really is.

"You ready?" I ask, opening the door, letting Everett go first.

"More ready than I'll ever be," he says, the same eagerness in his voice as before.

Just as we exit the room, Nora comes behind us, humming a tune. She walks right past us, without even a smile or a glance. Everett looks up at me, laughing a little, and I can't help but laugh back. She tries so hard, she really does. One thing I do like about Nora now, though, is the entertainment she provides us. She never fails to make me laugh or hate myself in one way or another.

Walking through the doors, we're on the stage, the silence making me feel unwanted. Nora's already sitting in her seat, the one closest to the escort, and I sit next to her, followed by Everett to my left.

"Who's ready to pick the tributes, District Three?" The escort screams into the microphone, and then pointing it towards the audience, waiting for some response.

Nora laughs a little, making me roll my eyes. The escort walks over towards the girl's bowl, and once she gets to it, she wraps her around the bowl, lowering her head on it. She whispers into it, saying something, but I can't hear it. Nora just laughs again.

She dips her hand in the bowl, picking up the first one in it. "Do we have a," she starts, taking a big pause. "Bishop Grande!"

Without much of a pause, a girl stands in the aisle, slowly walking towards the stage. She's biting her lip, her eyes getting a little teary. For some reason, the name seems familiar. I think she's from one of the wealthier families of the District, with her whole appearance, name, and everything else. She's probably around Everett's age or near that.

Bishop walks up the stairs, her bouncing off her shoulders with every stop. She stands a few inches from the escort, and the escort pulls her a little closer. The escort goes to the male bowl, grabbing one more quickly than last time; she doesn't her whole ritual of whispering to it either.

"How about – Pika Charging!"

This time, there is a bigger pause. I can see a Peacekeeper go through each kid, looking for one that looks like he might be him. After a minute or so, a boy, small in frame, begins to walk to the stage. He looks around him, his face going red. He's shaking and playing with his hands.

"Come on up here, Pika Charging!"

Pika looks behind him, the sight of a Peacekeeper coming towards him making him rush a little more. He gets to the stage, walking up the stairs shakily. Standing next to him, Bishop gives him a peculiar look, a perplexed expression on her face. Great, a pair that won't even get along this time around.

That'll only make thing harder.

And, trust me; it's hard enough.

Nora has the girl and I have the boy. Bishop and Pika.

District Three's chances of victory now lie in their hands, and I don't know if they'll be able to do it.

I've learned not to predict anything this early on.

Looks can deceive.

Mags
30 Years Old – Victor of the 18th Hunger Games
District Four Mentor

Fifty-seven tributes.

One mentor.

And all they call it is "collateral damage."

That's all it is to the Capitol – collateral damage. They're loses that are intended in this case, that are inevitable in order to reach a certain goal. But, the usually term means that loses are unintended in order to reach an intended point. Collateral damage doesn't mean the death of intended targets, but to the Capitol, it does.

Why?

Because it's warped. The whole concept of the Games, the government, the officials and executives. Whenever they cover the Games and whenever they film documentaries on the victor's lives, they deem the lost children just collateral damage. The death of teenagers is insignificant to the Capitol. They don't really care how the Games turn out; they want just to scare the Districts.

They just want to prove their superiority and dominance. And, if they have to kill a few children along the way, they'll do it. But, unfortunately, I just have to go with it. By winning, I gave them what they want. I wasn't going to die for some cause, to become some heroine, to die to show the Capitol that they don't control me.

I'm not that foolish. Death isn't something to toy with.

"Another year," Atlas says, his voice monotonous.

"Another year, indeed," I repeat, my voice nearly a whisper.

I know it must be a lot for Atlas to take on, seeing as he only won two years ago, but I am trying my best to help him. In other Districts, once you win, you're on your own, but I don't believe in that theory. Once you win, you become a victor and a mentor, among other victors and mentors. You should all work together then, giving each other advice and helping each other out. Before I mentored Atlas to victory, I wasn't on my own.

I had Zachary.

But, after the Twentieth Games, I didn't.

He drank himself to death.

After he lost his best-friend, the eighteen year old volunteer for that year's Games, that drove him insane. He locked himself inside as soon as the young man died, smuggling all of the alcohol he could inside. He drank, and drank, and drank, never stopping. He was inside his home for about a week, until the Peacekeepers decided to do something. They found him, an open bottle of alcohol in his hands, dead on the spot.

