Guys, I have a really awful announcement. I just feel so stressed out with life and demotivated, so am discontinuing this fic. This is the last chapter – hopefully it'll conclude things nicely.

Alina Parrish, District 5, 15

I'd never been good at hiding my emotions, and it really showed; the moment I'd been reaped I tried to remain stoic and neutral, but instead found myself reduced to tears. When I watched the crowd of children in front of me seep out into the streets, all relieved that they'd survived another year, I continued shaking fear and devastation gripped me. I was virtually staring death in the face, and in a mere week he'd be chasing me.

"Now," Contessa, our green skinned escort put her arm around my District partner and I's shoulders. "I understand this is all very new and shocking, but we have a busy schedule ahead. You're famous now!"

Technically, I wasn't. I'd be famous in a few hours.

"Do I get to say goodbye to my family?" I asked weakly. Xavier, my District partner, perked his head up at the question.

"Of course!"

That made me feel a little bit better. There were so many things I had to say, so many dreams I dreamed. I definitely couldn't resolve everything in a day, or even a year, but maybe I could establish some kind of closure before boarding a train to the Capitol and never coming back. I just nodded appreciatively and began to sob again as we were led like prisoners to the Justice Building.

District Five was very labyrinthine – a lot of the buildings were very tall and wide, its citizens living in tiny apartments and going to communal schools or workplaces, so to see a single unit building like the Justice Building had already fascinated me. Its monumental qualities outside were supplemented by the rich décor inside

I was on the lookout for Five's only surviving victor – our mentor – as we were led away. She was pretty much my only chance of surviving. We were technically only given three days to prepare and train for the Games, but I knew she could provide me with some vital resources if I asked. She was nowhere to be seen amongst the wide corridors. The only people that passed us were stern Peacekeepers or timid Avoxes.

"This is your room," Contessa opened the door and smiled. I saw Xavier glare at her once, before he went in and closed the doors behind him.

There was something disconcerting about Xavier. I think it was the way he reacted when he was reaped – people burst into tears when they were reaped, or at the very least they looked somewhat numb and scared. You'd be stupid to feel any differently. But Xavier seemed to act like he knew it was going to happen; there was still fear and emotion, but it just wasn't right.

"And you're this room," she said, opening a wide doorway close to where Xavier's room. "Your family will pay you a visit." She glanced at a wristwatch. "You have twenty minutes, our train departs in thirty-five minutes."

My eyes began to get sore from the tears. I used my thumb to sweep them away, nodding and sniffing.

"Thanks."

She strode away and I closed the door behind me, leaning against it and collapsing. I was scared and confused. I didn't know what the road ahead of me would be. I only knew I'd go to the Capitol, be paraded around to give them some revenue, and then be made to participate in a deathmatch. What happened in between what was broadcast was relatively unknown to the people within the District – I didn't even know I got the chance to say goodbye to loved ones. I hoped my family found out they could visit me relatively quickly.

After hearing some banging outside, I stupidly opened the door slightly. The few Peacekeepers outside the corridor had all congregated around the front of Xaviers' doorway. He seemed to be stirring up chaos as I heard him shouting something angrily.

"I just want to know if my family are alive!" He cried out through the door, before releasing a pained scream. Fear struck me and I slowly slipped the door closed so I wasn't caught eavesdropping, pressing my ear against the door. "J-Just let me see my f-fucking family!"

What the hell was happening there?

I'd almost forgotten that I was upset and in danger. Looked like my suspicions that there was more to my District partner than met the eye, as I had thought. Suddenly shaking more profusely, I made my way to a pillow-smothered sofa at the end of the room and sat down. Everybody knew the Games were still political, and that they were manipulated, and there was all sorts of conspiracy behind it. What if this was related to it?

I chewed my nails, reminding myself not to do that when my mother was in the room. As the doors opened and members of my family made their way inside, I stood up and began to cry profusely again.

"Oh thank Panem you guys got here," I said, rushing over to my mother and hugging her tightly. She shook with tears to the point where she almost collapsed, and I led her to the chair where I was sitting and let her fall onto it. My father struggled behind, manually forcing his wheelchair forwards. I could tell from his expression that he was in pain – no doubt he'd been starved of the painkillers he depended on.

"You know we wouldn't miss you for the world," he smiled weakly through his own silent tears.

