an

district 5! hope you like 'em! important info below:)


District Five

8am

Mariah Grey, 15

We slowly make the walk back to my house in silence, hands linked together but no words spoken about it. Like always. A kiss there, mindless flirts here, but nothing ever said about whatever it is, whatever it is we have going on. "Those two are so cute!" people whisper, and we hear them yet nothing ever happens, about us and about this - whatever 'us' and 'this' are. We're each others only friends, who else would want to befriend the arsonists? Yet it's like we're some sort of freak show for the everyone else our age to stare at. "Aww how cute the two creeps are in love!" In love? I don't think so. Maybe. Probably not.

I met Daimain when I was 12 and I stormed out of the house after having another epic screaming fight with BlFUCKINGBITCHair. Our father had awoken from a drunken slumber and raised his fist as if to hit me. So I left. Obviously he wouldn't have ever dared touch me, he's a wimp and a coward who crumbled after our mother died, never goes to his job and his only friend comes from a bottle. He's pathetic. But I couldn't stand being in a house with Blthatbitchihateherthatbitchthatbitchaiwhothefuckdoesshethinksheiswhowhowhother, so in a huge strop, I slammed the door and began to stomp down some dirt path, not knowing where it would lead. Blafuckingbitchihopeyoudieir likes to bring up the fact that I have anger issues. And I do, I guess. I don't know. She just thinks she's so fucking perfect, and that pisses me off because she is - BBITCHlair is the pretty sister and the smart sister and the popular sister and the musical sister and the sporty sister and she rubs in my face all the fucking time. I'm not jealous, I couldn't give a less of a shit about that pathetic bitch but she annoys me a lot. And she does it on purpose too. She tells her friends that I'm "not right in the head", and maybe I'm not. I don't give a fuck.

So anyway, I was walking down this path, beyond pissed and taking it out on the creatures I come across. I went out of my way to stamp on the various bugs in my path, and when I stumbled across a small white mouse I brought my heel down on that, too. Later, I found myself constantly thought about how it's eyes bulged before it died, nearly coming out of their sockets. I'd always find a smile was on my face when the image crossed my mind. But yeah, I'm angry and there's such an itch in my hand to hold a match, and ache in my heart to set anything, literally anything, on fire.

I found an old shed, and from the outside it looked pretty abandoned. I fumbled in my pocket, and clutched my box of matches excitedly. The grass around the shed was dead and dry, and it looked like nobody had been here in years. Until I opened the creaky door and inside crouched a boy, a few years older than me with black hair, pale skin and sharp blue eyes. He looked up in surprise, but only for a second or two and then his eyebrows dropped and he smirked. He stood up and it was then I saw how tall he was, and how in one hand he had a bottle of gasoline - how did he get that? - and a box of matches. "Hey." He said, suave and cool.

Together we sat a couple of meters away from the shed, watched it go up in flames, and then made out.

And now, yet again, our boots are both covered in ash, the only proof left about what we have just done - that, and the pile of rubble where an abandoned shack once stood. Daimain stops outside my house, and pulls his hands away. He's about to say something when the front door flies open and Bfuckerlair stands there, in her lovely pale yellow Reaping dress which was once mine. Waste not want not, here in District Three. She has an ugly sneer on her face, and is probably about to yell at me when she notices Daimain, and instantly her expression softens into a girly and flirty one. Jesus, she's only thirteen and Daimain is turning seventeen in a few weeks, yet it's like she's the one in a kind-of-but-not-really relationship with him. "Hey Daimain." she giggles, wrapping a lock of her black hair that resembles mine around her finger. Daimain ignores her, and leaves our house with a promise to see me at the Reaping.

Blair scowls and I smile, triumphant.


District Five

9 am

Volt Tinker, 16

"Volt! What are you doing?"

I cringe at the voice and stop in my tracks. Oh for God's sake. "Uhh, nothing Father." I say, meaning for it to be strong and believable but like everything I say it is weak and comes out more of a question. This is why I don't talk.

"Turn around boy!"

With a sigh, I swivel around on my heels, clutching the tray so hard my knuckles are turning white, and biting down on my bottom lip. I'm on one side of the corridor, right outside Mother's room, and father is on the opposite, one hand resting on his office door. There are probably five rooms between us but even from here I can see the disappointment in his eyes.

My father is a loud man who often shouts things instead of speaking them. He is short with a big gut and he's often red in the face and breathing heavily, he has wiry grey hair and a really, really bad mustache. My older brothers have a running joke that on our Grandmother's deathbed the one thing she asked him to do was to shave it. Not very funny, if you ask me. Our grandmother died a year ago from a chronic illness, and the day she died she called us into her room, to have a one-to-one talk. They only lasted about two minutes each, she had very little time, and she asked every member of our family one thing. Or so I heard. I have five older brothers and I'm the youngest in my family. By the time I got to her she was exhausted, and ready to go. But...I don't think that clouded her judgement. I don't think she had a question to ask me.