To me, they should have checked on him earlier.

Why they took so long, I don't know. There was no way in for me, as much as I banged on the window and door, pleading to come inside. He didn't let me inside, so I stayed outside. I feel guilty, in a way. I just didn't understand it. He's witnessed the death of his own tributes before, and why this one particular boy meant so much to him, I just don't know. I know that he used to train with the boy, but that's about it. I don't know much more than that. After he died, I felt obligated to bring home another victor. I felt pressured, and that's why I slipped up for a few years.

I thought I was being a better mentor, but apparently not. Until Atlas, that is. The latest victor District Four has is the victor of the Twenty-Eight Games, which is ten years later than mine. We went ten years without another one, almost like what happened to Zachary after his. He won the Fourth Games, while I won the Eighteenth Games; a fourteen year difference.

I don't know how he did it still, but I'm getting a clue.

Just accepting it. Not to grieve or regret.

It's hard, but I'm getting better at it. Or least, I'm trying to get better at it.

"Just you and me this year, again," Atlas says, his face expressionless.

I nod, a little uncertain of what to say. Last year was our first year mentoring together, and well, it didn't go too well. We thought we had this whole idea planned out, that at least one of our tributes would make it home, but neither of them did. The girl died in the Bloodbath and the boy placed Eleventh. To worsen everything, they were killed by their own allies. It was a whole mess of events in the arena, and we both feel that it was our faults. We gave them a set of plans and ideas to abide by, and clearly, none of it worked. As soon as we saw that, our perspectives changed.

We can't let that happen anymore.

We are mentors. We are supposed to be helping them, not getting them killed.

"Any idea on what we should do this year?" Atlas asks, desperate for an answer.

Shrugging, I say the first thing that comes to my mind. "We'll talk to the District One and Two mentors, I guess. We'll make some agreement with them and their mentors, so that last year's events don't happen again."

Atlas shakes his head, agreeing with what I'm saying. "Any idea who will mentor this year?"

"From One, probably Glass and Radiance. And from Two, I heard the Quarter Quell girl will do it this year, and I assume Tyson will," I reply, trying to think of who we'll get along with most.

Atlas chuckles, thinking the same thing I am. "We'll stay away from Radiance and whoever the One girl will be; I can only imagine what lies and delusion Radiance will feed her tribute. Glass might be down for a secret alliance, and maybe even Tyson."

"If that's who's even mentoring," I interject, trying not to get our hopes up.

Our conversation's cut short from the sound of knocking on the door. Two Peacekeepers open the door, the escort coming through it. This year, we got a new male escort, since last year's had some incident back in the Capitol. Some of the glitter from this man's suit falls to the ground, the smell of his perfume making my head hurt. He holds both of his hands out, shaking more glitter off his arms.

"I'm Arion, the one and only," he says, his high-pitched voice quivering with every word.

Atlas and I hesitantly shake his hand, and I really don't think Arion understands what a greeting is. You're not supposed to use both hands to shake; shows how smart the Capitol people are. And he's an escort, too, so that makes it even better. Just as airheaded as last year's was.

"You are, let me guess – Cynthia, yes?" He says, looking intently at me. "And you must be Duke!"

"Wrong Districts," Atlas scoffs, gesturing for me to follow him out the doors.

We walk down the hallway silently, looking directly ahead at the doors in front of us. Just as we approach them, the doors open, two Peacekeepers standing right outside. Atlas nods, greeting them, and I give them a sweet smile. Anyone who plans on watching the Reaping are already there, and Atlas and I take our seats. We sit right next to each other, and Atlas holds my hand, the feeling making me feel a little more hopeful for this year.

"Hello, District Eleven!" The voice shrieks, but Arion isn't in sight. The audience goes quiet, and I hear some mumbling in the hallway, probably a Peacekeeper correcting him. "I mean District Four! Hello, District Four!"

Arion comes through the doors, waving his hands uncontrollably. He begins to hum a tune, trying to incite the crowd somehow, but none of them move, all of the audience's face still expressionless and solemn. On the screen behind Arion, the same video that plays every year begins, repeating what every citizen already knows. Arion continues to talk and hum, but no one is listening, but I'd rather listen to his nonsense.