I carefully dropped to my knees and hugged him tightly too, devastated at the prospect of never seeing him again. My father was my everything. He was my inspiration. When I was young, he worked night and day to ensure I could get a good education and have a good life of my own. Even after a devastating accident that left him crippled, he continued to find odd jobs where he could in the garage – we were too poor to have any other choice – but he couldn't work like he used to. My mother was always absent too, struggling to find work but finding odd jobs that were always short lived due to Five's unpredictable economy... But part-time work in Panem was rare, and my mother needed to spend her days caring for my father. Our income dropped despite our best efforts.

So I was forced to step in; it didn't make much, as I was a mechanic in a measly garage like my father was, and when I balanced that with school hours I got by. It was incredibly exhausting, but I kept throwing in my determination to keep my grades afloat. There wasn't a single day off, but my determination to lift myself out of poverty and survive kept my engine running. I couldn't let any curveballs life threw at me to stop me.

… Except this one. One hand, Contessa's, plucked a sheet of paper and the house of cards collapsed. I didn't know how my family were going to manage without me.

If I survived, I'd be given incalculable wealth. But that was the biggest if in my life, and no matter how hard I worked the chances were slim. It wasn't something I'd ever volunteer for. But I wasn't a volunteer, this was something I was being forced into.

"I'm going to miss you both so much," I said, alternating between hugging and kissing both of their cheeks. They barely spoke through the tears. "I-I'm going to try and make it back home," I said, sitting on the ground. I couldn't let this one thing stop me from trying for my family. "I can't promise I'll come home… I know that, but I'm going to fight."

"D-Do you really think you can kill?" My mother said, a little horrified.

I knew how to change tires or block oil leaks, not kill people. And I definitely didn't like the thought of killing people, being a cold-blooded murderer for the nation and my own family to see. But I think I'd rather kill than be killed. I was sure my family would rather see me be a murderer than a victim, right?

"Yes," I said uncertainly, trying to use the hem of my dress to clean any snot that streamed from my nose. "I-I have to."

"We love you no matter what," my father ran his hands through my hair. "Just know that."

"I will..." I paused for a minute as silence took over. I considered asking them if they'd noticed anything unusual at Xaviers' door, but realised very quickly that since this was our last few moments it wasn't worth it when I could talk to them about other things. "I need you guys to work on surviving without me," I felt awkward and cruel but couldn't mince my words. "You were dependant on my income… I…"

"We'll both work," my mother said dismissively, as if she didn't want to think about it. "I'll find odd jobs."

"How can you do that? You need to look after dad."

"I will find other work, or… Or something," he sighed, his face trembling slightly. "We will just have to make sacrifices."

That was codename for them not having a solution. The thought of dying, of all my work and effort having no outcome, hurt. But I could deal with it, because I wouldn't be alive to face the pain. However, I couldn't stomach the prospect of my parents struggling. Maybe they wouldn't even struggle – we were struggling. They would starve; they would possibly even die without me. The more they insisted they'd be fine, the more I realised that I was repairing more than cars...

I was fixing and maintaining our own lives.

"I have to come back, don't I?" I said to myself, suddenly terrified.

"No…" My mother halted, realising that could be taken out of context, as if it sounded like she was fine with the prospect of my death. She grabbed my hands so tightly they hurt, sobbing and shaking her head. "Your father said so, we'll be proud of you no matter what."

"B-But…" I tried not to weep. I failed. "Lets be real… Without me…"

My mother pulled me close and we both cried almost as hard as we had when I had initially been reaped. Awkwardly, my father joined in and we cried together. I wasn't crying for me this time; I was crying for the parents who needed me, for the friends I had made and could have made, for the husband I'd never marry and the children I'd never have.

When I thought about how the Hunger Games were bad, I thought they were because they ruined twenty-four lives every year. But we never saw the people behind the scenes – they probably ruined hundreds, maybe even thousands, in ways we could've never expected.

My father kissed both of my cheeks one last time, unable to find any words to express the grief we all felt. I looked at the small model of a rocking horse in my hands, a small figurine. It had apparently been a family heirloom kept by my father's family; he often said it dated back to pre-Panem, but I was sceptical of that claim. Anything left from pre-Panem could be sold to a museum or something similar for a pretty penny.

Hopefully it really was that way. If it was, maybe my parents could be kept afloat that little longer without me to support them. The moment I died they'd be cast into a dark and unpredictable stream.

Tamal Arbor, District 7, 15

I never thought I'd feel my heart break inside of me before. I thought when they said heartbreak it was just an expression, but the moment I was Reaped a pain ached in my chest and I struggled to breathe. It felt like my life was collapsing around me. I stood onto the stage, feeling the most dread and sadness in my life before being paraded into Seven's Justice Building.