"You're a bright boy, Volt. I'm so sorry this happened to you." she whispered, her voice hoarse. She wasn't talking about her illness, or death. I stepped forward, and sank into the bed next to her, gripping her hand tightly. "Gran," I tried to say but my it felt liked my throat had closed up. "Gran, what do you mean? Gran?" she shut her eyes and let out a shaky breath. "Volt, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry." And then, she was gone.

Father drops his head, looking at his feet. His hand never leaves the door and he sighs deeply. Then he picks his head back up, counts to ten aloud and then marches over to me. "Volt."

"Hello Father. Good morning, isn't it?" I whisper meekly, hoping that maybe if I keep talking he'll be so astonished that I'm actually able to form sentences and hold a conversation, he'll forget all about the tray in my hands. No such luck. "Volt. What's this?" he asks, referring to the tray even though he knows damn well what it is and what I'm doing with it. I stare down at the tray, and like before, on this day a year ago exactly, I feel like my throat has closed up.

"Mother's breakfast." I whisper, finally.

Father sighs, again.

"Volt. I am the Mayor of District Five! We have four servants. Why on Earth are you the one bringing breakfast to your lazy mother? Get Wyren to do it, he just finished mopping the floors. For Christ's sake, Volt, when will you learn that you don't have to help everybody? Sit back and enjoy your privileged life like your brothers! You're too kind to everyone and it's seriously getting on my nerves now."

He droned on like that for a while, "you're too soft blablabla", but I wasn't listening. My lazy mother? My mother has depression, diagnosed and everything. It came to her after Grandmother died. She can't help it, Jesus Christ how can one man be so insensitive?

"Go and get changed for the Reaping, Volt." Father snaps, knocking me out of my thoughts.

"Can I take this to Mother first?"

"Damn your Mother!" He screeches. One hand flies out and smacks the tray out of my hands. I watch as it falls to the floor, spilling orange juice and smashing the china plates. Shards of glass fly everywhere, and toast lands butter side down on Father's polished black shoes. He hardly notices, he's too busy staring at me, anger swimming in his steely grey eyes. "Wyren!" he screams, and from downstairs I can hear the pitter-patter of anxious feet, armed with a mop.

"Go, Volt."

I wish I could stand there and yell at him, stand my ground. But I don't. I go, like he says.


The Capitol

9 am

Tatiana Decimus

District Five's tributes are either very boring or very exciting. Their tributes are always weak and thin, but they're smart - so incredibly smart. The camera picks up the drab grey which seems to cover Five in vast amounts. In the distance, huge factories can be seen through the screen. The ones that get picked up by the camera are turned off on Reaping day, so that the ghastly smoke and pollution can't be seen. But still, the other factories are open and the children who pile into Five's town Square are coughing and wrinkling their noses in disgust.

But there's another reason I'm so eager to watch these Reapings today. If all goes to plan, our male tribute should be sixteen year old Volt Tinker.

Five's escort is the kind, bubbly yet forgettable Flopsy Bunnie. Or, her personality is forgettable, just another Capitol citizen. But her dress sense? Well, it's certainly something to look at. She was a white tutu, and has pink ballet pumps, pink hair and pink rabbit ears attached to a headband on her head. Dear God.

"Greetings District Five! It is such a pleasure to be here! My name is Flopsy Bunnie and it is my absolute delight to be able to Reap your tributes this year!" she squeals excitedly, but Five gives her no response.

Hastily, she picks a slip from the female bowl and reads out, "Mariah Grey!"

A few murmurs ripple through the crowd, and then there's a scream of "God fucking damn! I do not have the time for this shit!" Flopsie stands, mortified, as a tanned girl with long black hair and green eyes marches onstage. Flopsie blinks twice and then claps her hands together. "Cool! Now for our boy, who is... Volt Tinker!"

Yes!

Tinker's Grandmother was discovered to be continuing secret rebellious acts, inspired by that Everdeen girl. We could have just outright killed their family, but the father is the Mayor, and he's damn good at his job. So we killed the Gran - when the Tinker family was last in the Capitol for business, we injected an illness into her as she slept. But that's not enough. The five eldest boys are all strong, smart, and could probably easily win the Games. But the sixth? Volt? He wouldn't say boo to a goose. So last year, we Reaped both of his best friends: Gadget Twist and Shift Luk. Both died, obviously, and this year, he's been Reaped. And will die. Obviously.

The Mayor starts to scream, and Volt slowly starts to take shaky steps upstage.

Easy prey.

Well, happy Hunger Games Mariah, and may the odds be ever in your favour. As for you, Volt? I'm afraid the odds haven't been in yours.


an

woo! what do you think of them?

sooooo i had 8 male and 10 male reserved for people but neither have submitted the tributes and it's been, like, a month so the spots are officially open! please submit:)

also this hasn't been checked over at all i'm on my ipad and ugghh. i will later

-maddy:)X