A/N: I know that these chapters don't have much in the way of new content, but they're just the reapings so hopefully you bear with me. A huge thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing, you make me want to update!


DISTRICT 7

Teryn Dazzle

I'm glad that Dad's not here. He's off on some Peacekeeper duty, busy as usual. Normally he'd come to the Reaping, but I suppose his responsibilities can't wait. Still, he made me wear a dress. I hate wearing dresses, but at the Reaping, I'll make an exception…and that's only because Dad practically forces me to, in any case.

My best friend, Nico Higgans, stands next to me. He nudges me and jerks his head towards our district's escort, Fathnir Maximal. His hair is an astonishing shade of violet-blue that can't possibly be real. Nico seems to think so too, because he's smirking.

"What's the bet that it's a wig?"

I nudge Nico right back. It's the Reaping. It's not cool to make jokes today. We both lapse into silence as Fathnir starts going on about the history of Panem, how the districts rebelled against the Capitol – hence the Hunger Games. Only this year's Games, as we all knew only too well, were very different. Lethally so. Suddenly, I'm afraid. I clutch at Nico's hand. He inhales sharply and glances across at me, but he doesn't let go. I think he's scared, too. Neither of us is exactly popular in the district. I'm viewed as a brat and Nico is too.

My mother's wedding ring hangs on a chain around my neck. It's the only thing I have left to remind me of her. She died a while ago and I don't really remember her that well. It seems like it takes forever for Fathnir to cross over to the glass bowl and draw out that hated slip of paper.

"Teryn Dazzle."

There's no procrastination and suddenly, Nico lets go of my hand. It's that break in contact that really alerts me to what's happening. I look desperately back at him, but there's nothing he can do either. So I turn away from Nico and begin walking towards the podium. Fathnir's watching me with a serious expression on his face.

"Congratulations."

There's nothing congratulatory about it. I stand there helpless to my fate. How can I survive something like the Hunger Games? I look out over the sea of faces and I'm horrified. How can the people of District 7 have put me up for this? They've condemned me to die.


Ashby Soulas

I feel so sorry for the girl, Teryn, who was just reaped. She looks so scared and she's looking over the crowd as if someone might help her, as if anyone else might volunteer. I feel a stab of pity for her. One of the boys in the fifteen-year-old group, Nico Higgans, is standing on tiptoe. His face has gone completely white and I remember now that he's a friend of hers.

Fathnir crosses back over to the bowl, leaving Teryn standing alone, looking small and helpless. She's shaking and she looks like she might faint. I don't see as weak. I just see a scared girl. Everyone's scared of the Hunger Games. You'd be mad if you weren't.

Fathnir lifts up the piece of paper and unravels it. "Ashby Soulas."

It's a little bit of a surprise to me, although really it shouldn't be. My dad's a Peacekeeper and not many people like Peacekeepers. I stand more of a chance than Teryn does…but this doesn't make me feel any better, because that means the poor girl would die. She looks on the verge of hysterics as she bounces on the balls of her feet.

I swallow hard and start the walk of shame towards the podium. Of course they picked me. Why wouldn't they? I'm a Peacekeeper's son. I force a smile as I shake Fathnir's hand, accept his congratulations. Then I have to go and shake hands with Teryn, as if we're just allies and we won't be fending for ourselves.

"Don't worry," I say without thinking, "It's okay. I'll look out for you in the arena."

It's the wrong thing to say. Teryn presses her lips together and frowns. She clearly doesn't want my help and after the handshake, she releases my hand as if it's a snake. She glares at me and folds her arms across her chest.

"I don't need your help," she hisses under her breath.

Somehow, I think she might be wrong there. I also think that perhaps I can convince her to change her mind.


DISTRICT 8

Evianna Carroway

I should probably spit it out straight away: my parents were mass murderers. It's definitely not something I'm proud of, but it means that I'm almost a definite to be selected for the 25th Hunger Games – also known as the 1st Quarter Quell. They're dead now. My parents, I mean. They were executed when I was only young.

Cambria Bell, our escort, smiles mournfully as she pulls out the girl's name. We both know it's my name, because her eyes lock onto mine. Everyone knows who I am. The whispers start as Cambria lifts up the piece of paper and reads clearly.

"Evianna Carroway."

I move out of the fourteen-year-olds section and up towards the podium, resigning myself to my fate. I can't help but feel that this is unfair. I'm being sentenced to die because of my parents' actions. My feet are heavy as lead…and that's when it happens.

A young woman, with the same caramel-coloured hair and green eyes as me, her teeth bared in savage triumph. She can't be any older than eighteen and she's chasing down a boy a few years younger. He's begging for mercy, wanting to be spared…but she silences him with a knife.

There's the sound of a cannon. Suddenly, I know exactly what's happening. The boy's body is airlifted out and taken away and that's when I know for sure. My mother was in one of the Hunger Games. She must have won…and she loved the taste of killing.

Now I'm on the ground. I've skinned my knees and my palms sting. Cambria is hovering concernedly over me, her eyes solemn. I get to my feet without her assistance and my cheeks flame hot with embarrassment. Now the district's going to think me a total weakling.

"Are you alright, Evianna?"

"Fine," I lie through clenched teeth, "I'm fine."

But it's not fine. It's not okay. Because now I know who my mother was, at least. I don't know why I remember that about her – perhaps that particular version of the Hunger Games is one they re-watched when I was just very young? All I know is that it's not good at all. I won't become like my murderer parents. In fact, I doubt I'll win the Hunger Games at all.


Crow Sullivan

I watch as Evianna Carroway falls to her knees. She's only a year older than me, but I don't go near her. No one really does, because we all know that her parents were murderers. Cambria goes to help her up, but Evianna gets up herself. She staggers up to the podium and just stands there, her face bright red in humiliation.

After making sure that Evianna really is alright – even though she won't be, because she's just been chosen for the Hunger Games – Cambria heads back to the boy's bowl and draws the name and hesitates for just a moment.

"Crow Sullivan."

Oh. It's me. After a moment's silence, in which no one volunteers, I gulp and head towards the podium and the shivering Evianna. I suppose I know a fair amount for a thirteen-year-old. Younger kids don't often win the Games, but there's a first for everything. I can climb and I can swim. Maybe I stand a chance after all.

Evianna and I shake hands, and she refuses to meet my eyes. I don't see what she has to be afraid of. Perhaps it's not nice to judge people by their parents, but it's kind of creepy that she's the daughter of murderers. Her mother won the 9th Hunger Games.

"Do you really think you can win?" I ask her doubtfully. She's pretty small. Even I'm taller than she is.

She just scowls. "I think I'm more likely to win than you are!"

Poor, deluded Evianna. Maybe she really is as mad as her parents were.