As soon as the cameras weren't focusing their attention on me, and the shock wore away, I burst into tears. Without any sympathy the Peacekeepers escorted me into my room, where I would later say goodbye. I rushed over the plush chair, which was mine to sit in, pressing my face onto its silken material as I cried.

… I was going to die. I couldn't die. I was too young for this, and I had so much ahead of me… There were so many people I'd leave behind…

I wished I could have been told that this was some big practical joke. But the more I realised this wasn't a nightmare the more I gagged, not even able to summon any vomit or bile.

"Tamal," a gentle voice said behind me. Still crying, I turned around to face my parents… Or the parents who had virtually adopted me, the people who taught me that family was much more than just blood.

"Alycia," I tried to hold back the tears once I saw her kind, wizened face. Her husband stood alongside her and I acknowledged him by his first name too. "Marin."

"W-We wanted to say goodbye," Alycia rushed forward and hugged me. I wanted to cry, but felt like my tears had dried out. I was probably dehydrated from all the crying I'd done in the last five minutes. This evolution of emotions became hard to handle – first the most extreme shock I've ever experienced and then the most extreme sadness. And I'd been through a lot in my life as the Carr family, my adoptive family, knew.

My old family, the Arbors, were strict Hindus. They'd signed a pledge to the state promising the state came first, moreso than religion, but I knew that was a lie. They were dedicated to religion and believed in things that I'd now consider archaic, including arranged marriage and an intolerance of gay people.

In a twist of cruel irony, I once believed it too. Until puberty hit me and I realised I was gay. When I fell in love with another man, I couldn't deny it to myself. They kicked me out and I rented a room in the Carrs' household, as they were close neighbours. Eventually we grew close enough so that they were virtually family and I didn't even need to pay rent.

It had felt like the first time I'd ever had a family who loved me unconditionally, no matter what I did or was. Now I was being taken away from them and killed. It must have been hard for them, too, in retrospect – they'd never been able to have children.

"Stay strong, Tamal," Mr. Carr placed a hand on my shoulder. His own façade of strength was failing, he knew just as well as I did that this was a death sentence. "You… You need to be able to stay strong."

"I will," I said weakly, not knowing if I truly could. "Alycia… Marin…"

"You don't have to call us that," Alycia said tearfully, gesturing for me to sit down. I started welling up again when I realised the best thing I could do right now was plan for my death.

"Mum, dad," I corrected myself, the first time I'd referred to them as my parents. It felt natural, but it was also excruciating. "Y-You'll be okay," I exhaled. "You never needed me to survive anyway, you did fine before me and… Y-You'll be okay," I sniffled, wiping some of the mess on my face with my sleeve. "Just please make sure Graham is okay," Graham was my boyfriend of over two years. We'd become inseparable. "I don't know how he's going to cope… I want him to move on… I want him to…"

I couldn't take the pain of acknowledging a world without me in it and burst into tears again. Both of my parents held me close and rocked me slightly in an attempt to calm me down. It was calming, but did nothing to relieve my anguish. We stayed in silence, all of us crying and hurting together until a Peacekeeper kindly reminded them they had to go to make room for the next visitor.

Graham came in alone. He smiled at me, but I could tell from his expression that he'd also cried. He said nothing, sat down and admired the walls and floors of the building. District Seven's best wood had been put into constructing our Justice Building, one of the few buildings in the District that seemed to have been constructed to a Capitolian standard.

Graham held my hand and squeezed it. There was silence for another minute, and I considered talking as it would be our last interaction. But what was there to say?

Graham found the words:

"You can do it, you know?" He noticed me raise an eyebrow. "You can win."

"Don't say that," I moved my hand away from his. "It's not fair to place these unrealistic expectations on me – I… I… I'm just a regular guy from District Seven. Not even regular, I can't work an axe and have never laboured in my life, I worked in the paper mills. I'm no warrior, or survivalist, or-"

Graham calmly interrupted. "We used to climb trees together, all through our childhood, all day. You became one hell of a climber," he smiled a little. "A-And you're the best painter I've ever met. You could make your paintings look like they were real – maybe you could camouflage…" I shook my head, forcing tears out of my eyes. "And you're smart, Tamal. You're not dumb…"

"You're just saying that because you want me to come home," I sobbed. "This isn't a fairytale book, Graham. Being a little bit smart, or being a good painter, or being able to climb isn't going to save my life…" Graham started tearing up and I cupped his face. "I'm asking you to be the strong one, please. I won't be able to beat Careers or other psychopaths b-but I'm asking you to move on. You can do that," he shook his head and I said more firmly. "You can."

"Please don't tell me that means you're not going to try?"

I stared into his eyes, shocked. "O-Of course I'll try, Graham."

