Welcome to the District 9 Reaping of the first annual Hunger Games!

I am so sorry I haven't updated in so long! I've been super busy with my Narnia stories and with choir and school. Thank you all so much for waiting.

Thanks for reading this, guys! (: And thanks to everyone for all the nice reviews! It means so much to have you all tell me that you like this story.

Ooh, one last thanks to Oxenstierna D. Yuki-Rin and Grammy01 for these awesome tributes! (:

So last time I updated, I forgot to tell you all an alliance! This week's announced alliance is: Electra Mesa, Maka Kaas, and Mana Greeves!

Sing Out! (:

SW

Disclaimer: I do not claim any copyrights to Suzanne Collins's The Hunger Games.

DISTRICT 9

Sadie Hawkins, 18 years, District 9

From the day the Games were announced, I've trained with Blaise. He's a few years older than me and the town blacksmith. He knows his weapons, alright. He probably knows weapons better than anyone else here in District 9.

Few know of my training sessions, but all know why I'm learning. My brother, Basil, was a soldier in the Dark Days. He was shipped off to the Capitol to fight for the rebels. He went missing in action. There was no clear evidence he had been killed, although many referred to him as if he was, and is, dead.

I, however, refuse to believe that he's gone. Most people got notes from the rebels saying that their soldier had died or went missing. We got nothing. Basil just never returned home. I know he's in the Capitol and I'm going to find him, even if it means volunteering for the Games.

Now, don't misjudge me. It's not like I want to learn how to kill a person. It's repulsive and downright horrible to know such things, but if it means finding Basil, then I'll do what I have to just to get him back.

My parents aren't sure they want me to go, but I've assured them that whatever happens, they must move on with their lives and not be too sad. Of course, we're all very sad, but dying is a natural part of life. It's just the way I'll die that is not natural.

Here in nine, we work our behinds off every day just for a meager amount of food and care from the Capitol. The Peacekeepers are very, very strict and we have a specific schedule that everyone must abide to. We wake up around the same time, the children go to school and everyone from ages 18-48 must be out in the fields working the ground for the crops. And after school gets out, all the children, ages 8-17 must come work with us. All the smaller children are sent to a day center where some of the eighteen year olds and oldest people work.

But of course, no matter how hard we work, the Capitol won't give us any more food or clothes. Sometimes our clothes are so tattered, we have to use a few pieces of thick hair as thread. We get sunburned more than most and are only allowed one midday meal at one in the afternoon. Then we don't eat until eight at night.

We're all used to the back-breaking labor by now and try to go about it with cheerful attitudes, although it doesn't always work.

Today is just one of the very few days off we get in a year. Today is Reaping day and nobody is anticipating this event.

The sun shines brightly through the thin windowpane in the bedroom of our shack. I rub my eyes and look around sleepily at the other figures in this small room. It's just my mom and dad, asleep on the larger bed, looking more peaceful than they have in a very long time.

I look at the rusty clock on the wall and find that it's eleven o' clock in the morning. I blink several times just to make sure I've read it correctly. I've never slept in this long before. Maybe that's because I've never had a real day off of work or school before.

On Saturdays and Sundays, we are allowed to sleep in an extra hour and there is no school for the children. But on those days, we all must work, even though we are released from the fields an hour earlier.

I, unfortunately, work in Field #7 on row 17. I have two partners, Cecelia Sorghum and Wheat Albion. They are both in my year and are my friends.

I would rather be working in the day center for the children than plowing fields and planting seeds for corn.

I sigh and stand on our rickety wooden floorboards. Before I have breakfast, I have to do a few chores around the house.

I put on my work clothes and take the big bucket out to the well a quarter-mile away.

As I walk to the well, I pass the nicer part of the district and peer down the dirt roads to the Town Square. I can see workers setting up for the Reaping.

I reach the well and find my friend Wheat, the one I work with, there filling his buckets with water.

"Hey, Wheat," I greet, setting my bucket down and waiting my turn.

"Hey, Sadie," he says. "Ready for the Reaping?"

"I just woke up," I say. "I'm nowhere close to being ready."

"Just don't make a fool of yourself when you volunteer," he teases.

I roll my eyes good-naturedly. "I won't."

Wheat pulls his third bucket from the well and sets it on the ground. He fills the fourth and generously lets me get my water.

"How's Marley?" I ask of his fiancée. "Is she doing better?"

There has recently been an epidemic that has swept quickly through our district. It causes horrible coughing and hacking along with a burning fever and congestion. Panem hasn't had one like this since before the Dark Days.

"Much, thanks for asking," he says cheerfully. "I think she's almost cured."

"Good," I reply. "When are you getting married?"

Wheat sighs. "Hopefully soon. It's hard, you know? Especially with the epidemic just dying down. Lots of the shop owners in town have gotten sick and nobody's been open for weeks. We were originally supposed to get married tomorrow, but I think it's going to be too much for Marley."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I know Blaise hasn't been feeling the best lately, either."

Wheat picks up his buckets and waves goodbye. "See you later."

"Bye," I say as he walks away.

I watch as his tanned arms easily hoist all the buckets of water along. Then I turn and head back to my own shack.

I'm glad I got to talk to someone else who's not happy with this whole Hunger Games dying thing. Hopefully it will be neither of us sent in.

Sometimes I have a hard time expressing my feelings on the outside so I keep them all inside. If I'm angry, I take it all out in training or working in the fields. If I'm sad, I'll clean the shack from top to bottom. And if I'm happy, I'll cook something for dinner so my parents don't have to.

"Good morning, Sadie," mom greets as I walk in with the water.

"Hey, mom," I say. "Do you need me to hang the laundry this morning?"

Mom smiles. "Yes, thank you. That would be nice."

"No problem," I smile.

