Author's Note: Hey everyone! I am super sorry for the very prolonged update but I was out of town, contracted Writer's Block, and with it being summer and all... I apologize for that and I will keep a tight schedule from here on out. Also, please do not flame if the scientific stuff I say here is not correct. I would like to thank TheMockingJay'sFlight for this tribute and HeartOfTheThoughtless for the last tribute, where I forgot to mention her. Enjoy!

Imishi Kel, Age 17, District 3 Male

I furrow my brows in focus, contemplating the half finished Gamemaker control panel on the table in front of me. The lighting in the factory is dim, which makes it even more difficult to make progress. I need to add one more red wire to connect to the second blue wire…wait, no, that would just mess it up. I would add a blue wire instead… but then it would interfere with the transmitter, and that won't do… Wow, this is the hardest project yet, and they chose to give it to me on Reaping day? I find it hard to focus today, as it's an effort to even think about work when my thoughts are in a million places. I can't wait until I'm an independent inventor, so I can choose when I want to work. What if I get picked? Who will take care of Iole? No, no, Imishi, you are not to worry yourself about that. Direct your thoughts to the project that your District is depending on you to finish…

A finger prods my shoulder, and I snap back into the present. I turn around to glare at Maxell, my friend and co-worker. "What?" I ask, irritated at him breaking my concentration.

He just shrugged. "I asked you if you were nervous about the Reaping, but you didn't respond, so I thought you were spacing out." Maxell turned nineteen this year, so he doesn't need to fret over it. Unfortunately, he does like reminding me how I still have another Reaping to go after this one.

My glare stays plastered to my face, with no intention of disappearing. "What do you think, Maxell?" I exclaim loudly. Other employees have turned to stare at my disruptive tone, but I don't care. I don't care in the least. That was an inquisition he could've easily answered himself, without having to bring back my anxiety. "Of course I'm nervous. Even when you were eligible, you couldn't possibly have been as nervous as I am. Because do you have a five year old sister who depends on you for everything? Do you have a sister who lost both of her parents, so all she has left is you? I don't think you do, so I would advise you to shut up about the whole thing and stop asking stupid questions when the solutions are pathetically obvious. "

When I finish my rant, I realize that the room has gone silent. I feel my cheeks redden and all of my bravado drains out of me. Maxell observes me cautiously while subtly moving his chair away. "Geez, Imishi," he mutters, taken aback. If I were him, I would be taken aback, too. This is the first time I've ever lost control like that. That's not me. I'm supposed to be Imishi Kel, the collected, brave, smart, kind and useful one, not Imishi Kel the temperamental, angry, unapproachable, and outburst prone one.

I look down at my feet, I look up at the ceiling, I look anywhere that will allow me to avoid making contact with him. "Sorry," I mumble. All eyes are trained on me, eagerly awaiting my apology. It is rare that anything worth watching arises in this factory. "I guess I'm just overwhelmed by the whole Reaping thing." My audience seems disappointed with my words, surely thinking, "That was his big apology? Those barely audible, insincere words?"

I turn back to the jumble of wires and chips, not ready to fully confront Maxell or let them see my ashamed face any longer. I am just about to fuse a red and blue wire when a scream rings out. I immediately turn towards the source of the noise to find that it comes from Pixelle Corlisle, a girl who is about my age. I see that the top of one of her fingers is missing, leaving a bloody stump in its place and that she is sitting on the ground. A sharp, jagged blood-stained piece of metal is on the floor at her side, which she obviously severely cut herself with.

She sobs and wails in pain, and I can't stand to watch her like that. I'm not friends with her, but I hate seeing people in suffering. I walk over to her and kneel down beside her. She looks at me and whimpers. I need to appease her. That is my only thought. The whole ordeal with Maxell disappears from my mind, leaving me to focus. I guess this is why they all call me handy, because I always help others without hesitation. I rip off the tattered hem of my shirt and wrap it tightly around her finger to stem the blood flow. Oh well, the shirt was falling apart anyways. It was high time that I got a new one. I tie the fabric in a tight knot but it gets soaked with burgundy in a matter of seconds.

What to do, what to do? I didn't feel comfortable exposing any more of my stomach by using my shirt as makeshift gauze, and of course there wasn't any in this factory. However, I had to do whatever it takes for the greater good, especially now that I have to redeem myself. I take a deep breath, grit my teeth, and yank off my coverage, eliciting gasps from my devoted audience. Ah, how excited they must feel at yet another spectacle starring yours truly, Imishi Kel. I tear the fabric into strips and tie each one around her decapitated finger. Once the last one has been placed, the flow has been reduced to a barely there trickle.