This time he surprised me, pulling me into the most passionate kiss we'd had. All of our previous kisses had been chaste, or brief, or tentative. This one was full of passion, a last and very tragic declaration of love. I tried to remember how his lips felt on mine, how he tasted, one last time before he pulled away.

I wasn't sure if his time was up or whether the Peacekeepers outside heard the kiss, or knew of it, and were disgusted. They opened the door, peered in, and firmly told Graham he had to leave. I squeezed his hand one last time and he resignedly made his way out of the room, giving me a longing look as the doors closed slowly behind him.

By that point I curled up into my chair and continued crying. Was I wrong to promise Graham I'd try to win? Was trying even possible when there were Careers and other tough tributes out there? My District partner, who was taller and stronger than I was, was a volunteer. She seemed confident when she made her way onto the stage, the first volunteer Seven had since a boy three years or so ago volunteered and died for his brother.

She was undoubtedly tough, no-one weak would willingly and trivially put themselves into a death match. And she was more charismatic than I was; she chirpily told the escort her name was Percy and seemed to get off from any applause or attention she received. I was shy.

I was so shy I wasn't even expecting anymore guests. Graham was the only person I could really talk to outside my family, and my old family… Well, they were out of the picture. So I was shocked when three people made their way into the Justice Building last minute: my Uncle, Akil, who had always been one of the more lenient and nice adults in the family. Accompanying him was his daughter, Varsha, and somebody I thought I'd never see again.

"Jarul," I immediately burst into tears of joy and rushed over to her, gripping her and holding her tight. She was also crying. I looked into her eyes as I pulled away, trying not to drown in my own tears. "Dear Panem, you look so different. You've grown and…" She was still only six. Still only so young. But she was only four the last time I'd even seen her.

"Tamal," Varsha hugged me as I stood up. Barely taller than her, I was almost knocked back. My Uncle stood by and watched solemnly. "I-I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay," I said, clutching my younger sister's hand and sitting down. I looked at my Uncle and Varsha. "I'm assuming my parents weren't coming?"

They were too nervous to immediately respond. "They knew the moment you'd see them you'd call the Peacekeepers and get them kicked out," my Uncle said. He was usually so immature. I saw him as the fun Uncle when I was younger, but now he was serious and almost business-like. I noticed that all my family members were wearing their best garments: the women in their pretty Saris, my Uncle in a grand Sherwani. I missed my own culture, even if I had felt so abandoned by it.

"That's presumptuous."

"I'd do it, if it happened to me," Varsha said firmly to her father. She had always been outspoken about how my family had treated me. "It's okay to be angry, Tamal-"

"Varsha, this is not for you to dis-"

"It's true, our family treated Tamal horribly," she snapped at him, looking emotional. "But we came here because they know that. They beg for all the forgiveness in your heart – we miss you Tamal…"

"Are they only saying this because they know I'm going to die?" I said. Sensing the tension, my sister threw herself into my chest. "I had to go through so much because of them – if it weren't for the Carrs I'd have died already, of cold, of malnutrition… We've all seen it before and they threw me into that—"

"Tamal," my Uncle snapped as I tried to hold back more tears. Being reaped was bad enough, but then I had to deal with everything else in my personal life. "They want forgiveness. We all make mistakes – please…"

"If I survive, would they take me back? Or would their guilt fix over and they will think of me as an abomination again?"

"They'd want you to come home, Tamal…"

"That's not going to happen and they know it," I said, suddenly feeling like there was a sinister plot. I felt mean for almost forcing myself out of Jarul's grip and acting so furious towards them, as they were my only allies in the Arbor clan. But my parents had used them as chesspieces to win back my affection for some reason or another. Jarul released a devastated scream, held back my Uncle as she tried to run back into my arms. "G-Get out," I stood up and pointed at the door. "Get out now."

"Tamal…"

"Get out," I interrupted Varsha so loudly my throat almost imploded. "Or I will get the Peacekeepers and they won't be nice."

Speaking of the devil, two men with the noticeable visors opened the door and peered in to see what the cause of the ruckus was. My finger was still aimed towards them, trembling with rage as I watched my family make their way out into the corridor. I would probably never see them again. Maybe I should have resolved all of the problems we had, but when someone almost ruined your life it couldn't be easily forgiven. Maybe I should have tried, but…

I collapsed back into the chair, crying more than I had when I had been reaped. I cried so much that my hands were soaked in a matter of seconds, the water spilling onto my tatty trousers as I felt myself sink into more despair.

Screw it. Just screw it.