Barely anyone realizes the video has ended, since Arion has distracted everyone and has been speaking over it the whole time. He sashays over to the male reaping bowl, swaying his whole body back and forth, still humming that same tune. Usually, the escorts pick the female first, but this one seems too flamboyant to favor the girls this year. As he steps up to the bowl, he dips his hand in, taking at least ten cards.

One by one, Arion drops them onto the ground, until he has one left. "Kiernan DuPonte!"

As the boy, Kiernan, steps up, Arion makes a few noises, saying out loud how attractive he is. As the boy walks into the aisle, my eyesight is drifted away, going to another boy who's running down the outer-aisle. He's a tall, tanned boy, with a fit body that makes Arion compliment him as well. As he gets to the stage, he looks at me and Atlas, and he smiles. His smile resonates in my mind, the sight of it giving me hope.

"And what is your name, you handsome boy?" Arion asks, nearly flirting with him.

"Orson Nautica," he says, walking up the stairs. "Orson Nautica."

Orson makes his way next to the escort, standing still and all stiff. He doesn't flinch or even look at the female's reaping bowl, keeping his head straight forward. Arion dips his hand in the girl's bowl, a little more careless this time, picking one at random. If he acts this way in the Capitol, I'm sure he'll convince all his Capitol friends to sponsor Orson. Some infatuation he has already, and I'm sure he won't feel the same towards the girl.

"Bellaya–"

Midsentence, Arion's nonchalant tone is cut off by the rush of a girl through the aisle. This one reaches the stage more quickly than Orson did, her dark brown hair barely keeping up with her behind her. She pants a little as she comes up the stairs, reaching for the microphone immediately.

"The name's Coleen Morisette," she says, recollecting herself after sprinting up here. "Don't underestimate me."

I rest my back further back in my chair, feeling Atlas hand slip away from mine. He gives me an approving smirk, knowing that we feel the same way about the tributes this year. I've mentored for a while now, and I know what to look out for. Even Atlas has an idea of what a stand-out tribute is. If everything works out in the way we want it, maybe District Four can have a victor this year.

Maybe District Four can redeem itself among the Career Districts.

But, we now from past experiences that we shouldn't get our hopes up. That doesn't mean we won't still help, though, to the best of our ability. We're aware of what we can do for the tributes, but we have to make sure that they take it all into consideration. In the arena, they're on their own. They can either listen to us or not.

In the arena, they'll be without our mentoring and guidance. The only thing we'll be able to do then is just sit back, watch, and hope for the best. If these two are anything like they seem like, District Four might be able to do it this year.

Throughout the years, District Four has fought for its right to be deemed a Career District, to bring home more than one victor, and even though in the past few years we've been over looked, that'll all change.

Zachary, Atlas, and I.

The only mentors District Four seen so far.

Who knows, maybe Orson or Coleen will be an addition.

It won't be easy, though. At this point in our lives, nothing ever is.

Especially not the Hunger Games.

Author's Note:

Okay, first off: I do apologize if your tribute wasn't accepted. This time around, I wanted to change things up, and I was look for new authors to submit, new tributes, etc. Check the tribute list back in Chapter One. Don't take it personally and I didn't do it on purpose, I was just being more picky and specific this time. This probably won't be my last SYOT, though, so don't feel too bad about it.

So, this is the first chapter!

I dislike Reapings, really. I just dislike them so much. Why? Well, for many reasons. I feel that not all characters' reapings are requisite for the development of the character, and sometimes, they just become repetitive, mundane, and cumbersome. Plus, I think twelve reaping chapters is a little excessive; I, myself, lose interest and find myself skimming through them. So, I'm sure other people do that as well.

Anyway, I'll be doing this type of Reaping chapter for Districts 5-8 and then 9-12.

I know it's not so much revolving around the tributes, but the whole District and the mentors' lives. That's the point. I want to develop the District and the mentors, rather than giving the tribute away all ready. I find it pointless and silly to show the tribute's whole personality and background in the reapings, so I'd rather give depth to the District, mentors, escorts, etc. and then work on the tributes at a later time.

Questions? I think so.

What tributes stood out to you? Mentors?

What was your favorite District in this chapter?

And, the blogs are on the top (and also on my profile). The first one is the tribute blog and the second is the mentor blog.

What tributes and mentors stand out to you just from the blog?