Pixelle had quieted after a few minutes, and now is just staring in a paralyzed state, occasionally wincing. I sit back on my heels and simply watch her, making sure that she is alright. "Thank you." I think I hear these two words, barely a whisper, but I can't be certain. Maybe it's just my imagination playing tricks on me. "Thank you." It's louder this time, not as muffled, and I see Pixelle's lips move with the sounds.

"You're welcome," I say with a smile. I help her to her feet and she doesn't seem to have any ill effects on any other part of her body. "Do you think you can walk home?" Pixelle nods and I guide her to the door. We are just at the exit when a gruff voice behind us hammers my ears.

"Where do you two think you're going?" Pixelle and I slowly turn around to face a Peacekeeper, with one hand on the barrel of his gun. Not good.

I fidget nervously. "I'm not going anywhere; I'm just walking Pixelle here to the door. Her finger got amputated and she needs to go home." I'm expecting a nod of consent, a statement of permission, or at the very least an acknowledging grunt. Instead, all I receive is the same condescending expression.

"Where's the pass?" he asks. "To leave work early, you need a pass. Or else, I can't let you through these doors."

"She's hurt," I say. "She won't be much use if she stays, and if she is to come back to work tomorrow, she must allow her finger to heal for at least a day." The Peacekeeper shakes his head and goes to close the door.

"No pass, no exit." He repeats. "If she can't work, she's required to try. Now, go back to your stations." I feel the hot anger bubbling up inside me, but I push it back down. Temperamental is not my nature; remember, the Maxellincident was the first time my anger has gotten the better of me.

"I'm sorry," I state calmly, "but if she works, we're only going to end up with another bloody mess on our hands. It would be in everybody's best interest for her to leave. So, if you don't mind sir, she'll be on her way." Pixelle, who has been silent through this ordeal, touches my arm softly.

"It is okay, Imishi," she whispers. "You'll just get in trouble." The Peacekeeper agrees.

"At least that girl's got some sense." He laughs cruelly. "Defying one of us? Who do you think you are?" It all comes down on me. Hard. The Peacekeeper's right; who do I think I am challenging their decisions? I turn away, shoulders slumped in defeat, with Pixelle at my heels. Its funny how I am more frustrates at this than she is, considering that she's the one who is actually suffering. Maybe it's because I was powerless to change the situation.

The remainder of the work day goes by quickly. I try to assist Pixelle in her project as much as possible, but I have my own complex control panel that I need to complete. When I am released, I haven't gotten the smallest bit close to finishing the device. This adds to my current defeatist attitude, so I walk through the exit feeling beaten down and tired. If this was a regular day, I would go home and sleep, but another obstacle ominously awaits: the Reaping.

On my way home, I pass by my crush Natiba. She is certainly a rarity in District 3 where appearances are concerned; her pallor is tanned and golden, her eyes green, and her hair a beautiful auburn. I'm not so sure that she likes me back, as I am the simple ashen skinned, black haired, wiry teenager that is the norm here. But, I still have hope that she may. Since we talk sometimes, although as no more than friends, today I am going to pull her aside, tell her I need to discuss the math homework, and kiss her. Simple as that. Drastic and full of spontaneity, I know, but sometimes risks pay off, despite the fact that there are not many risk-takers here. How she reacts will tell me how she feels, and will at least allow me to move on from her if she slaps me or shows signs of contempt, which I've seen happen before.

I give her a small wave, and she smiles at me. Wait…is this a Hi-Imishi-good-to-see-you wave or an Imishi-I-really-like you-and-I'm-glad-you-acknowledged-me wave? Who knows, maybe she is in the same situation I am, falling hard for the other but afraid that they don't feel the same way. Well, I'll know after the kiss.

I reach my house, or rather my uncle's house, and step inside. It's a very ramshackle residence, small and fairly unkempt on the inside and out, but it has a cozy feel to it. Thank goodness the government chose my Uncle Telly for Iole and me to live with after both of my parents died.

When I was twelve years of age, and when Iole was just a baby, my mother perished of , or for the weaker mind, a lung disease caused by silica dust. My father was able to support us well given the circumstances of single parenting, but two years later, he was killed in a freak accident at the super computer factory in which he worked. All I remember is seeing the building collapse, and a cold Peacekeeper come to my house, where I was home alone with Iole, to tell me that I was to live with my Uncle Telly. I was angry, but I now realize that people under the same circumstances as I could have it much worse. I could be in the community home, for instance, or out on the streets. Uncle isn't bad at all, despite being poor.