Tesni Rosette, District 9, 18

I continued to sob long after I had been reaped. My kind-faced District Partner and I were both marched to the Justice Building, where we'd say our final goodbyes, and that was that. I tried to keep myself stable as I continued to tremble and cry, doors being slammed behind me.

I remembered the days where I wished upon a star that I could escape from my home. But I didn't expect it to come true like this. I wanted to run away to another home, not to an arena where everything was designed to kill me. It was like our escort had plucked me from the frying pan and decided to throw me into the fire instead.

After finding the strength to keep my breathing under control, I tremulously made my way to the comfortable leather chair and relaxed. A minute of silence followed, and I stopped crying, though my false bravery would often collapse and I'd cry again. At least I'd only have to see mother one more time. Even then, thinking about that hurt. I didn't like my mother, but I certainly still loved her.

When the doors opened, my family were swept in by the Peacekeepers: my teary father, my shocked older brothers and my mother. My mother usually looked bitter, but for once she seemed totally ashen faced. When my father and siblings made their way in front of me, sitting, my mother lingered at the doorway like she couldn't bear to be anywhere close by.

"I…" Lost for words was an understatement. I babbled for another thirty seconds before bursting into tears. "I don't know what to do."

My father clasped onto my hand, shaking. The Hunger Games had taken family members before: my father's brother lost his daughter to them almost a decade ago. It was part of a chain reaction that made my mother the cold and cruel person I knew. When my cousin died, my Uncle dropped out of the business and things became financially difficult for us. We eventually held onto our wealth, but my fathers' emotional distance made my mother an extremely angry and unpleasant woman. It was strange to think that the Games had made my life miserable all these years and now they were probably going to kill me.

"Just stay strong," my father choked on his tears.

I threw myself into my brothers' arms. I wasn't particularly close to them; they were older than I was, and moved out and worked before I could ever truly connect with them, but I just wanted someone to hold. Feeling both of their bodies close to mine reminded me of things that could've been. Maybe if I ever got to move out myself I could've had more of a relationship with them. I would never know.

"There's no point," my mother said, looking at me like she was looking at a corpse. Her voice still had an edge of cruelty to it, but I could see from her face that she was emotional… That a part of her probably cared. She kept some composure and started pacing. "You weren't raised to be a fighter, Tesni. You don't know a flower from a herb. You don't know how to use a knife. I-I think the best thing to do is to just… When the time comes, step off your plate and make it quick."

I felt like I'd been slapped in the face. My mother's words made my father fall down a deeper pit of despair, and he sobbed passionately into my dress. My older brother, Gavin, was the one to react. He turned around and glared at my mother.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He said. "We encourage her to fight, to try her best. Not to pave her way for some sick fuck Career to win or something."

"You don't understand…"

"She's your daughter! You're supposed to encourage her to do anything to go home-"

"Sit down and shut up, Gavin. I'm your mother and you will do as I say," she snapped so hard and began to cry. My brother did as he was told and I was stunned in silence: since my mother had become cruel I'd never seen her take it out on my brothers – I was her verbal punching bag. I felt like I was experiencing a new side to her; the bitterness was still there, and I wouldn't expect anything less, but it felt like she cared in her own strange way. It was like all my dreams were coming true in the worst circumstances possible. "If she listened to you for strategy, she'd already be a goner because you certainly don't have a braincell."

Nobody challenged her. I stroked through my father's hair instinctively. I'd never truly bonded with my father either; he was always working. But I would miss him terribly. His authority was the only thing that stopped my mother from acting in crueller ways than she already did; she'd made a desire to hit me salient quite often, but never did it because she knew that was something my father wouldn't accept. But my father never did understand that words hurt just as bad in their own way.

"W-We can think of something, right?" My other brother, Raymond, said timidly. He avoided eye contact with my mother.

"I told Tesni what she is supposed to do," my mother froze and turned her back towards me. "But she's beyond my control now. She never did as she was told, I don't expect her to this time."

"I-I want to live," I said, my voice merely a whisper. That was the way my mother had always told me to talk.

"I want you to live, too," my mother's voice began to crack. When she turned to me, her face was red and blotchy and snot and tears streaked her face. "Do you think I don't love you? You're my only daughter, and we've never seen eye-to-eye," understatement of the century. "B-But that doesn't change the fact that I love you Tesni." I cracked too and futilely tried to clean my eyes of the fresh wave of tears. "And I have to be honest, there's just no chance you're getting out of that arena. You can make it quick and painless. When our family saw Alicia die on screen, tortured and butchered…" I felt my father twitch as I stroked his hair "It broke us. It almost destroyed our business and it almost destroyed our family."

