Ise Javik, District 9

I quietly drum my fingers on the couch's leathery surface. The tapping immediately becomes nerve-racking, so I stop. The upset feeling doesn't go away, though. Once I figure the whole thing is just because I've been reaped, I go back to tapping my fingers.

It takes another few minutes of stewing in the cold before the door finally opens. My parents walk in, and I move my hand so they can sit on either side of me. Dad puts an arm around my shoulders, while Mom excitedly kisses my face a few times before she can calm down. Dad appears more collected, but I can feel the tenseness of his arm behind me.

There's no way I could leave these people. Not if I don't come back.

"I'm going to win." Having broken the silence at last, I lean back against the sofa and Dad's arm.

Mom nods at me rapidly, though she doesn't look very convinced.

"I'm going to win," I repeat, looking her in the eye as solidly as I can. "I'm not going to leave you guys alone here."

"We know," Dad responds, pulling me closer to him for a second in a half-hug. "We brought you up strong, inside and out." At this point I'm not sure if he's reassuring Mom or me.

But it's working both ways well enough. Mom's no longer in danger of bursting into frantic tears, and I'm feeling a little calmer, too, although I wasn't that wound up in the first place.

I give Dad a nod of thanks before looking out towards the empty side of the room distractedly. "But..." I lower my voice. "You're all right with me having to kill people, right?"

"That's the only way you can win," Dad responds quietly. "We understand."

"Okay." I let out a long exhale and look back at Mom. The thought of me killing people hasn't helped her much, but she's still all right. She'd have to realise this sooner or later, anyway.

I hear the doorknob click as it twists. The Peackekeeper's about to take my parents away. I try to think of something meaningful to say, my last words for now. The best I can come up with is just "I love you."

"Love you, too, son," Dad says, pulling me into another strong half-hug. Mom's less reserved; she wraps me in a tight, two-armed hug, and I reciprocate while she letts me know how much she loves me, too.

Then the Peacekeeper opens the door and shooes them out. H enearly has to pry Mom off me, but Dad can let go of his own accord. He gets up and looks back at me one last time.

"We're counting on you, Ise. Win for us."

And with that, they leave.

I'm immersed back into silence I still can't quite appreciate. I start drumming my fingers again.

So. I'm going to win this. I've been reaped, but that doesn't mean I have to die. People younger than sixteen have won before, people weaker than me have won before, and people less dedicated than me have won before. There's no buts, no what-ifs. I'm going to win, and that's all there is to it.

I'll have to train with a weapon once we get in the Centre. I'll choose one thing and stick with it. There won't be enough time to gain reasonable skill in more than one area. I might have to stop at some survival stations, but I'll only deal with one weapon.

I think I'll go for bow and arrow. Long distance, not too heavy to carry around, not too wearying to use. I won't get the whole hang of it in three days, but I'll have to do the best I can. I'll have to do the best I can in everything. That's the only way to win this.

And I'm going to win this. I don't know much. I don't know what the arena's going to be, what people are going to be there, what mutts are going to be there, if I'll even get my hands on my weapon from the Cornucopia. But I know I have to win. And that is what I'm going to do.

Tina Sinki, District 9

I've barely seated myself when my parents hurry into the room. Dad sweeps me right back onto my feet in a near-strangling hug, and the second he relinquishes, Mom throws her arms around me. I'm still a little shocked from the whole ordeal, but I manage to hug back.

We all sit down on the couch. Mom immediately starts telling me how she'll love me no matter what I do, and some other things I don't catch since she's talking so quickly. Once she takes a break from speaking, Dad jumps in with how much the both of them love me, and how all of my friends are going to be hoping for me.

I'm still a little confused. They don't normally speak this fast. Or maybe I'm just hearing slow? Either way, it's hard to keep up with what they're saying, and at some point I say "uh-huh" so many times they realise I'm not getting everything they're saying.

Dad apologises for bewildering me and, settling down, takes one of my hands. Mom claims the other before running her other hand through my short, blonde hair a few times. The familiar motion is soothing enough to pull my mind a little closer to my body.

"So... I've been reaped."

...Still not quite at my peak intelligence.

"It's okay, sweetie," Mom responds quietly, continuing to comb my hair with her fingers. "You'll be all right."

"...Yeah." I get the urge to shift my legs, but don't move lest Mom stop brushing through my hair. "Yeah, I should be okay." I smile. "It's not the end of the world or anything, right? I just... have to go to the Games now." Mom hesitates in her stroking for a second before resuming.

"And I'll get to go to the Capitol and get dressed up," I continue. "That should be fun, don't you think? They do some crazy outfits sometimes, but I bet it'll be neat to go through."

"I think you'll have a great time, sweetie," Mom murmurs.

"Yeah. It'll probably be fun to ride on the chariots, too. I'll be really close to a real horse! That should be neat, too."

"Mmm-hmm." Mom casts her brown eyes down. I don't think she's able to think of the same things I am.

I should reassure her. But to do that, I'd have to think of the same thing... And honestly, I'm not sure I'd do that well. I'm not one of those kids who's gotten into a bunch of school fights, or has such a tough job she can lift a couch over her head without breaking a sweat. I haven't gone through a lifetime of not enough food—though I have had a few patches of that—and I've never had a chance to form any survival skills. I could make friends easily enough, but that wouldn't make me win. I'm fifteen, so I don't have much of an advantage in that respect.

I should be able to run fast enough to get out of the bloodbath; I'm pretty sure about that. But beyond there... I-I... Things don't look that good...

So, I can't try to comfort anyone when I can't comfort myself. Sorry, Mom. I don't want to lie to you.

Before any of us has said another word, the Peacekeeper comes in to take my parents away.

Not much happens after that. A lot of my friends come through, and we either reminisce or pretend I could get through this thing piece-of-cake. There's not enough time for the conversations to get too deep.

But that's all right. I'm back to cheerfulness now, after all those inside jokes and anecdotes. A smiling face may not really be that strategically useful, but it's the one thing I know I'm an ace with.

So, I'll keep myself happy as long as I can. Maybe make some new friends. Maybe I could even come back out.

But that's all for another day. For now, I smile.