The moment I walk through the door, Iole rushes to me and gives me a hug. I sweep her up and spin her around, which elicits a round of giggles from her. Ah, the oblivion and innocence of the five year old self. It will break my heart when it is time for her to learn that the world isn't some beautiful, happy place, and that what happens today is the prime example. "Imishi!" she squeals.

"Iole!" I say, mocking her tone. This makes her laugh even harder. "What have you been doing all day?"

"I drew a pretty picture!" she says. "Come on, I'll show you!" Iole tugs my hand and leads me to the sparse living room, made up of a distressed coffee table, and two couches with the stuffing beginning to erupt from the cushions. On the table, short colored pencils are scattered around, and a colorful drawing sits in the middle. "See?" she asks. "It's a picture of you and me!" And I do see the resemblance, although confined to the color of our hair and skin, since she obviously can't make precise facial features.

"Wow, Iole!" I exclaim. "That's great! Did you take secret art lessons behind my back? How else could you learn how to draw like that?" My high accolades elate her, and she jumps up and down. "Did you eat lunch yet?" I ask. She shakes her head. Of course she didn't. Uncle Telly is kind and welcoming, but he expects us to take care of ourselves. He doesn't make meals for us, or buy us clothes or other necessities. That's fine by me, as long as we are provided with shelter.

We go to the kitchen and I make her a simple sandwich. I had the same thing during my lunch break at the factory. Rough rye bread is the cheapest food, and buying peanut butter isn't that hard either. It's all I can manage for lunch with my meager salary. Iole is just finishing eating when Uncle Telly comes through the door.

"Hi, Uncle," I say politely. "How was work?" Uncle's job is cleaning the products that other factories make before they are sent to the Capitol. Not all occupations involve manufacturing gadgets, even though we're the technology District. He lacks the brains that are needed to invent and create, so that's why he doesn't earn much.

"Alright," he grunts while cleaning the soles of his shoes at the mat. "Today we had to clean those shower panels. Lots of little nooks and crannies that was full of dust and grime." He taps his chin thoughtfully. "Boy, isn't it the Reaping today? Haven't you gotta get going soon?" I look at the old clock on the wall and find that, yes, it is almost time for the reaping.

I nod. "I'll need you to take Iole and wait with her in the ineligible section," I say. "I have to go get ready."

I run off to the small room that Iole and I have to share in order to get dressed. I find a white, simply cut shirt devoid of any grease marks and a pair of grey slacks. They will have to do, but are nothing compared to the blouses, suits, and crisp pants of Districts 1, 2 and 4. I then pull on the beautifully crafted leather necklace from my mother, which will be my token if I am reaped. I never go to a Reaping without it. It has a silver pendant of the letter I, to signify my name. The piece of jewelry feels as if it carries around a part of her soul, and has helped me cope with her death.

I check my reflection in the grimy mirror leaning against the dresser, hoping to see that my appearance has been magically altered since I last checked. I am heavily disappointed, as the same plain boy is still staring back at me. I finger comb my thin black hair, but it makes me look like more of a, um, geek. The only way Natiba will crush on me is for my personality.

I walk back to the room where Iole and Uncle are waiting. We file out into the sunshine and begin our journey to the square. "Where are we going?" exclaims Iole excitedly.

"Oh, it's just something we have to do," I say mildly. "After this, I'll get you some new colored pencils if you're good."

"Yay!" she screams, and starts skipping the rest of the way. It doesn't take much to distract a five year old. We reach the square with time to spare, and the camera crews have not even finished setting up. I have to get my blood drawn, and I wince. I remind myself that Pixelle today had it much worse. I stand and silently wait until the Reaping starts. The people around me chatter nervously, but I don't have many friends besides Maxell.

I know that it is time when our escort, Wordia Dictionaria, bounces onto the stage. I almost laugh out loud at what she's wearing. It seems that she is trying to appear as intelligent, but instead looks the opposite. Oversized glasses, neon blouse and slacks, a printed bow tie for heaven's sake, and blue slicked back hair. I nearly pity the Capitol citizens sometimes, since they are just so clueless. However, all it takes is to think about the hundreds of children they've killed and all of my pity immediately vanishes.

What is even more hilarious is how she tries to speak in a wise manner. Just watching her is entertainment. "Salutations, District 3," she announces. She begins her spiel about why we are here, identical to the previous years. The mayor reads the Treaty of Treason which is so boring that I yawn. When he finishes, Wordia returns to the podium. "Now, in lieu of tradition, we shall draw the blessed female tribute to compete in this event!" This is where I tense. Not Natiba, please don't be Natiba…And on second thought, not even Pixelle, who can't compete with her finger…nobody that I know…

"Aurora Jade Stone! Aurora, please mount the stage!" I can't place the name, but when I see the ginger haired, pretty girl coming forward, I vaguely recognize her. I think I've seen her around town sometimes with her little brother, though no more than that. I hear a small voice calling out, "Mommy, mommy!" It comes from a boy no more than six…her brother. My heart sinks and I can only process how sad that is, because it reminds me so much of Iole. Aurora pauses and…is that a tear I see sliding down her pale cheek?