I felt the bravest I'd ever been. I had nothing to lose.

"It did destroy our family," I asserted.

My mother's features faltered for a little bit, and I think both of my brothers' gave me worried glances like the Hunger Games were now the least of my worries. Surprisingly, she kept calm.

"I love you, Tesni," she shook her head. "I know you'll never believe that. Everything I did was for the best – I wanted you to get married, find a good husband, live a good life, I tried with you," I looked away from her and shook as I held back tears. I heard her storm towards the doorway: "I suppose it didn't matter that you never listened. It wasn't meant to be regardless."

She slammed the doors behind her. Knowing I only had a minute or so left with the rest of my family, I held them close for one more minute.

"I never got to talk much to either of you," I said to my brothers, trying to speak through the tears. "I-I always thought so highly of you both, and I hope you both have the best lives." I moved away so I could look my father in the eyes. "And please... please, father, please don't let this destroy you… I know it destroyed Uncle Dale and-"

The Peacekeepers opened the doors, and gave us all a look that told us everything we needed to know. My brothers walked out obediently, but my father continued to cling on for me for dear life. It broke me inside to watch the Peacekeepers storm in and drag him away; no matter how much he kicked and screamed for me, it was futile. The doors closed him out forever. I curled into a ball and continued to cry, only peering up from above my knees when the doors opened. Noah was standing there. I hoped he would visit me.

I stood up and tried to run despite my dress pooling around me. I held close to him – this time I didn't cry, I just felt safe to be around some sanity.

Noah had always been that to me: my best friend and my sanity. After my mother had turned against me, I changed from someone who was confident and loud to a hermit. All my friends faded away, but Noah adamantly stayed by my side. We'd always been friends, and I could actually be myself around him. I'd even planned to run away and live with him.

"Noah, you asshat," I shook as he cradled my head into his chest. We'd never gotten to speak much in the past year, because whenever we didn't have school I was locked away at home and he had to work for hours just to provide for his family. "I was scared you wouldn't visit me."

"You know I'd always visit you, you're my best friend," his voice sounded so strong despite the fact his eyes were leaking. He pulled away slightly and scanned my face. "Has the wicked witch been here?"

"They all have," I sighed. I didn't like it when Noah called my mother a wicked witch, even if I felt she was one. I also didn't want to think about my family visiting – it was so painful to look at the people I'd lose. I didn't even want to lose my mother, as masochistic as that seemed. "It went disastrously, as you'd expect."

"What did they say?" He said. I gestured for him to follow me before making my way to my seat. Somehow, I'd stopped crying and I felt a little more calm.

"They were just devastated, as you'd expect," I bit my bottom lip slightly. "Mother told me to… Make it quick."

Noah looked shocked. I felt like everybody was taking my mother's suggestion more personally than I was; I didn't plan to kill myself, but I definitely understood why someone else in my position would. Maybe it would be easier if I did…

"You don-"

"No," I said firmly. "I can't do that."

"Good," Noah said quietly. "I don't want this to be the last time we ever talk…"

"That's why this whole process exist," I said, gesturing around the magnificent rooms. "I-I mean, this is all one big goodbye because my chances of winning…" The chances of surviving the Hunger Games were always slim. One in twenty-four. But now District Thirteen were taking part, they'd gotten that bit slimmer.

"I'll miss you so much," Noah broke and pulled me into another hug, as if he knew that death was right in front of me. I was so sick of crying.

"I'll miss you too," I told him.

"Did your family give you a token?"

"Yes," I nodded, looking down at a ring my father had given me, rested on my finger. I'd had it before the reaping, I always had a feeling I'd take it to the grave. "Otherwise I'd ask for you to give me something I can remember."

"I'll never forget you," he pulled away and wiped his eyes briefly. As if he could no longer stand the pain, he stood up and walked away before he was even called away. I watched Noah leave longingly, and when he closed the doors I heard him cry outside much more loudly. I bit into my palm to keep quiet… I hoped to god this was the second worst part of being reaped after the whole dying thing; I didn't think I could stand the pain much longer.

Florian Flax, District 11, 14

Everything wilted and died eventually.

But despite all my paranoia I didn't think it would happen to me at such a young age… Age fourteen. Whenever I thought I had a brain tumour or a severe blood disease, I usually reassured myself with my own vitality and youth. But youth wasn't going to help me when it came to the Hunger Games… If anything, it was a hindrance. I may have only been four years younger than the eighteen year olds, but unlike me they'd probably finished puberty. They had muscles and strength beyond what I could hope for.

