I'm catching up. Oh, and dressed up in a frog suit and danced around.

The sad part is itactually happened. Long story I'd rather not share.

Mira Fox, District 9

"If you do not shut up in the next five seconds," I murmured in a menacing tone. "I will pop your talkative little head right off your body." Sitting upside down on the couch, Nico laughed, flipping his feet over his head and landing firmly on them on the ground.

"Whoa, you can actually do that?" I blinked, and I found the boy an inch from my face, looking intently at me. I shoved his face back with a thin hand. He ended up on the other side of me, elbows leaning on the table, dark grey-blue eyes blinking innocently at me. When I first spotted him after being reaped with the idiot, I felt a mutual solemn air for the boy. Then he opened his goddamn mouth and started running in a circle around me. A blurring wall surrounded me and I only got him to shut up by sticking out my foot.

Nice still won't go away. A tall, wiry kid, when I imagine him, he's this little twelve year old who's poking my cheek, nagging me with this squeaky voice. Open my eyes, he's three years older, his voice a tenor, still poking my cheek.

"Huh, huh, huh," his voice rambled. I flicked my wrist and Nice howled in pain, reaching up at his neck. He stumbled back, wincing in pain. Our overly festive escort (a woman wearing a dress made of sparklers that blew out about five minutes ago and geled hair of every color of the rainbow that stood straight up with various swirls) clicked in on her tooth pick heels, grabbing on to various furniture to keep from falling.

Her eyes narrowed, before they transitioned into this spark of humor. "Oh, you two seem to be getting along real well," her voice chuckled. Her bejeweled eyelashes winked at us. "Watch it, tiger."

My eyes drifted to the boy's neck and I silently cursed out myself, him, the escort, and all the rest of the world. By the purpling thing, and by the escort's lack of knowledge and own inference, it seems like Nice had a developing hickey on his neck. Fucking dick headed...

You know what they say assuming. It makes an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me.'

Nico Lenho, District 9

Let's rewind to this morning. (Runs in opposite rotation of Earth, finds nothing happened). Ah, crap that sucks, I was expecting some sort of sudden faster than light science and back in time-ness and paradox. Oh well, I'll just have to play up my memories.

I woke up and first thought; somebody had made pancakes. No matter how tired I am, or how rough the night before had been, I run my ass at top speed down the stairs, skidding ten feet before landing with my butt in the chair.

This morning, I had some stiff competition. Charlie and Micheal were already halfway down the steps, shoving each other hard to reach the bottom. I sped down several steps before pounding across the side of the wall, completely sideways. Seriously, I wish I could slow time because that move was just epic. My siblings frowned, both in a different sense. Charlie in a "dammit, he's going to eat all the pancakes." Micheal just pissed I was using 'it.'

Mother smiled, pancakes already set out for me, and still warm. "You beat the rush again I see." I nodded, already halfway through my pancakes. Charlie ran in, claiming her chair, while Micheal strolled with a more studious, grown up attitude.

"Father's not in the room, you can lose the act." Micheal's eyes narrowed on me, but he didn't say anything. Both he and Charlie were already dressed, which didn't surprise me much. There was something with girls and spending two hours on their hair. And yes, that was a form of mockery.

Both tucked into their pancakes. Mother always made them on Reaping Day. The other two saw it as a notion for an excuse to eat something special, but Mother gave me a special batch with an extra deck and the first dose of syrup.

My back instinctively sat up straighter as I heard Father's footsteps echo in from the other room. His tie was already tied, shoes shined to a T. Unlike most Dads, he didn't come in to open up the newspaper and jovially asking us what's up. No, instead, he had a form from work, which he nudged aside and folded his hands, eyes landing on us.

"What are your plans for today, Charlotte?" My sister's eyes flickered up. I can tell her arranging an acceptible, believable story.

"After the reaping, I'm going over Kenya's house."

Father nodded in thought. "To do what?"

The gears turned fast in her head. "We were going to finish a project for History class. Her Mom may walk us to the library." Doable lie. May have just been easier to say she was with Charles (goddammit, this relationship is meant to be, Charlotte and Charles). She means well, and just doesn't want the man to feel old or have a heart attack. Mother knows, but Father is just in the dark. I honestly feel bad for Charles, the day the man walks in on them making out. I've done it twice, and trust me, in the mere flash in which I opened and closed the door, I was scarred.

Father, satisfied, turned his head to Micheal. He didn't seem as worried. "And?"

I could practically imagine him wagging his tail. "I'll be down at the Dr. Bridgemann's, will sign in at ten-thirty, clock out at three, then pick up the groceries and come home to you and Mother." The man nodded his head, then looked to me.

His face took up a more troubled, annoyed expression. I smiled broadly.

"Okay, first, I'll go to the reaping. I'll probably rob a bank sometime before that-"

"Nico Lenho," Father stated firmly. I stopped midsentence, dropping my grin.

"Fine. If I make it past the reaping, I'll be out getting a cookie."

"Nico. We do not talk like-"

"Whoops, just did."

Father's eyes glared hard and his fingers unlaced themselves. "Do not cut me off, young man." He sat back, eyes closed for a moment. I wanted to put in that he cut me off before but I'll probably get another death look.

"Charlotte, help your Mother with the dishes. Nico, clear the table with Micheal." I began to collect the plates, racing about the table. His eyes narrowed even more, and I good barely see his eyes behind his bushy eyebrows.

"Normal speed."

I stopped, nearly falling into Mike, who's eyes mirrored father's. The man walked into the other room.

"Listen to Daddy," Micheal whispered, stacking the remaining dishes. "And stop being so negative. What are the odds of you being reaped?"

The goodbyes came along. The first words out of my mouth. "Apparently very likely, Broseph."

Mira Fox

The train began to chug away, and faces began to drift away. I watched, and a certain heart-shaped face peeked through. For a fraction of a second, I saw her blue eyes gleam red. A surge of warmth ran through me and I could feel myself grow stronger.

The girl, I didn't even know her name. As some may say, "I gave my whole life away just to save her." But really, I don't care. ABout winning or dying, or the glory. I've only seen that girl a few times before. Her huddled body holding in her blood, her father already dead beside her. The mugger had already fled, along with their food and money. I ran up, skidding to a stop. My breath dance in front of me and my heart sped up.

Instructing her to let me see, my hands wiped away the blood and I focused hard on seeing the inner workings of her body. I saw the severed tendons and vessels, blood leaking out. My thumb pressed hard into the gash, my mind commanding her body to heal, to reconnect.

Soon it all stopped. I pulled what money I could rummage from my pocket and shoved it into her hands, before walking off and knocking on a various neighbor's door.

I never knew she was like me. The mutant aspect, something strange about her. And the way her eyes glowed now. She did something to me.

I felt stronger. And a need to at least go down fighting.

Mom and Dad didn't even say goodbye to me. I had no siblings. Mom was pregnant when I was young but after a vicious display of my powers, they gave the child away. Didn't want another kid like me.

So, yeah, I was on my own. Not very different. As long as Nico stays the hell away from me, my last few days will go well.

As I always say, "Emotional ties can kill you."

I'm writing this while watching Jeff Dunham. And, oh my gosh, it's hilarious. Achmed talking about his highschool; "What was your mascot?" "Whoever was next on the list. 'Go team!' BOOM!"