My heart pounds when Wordia says that it is the boys' turn. My only thought is, Not me, not me, not me. She draws a name and unfurls it with flourish. "Imishi Kel!"

I am dead. Those words are my death sentence. A ton of bricks is dropped on me, or so it seems. My life flashes before my eyes, all the things I've done and planned to do. Iole, she depends on me, no, someone volunteer. Uncle can't take care of her alone. Wait…Natiba! This thought pulls me up short. I know that it's silly that something so unimportant could really make me hysterical, but it does. And how about Iole…

Now I've done it, I reprimand myself. I've gone crazy and any hope of sponsors is down the drain. I'm anticipating people backing away from me nervously, but to my surprise, everyone just stares at me expectantly. I realize that my fit was only on the inside, and I've appeared to be standing her this whole time. Thank goodness. I can't afford to lose my composure. I need to try my very hardest to get back to everyone I love, especially Iole, and going mad won't help the cause. I put on a brave face and make my way to the stage, fervently praying I'm not as pale as I feel.

Wordia presents us, and the crowd, as usual, doesn't applaud. Aurora and I are herded into the Justice Building to say our goodbyes. The moment I am deposited into the room, I start making plans, as there is no time to lose.

Hmmm…I need allies, so I can use the fact that we both have younger siblings that we desperately love to make a connection with Aurora. Maybe she'll accept an alliance request. In the arena, I can set traps since I work in technology to kill and electrify my opponents. Yes, avoid direct confrontation and use the traps to do my dirty work. So now I have to think of what kind of snares to make…

The doors burst open and Maxell runs in. "Iole isn't coming," he says without skipping a beat. "Your uncle doesn't think it's a good idea to…you know… for her to have to say goodbye." I want to cry out in grief. When I told Iole to go with Uncle to the ineligible section…that may be the last time I ever speak to her. Who am I kidding? That will be the last time I ever speak to her. I internally laugh dryly at my stupid plans. How could I think that my meager traps will be enough to win? Maxell must see my distress, and shakes me hard. "Imishi, you are going to come home. You hear me? You are not giving up. You're smart; you will survive. Set traps, blow things up, you do whatever it takes."

"I already thought of that," I say glumly. "It's not enough."

"Well, it has to be!" he exclaims defiantly. "How do you think the other District 3 victors have won?"

I shake my head. "I'm not like them, Maxell." I look down at my hands. "I may be smart, but I'm not a genius."

"Yes, you are!" Maxell says loudly. "You're the best inventor in the factory; you know how to manipulate wires and devices. You can come home!" I'm still not convinced. He softens his voice. "And I'm sorry about the factory thing. It was my fault, not yours." The Peacekeepers barge in, signaling that Maxell's time is up. They begin to tow him out. "Bye, Imishi," he screams. "Remember, you are coming home!" The doors shut behind him.

In less than a minute, the doors reopen, and Natiba comes in. Natiba comes in! I double take to make sure I'm not hallucinating, but she is there, clear as the sun. She rushes over to the chair I am sitting in, looks at me, and…kisses me. I am taken by surprise, and don't react at first. Then I get into the groove of things. My lips moving against hers, her lemony breath, the rhythm to it. I forget the reaping, my imminent doom, the depression that had filled my being just moments ago. Everything is put into this one moment.

Natiba slowly pulls away and steps back, as if wondering what she just had done. I don't care if she is having second thoughts; all that matters is that she felt passionate enough to kiss me in the first place.

"You have a little sister, right? Iole?" she says softly. I watch her lips moving; lips that have met mine. I nod. "I'll take care of her…" she blushes. "If you want, I mean."

I am hasty to respond. "Of course," I say. "Thank you." She looks like she wants to say more, but decides against is. She gives me one last lingering gaze before darting from the room. Without her there, all of my problems return. I'm not in a world of first kisses and romance anymore; I'm stuck in the world of utmost evil. I try to focus on strategizing, I really do, but my thoughts keep floating back to one thing: the kiss.

I can't lose my focus, I can't. Not if I want to get back to Iole, Maxell, and Natiba…Natiba. No, Imishi, no, do not think about her…Natiba.