I mean, maybe there was a chance I could survive. But I wasn't counting on one in twenty-six. When my brother had been diagnosed with cancer, our doctor had told us there was only a thirty percent chance he'd survive… Chances way higher than mine.

He died.

Numbness gripped me as I sat in the chair, a few visitors coming in to tearfully wish me goodbye. I didn't understand why I wasn't crying – I'd cried when I was reaped, but since then shock and apathy had taken over. It was like I'd returned to my default setting. I should have been used to this, really. Of all the people that would be reaped, it was inevitably going to be me.

I was beginning to think there was someone up there targeting me, as self-pitying as that sounded.

One of my schoolmates, Joen, probably felt dejected when I only responded with brief sentences and flinched when she tried to initiate physical contact. After she left, I waited for my parents to arrive. As expected, they did, but when I saw my dad come in without my mother I couldn't help but roll my eyes. I'd have thought that in this moment they could've put their emotional baggage aside, but I guess I wasn't worth it.

"Hey, has your mum arrived?" My father asked at the doorway, hesitant.

"No."

"Son," my father rushed towards me, holding me close. He had always been the nicer parent, and I actually tried to cling onto him, wishing he could just take me away from here, but it was hard to hold him because he was shaking. "H-How are you?"

"I'm okay," I lied, somehow composed. I tried to joke, but it fell flat: "I-I told you I was sick. I was going to die anyway."

My father's features became sombre, though he quickly made himself give a mechanical smile. I knew that my brother's death had affected my dad. While he was still a warm man, that warmth was so much more distant. The changes to my parents' personalities had eventually led to the collapse of my their marriage, and while I was still lucky to even have two parents it hurt that they had separated. They virtually hated each other.

Life was hard for me from then on. Like a parallel of my own parents, I grew distant. Coping with the loss of my twin brother and my parents' divorce, coupled with the conviction I held that like my brother I would one day succumb to disease, I grew cold inside. It was better if you were numb because you couldn't feel the pain. It allowed you to continue with your life: I still spoke to my friends, and I still tried to maintain a close relationship with both of my parents (occasionally visiting my fathers' run down apartment on weekends). But in my free time I could just sit and reflect on how life was just a mechanical process that just ends.

My mother often tried to plant colourful flowers on our windowsill, because she believed it would liven the place up. Our house needed it after all we'd been through. But District Eleven didn't have much fertile soil outside the orchards, and the scorching heat meant any fauna was quick to wither. It was only a matter of time and I was next.

And despite understanding the inevitability, I was terrified. I couldn't hide the pain. No matter what shallow reassurances my father had, I cried and I knew he felt just as bad about the whole ordeal. As soon as my mother arrived he was quick to flee, and I wished they could have put their differences aside just once – just for me.

My mother stood at the doorway, not saying a word until my father passed her. Her red eyes made it clear she had been trying, and she was still shaking as if she'd already seen me die. She made her way close to me, occasionally trying to rub her eyes and hide any semblance of emotion.

"Flori," she said almost breathlessly, calling me by a childhood nickname that had always stuck. She didn't even mention my father. "D-Did anyone visit?"

I skipped the obvious answer. "A few friends from school," I said emptily, finding it hard to believe that I was engaging in small talk right before I was about to be sent off to the Capitol.

"I…" My mother sat down and looked me in the eyes, lost for words. She'd already lost a child before and the pain was unbearable for her. What was she going to do now I was dead? I felt almost guilty, as if I had volunteered for the ordeal. If I had to fight to survive, battle the inevitability of death, it would be with her in mind. "I love you."

She finally broke, trying to cover her face as she continuously wiped the corner of her eyes and disguised sniffles as sobs. I instinctively pulled her into an embrace, allowing her to break. I'd never seen her cry like this since my brother's funeral three years ago. In District Eleven, very few people got an easy ride, but it was almost impossible to desensitise yourself from pain and loss… Especially when your children were involved.

"Dorian will be there… T-To look after me," my voice felt strained with the burden of emotion. My mother looked up to me, shocked that I would bring them into this – or maybe she was shocked that I didn't do something generic like promise her I would come home. While I couldn't bear the thought of dying and leaving my mother to pick up the pieces, I couldn't inflict the agony of false hope onto her too. I knew how much that hurt. When my brother first got leukaemia, our doctor told us he'd be fine. It was a lie, and it made the loss all the more painful.

"I'll always be there to look after you," my mother said quietly. She cupped my face with her wet hands, using her thumb to brush away stray tears. "I'll be thinking about you every second of my life, no matter what happens. You and Dori."

Dorian hated it when she called him that, which made me smile; it was authentic, but pained.

My mother reached into her dirt stained dress from the collar, removing a heart shaped locket and tearing it from her neck. I said nothing as I saw the aged gold, which had almost faded into a mint green. I remembered when my mother had bought that same locket so many years ago, when I was just a kid. I thought she got rid of it after the divorce.

"Promise me you'll think of us all too?" My mother smiled.

Using my small fingers to push the locket open, I looked at the picture inside. It was an old family photo – my parents were much more naïve and in love, holding each other close and laughing at something. Dorian and I were sat at their feet; our eyes alight with mischievous grins. I wished we got to experience more moments like this.

While flowers often withered and died, it was nice to see them bloom too, no matter how brief it was.

"Every second," I said, clenching it in my palm and promising not to forget any of them.

A Peacekeeper opened the door and peered in, as if she knew she was interrupting an intimate moment.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but the tribute is to leave for the station now," she said firmly. My mother didn't need to be coerced out by force; she gave me a quick hug and stood up. I was proud that she wasn't screaming or sobbing like she was moments ago – I hoped she could keep that strong in the moments afterwards.

"I love you," I said. I hadn't uttered those three words for a long, long time.

"I love you too," my mother smiled, the waterworks starting again. As if she knew she would descend to tears, she turned around to try and conceal them. She walked out hurriedly and though the doors closed behind her I heard her sob for a while outside, accompanied by a more gentle voice. I think that was the Peacekeeper reassuring her – at least, that's what I hoped it was.

Then silence came, as if the whole world had died around me. I listened to the clock tick, waiting for my escort to come. As the next few minutes passed I just stared at the picture inside my mother's locket, revelling in the few precious moments life had to offer before I had to spend my last weeks in hell. The Capitol was probably a glamorous looking hell; a hell that smelled of perfume and glittered with jewels, but that didn't disguise the reality.

"You're Florian, right?" A well-spoken voice said from the doorway. I looked at the escort who stood in the doorway, Magellan LaMonte. She was as popular as an escort could be in District Eleven, mostly because a lot of the guys thought she was hot. Personally, I didn't see it: the dark smudge that clung to her skin looked like she was artificially trying to replicate the dark skin many people in District Eleven had. Everything about her seemed fake.

"Flori," I said, embracing my mother's pet name for the first time. I stood up and smiled weakly. "You can call me Flori, if it makes it easier."

"Cute name," she said, though she looked disinterested. "So, it's going to be one hell of a ride…"

I just nodded. I guessed there was no other way to put it.

On second thought, there was, but such phrases couldn't be dressed up so positively.

"Well, it's time to pick up your District partner," Magellan opened the door and gestured that I leave. Realising every step was one closer to death, I couldn't help but tremble and struggle to keep myself upright. "I'm sure you're acquainted with the process but I'll quickly remind you – we go to the train where you watch the reapings and speak with your mentor, then you are styled and the chariot rides will be your first opportunity to impress sponsors," I entered the royal purple corridor of the Justice Building and allowed Magellan to guide me. "And then there's three days of training, where you can prepare for the Games. You can then relay to the Gamemakers everything you've learned for a score, then you are interviewed to show your authentic self to the Capitol," I was already struggling to keep up with this whole process. It seemed like I was fighting before the Games even begun. "All very easy, it'll be a breeze. Then the Gamemakers will have another surprise for you all before the Games begin, it will probably be a party of sorts but we have no idea yet – that will also be broadcast live."

"I've never been to a party," I said timidly.

"Well, you need to act like you've been to all the parties in the world," Magellan told me as we stopped outside the large wooden doors where my District partner, an older girl called Rye, was. She grabbed the doorhandle. "Remember, etiquette and posture are just as sharp weapons in the longrun-"

This was going to be a lot more difficult than I initially calculated, and I wasn't an optimistic person.

That was my first April fool's joke ever! I hope it fooled at least one person, haha.

Tribute list is up! I want to remind everyone who didn't get in that I still loved their characters, there were just so many submissions and a lot of competition. I hope you all understand, and stick around to read.

Anyway – once again, thanks for the reviews, they make me all smile. I think it's a good time to remind you guys that characters from this fic all feature in chapter 63 of 'Crush or be Crushed.' It might be useful to read that, or you can read the story as a whole if you want. But you don't have to; the stories are meant to be standalones as well as arching into a wider plot :)

Also, it's early days to truly seal a judgment on a tribute after 1 POV but I'm enjoying your rankings, it's also interesting how everyone is coming up with unique ranking/rating systems of their own!

~Toxic