I set the water down and grab the damp clothing in the basket. I head back outside to our clothesline and start the chore.

I love helping my family. It makes me happy to see my parents appreciate me so much.

As I work, I think of all that will come today. It worries me to see the stage being set up in town. The Hunger Games Reaping will happen in just a few hours. Thank goodness that it's my only year of being eligible. But I'm forgetting something: I'm volunteering.

It's one thirty and my mom and dad and I are just about to leave the house.

It's a warm day and I'm very comfortable in my pale blue shirt and tan skirt. Mother has brushed and braided my short hair. Neither of them know I'm volunteering to find Basil in the Capitol.

We leave the house and make our way to the Town Square. I spot Wheat across the square with his large, large family.

I check in and find my way to the eighteen's section.

I don't see Cecelia so I stand by myself. I don't mind that too much, for I don't like too much company.

Soon, I hear bells going off and see the mayor come to the front of the big stage. Even his clothes are very worn out.

"Welcome, District 9, to our first annual Hunger Games reaping. I will first read the Treaty of Treason, written by President Snow, and then our district escort will the draw the names of our tributes from the glass bowls located on either side of me," he says neutrally. "We will now begin."

I listen in contempt, realizing the real horror of it all. It hadn't exactly sunk in until now, and I realize this nation is corrupt. What is in that new president's head? Why is it he must always resort to some sort of violence?

The longer I stand here, the more angry I get. How can a twelve year old fight an eighteen year old? It's completely unfair!

"And now, please welcome Buzzy Bibs, the Capitol escort," says the mayor.

A chubby, colorful woman stomps out enthusiastically out onto the stage.

"Hhhiiiiii!" she yells in a squeaky voice. "I'm Buzzy and I am so excited to be here!"

I blink several times and step back slightly. This woman is obviously a Capitol citizen. Her skin is black and yellow striped and her eyes are just big black circles. She has little antennae and I can see little white bee wings sticking out of her back. Can she even lift herself off the ground with those?

"I'm going to be your Capitol escort and we will all have so much fun together! So now it's time to draw a little girl's name to be tribute! May the odds be ever in the children's favor!"

I hear her giggling in a high-pitched voice as she digs her yellow and black hand into one of the glass bowls.

I'm so taken aback by her appearance, I'm very surprised to hear the name.

"Clover Stalk."

A girl around fifteen starts to walk forward in fear and I know it's my time.

"I volunteer!" I call. I squeeze my eyes shut and raise my hand.

I hear gasps and a sobbing woman. That must be my mother. My heart breaks as I mount the stage.

"Ooh! This is so cool! We have a volunteer!" squeaks Buzzy. "What's your name?"

"I'm Sadie Hawkins," I say quietly. "I'm eighteen."

"Oh, this will be the best Games EVER!" cries Buzzy, doing a little happy dance. "Now it's time for the boys!"

She runs over, plucks the first slip of paper off the top of the pile, and scurries back to the microphone.

I see Wheat in the crowd, staring up at me in shock.

I avert my eyes and look to my feet. Hot tears are threatening to leak out. Then I wipe them away, remembering why I volunteered in the first place. Basil. My brother. I have to find my brother.

"And the winner, I mean lovely tribute is…Wheat Albi-Alibi-Ablio…" Buzzy struggles with the last name.

I look up immediately and scan the slip of paper in the Capitol woman's hand.

"Albion," I say gently. "It's Wheat Albion."

"Oh," says Buzzy naïvely. "Wheat Albion, you are the boy tribute!"

I don't see Wheat come up onto the stage. I glance beside me and see him staring straight ahead, jaw clenched.

I sigh as Buzzy announces us as the new tributes, then tells us to shake hands.

As Wheat and I shake hands, his sapphire eyes question me. Why? Why did you do it?

"I'll tell you later," I whisper.

He nods.

The Peacekeepers usher us inside the stone Justice Building and throw us both in separate rooms.

The door slams shut behind me and I immediately start pacing. A thousand questions cram my mind. Did I do the right thing? Will I really find Basil, or am I just kidding myself?

I heatedly think of the words from the Treaty of Treason. Each district will offer up one young man and woman as tributes…it will be a fight to the death…the victor will be crowned with riches and glory…district will be honored…privilege to be chosen…

But is it a privilege? Is it really? Of course not! Killing off children just for entertainment…it makes me sick to my stomach.

I say my goodbyes to my parents. I cry a bit and promise that I'll find Basil.

Blaise comes in and wishes me good luck.

Cecelia even comes to say farewell.

And as Wheat and I bravely board the train, I can't help but say, "We have to stick together. "

"Always," he replies.

"Allies?"

"Allies."

Wheat Albion, 18 years, District 8

I hate the Hunger Games with a burning passion. I must hate it more than anyone in District 9. Maybe even more than anyone in Panem. The Games are cruel and horrible and…it makes me so mad, I don't' even have words to describe how much I loathe them!

I don't understand the mindset of the Capitol. Why would someone want to watch a child die on television? It's nasty, disgusting, and downright despicable. No kid should ever enjoy watching another kid get killed. It's just so wrong.

Having six siblings, it's not hard worrying about them. Of course, Laurel, Rye, and Kern, are the eldest and are the ones who take care of the rest of us, so I shouldn't worry too much about them.

It's definitely hard helping take care of all my younger siblings. There's Nickel and Barley, the fifteen year old twins, and my younger sister, Fern, who just turned sixteen. Laurel is the oldest at twenty eight, and Rye is twenty three while Kern is twenty six. Laurel is our main caretaker since both mom and dad died in the Dark Days war.

We all live in little shacks right next to each other. Nickel, Barley, and Rye live in one while Fern, Kern and his wife, and I live in another. Laurel lives in her own shack because she's married and has a few kids, one is two and the other is five. So you could say I have a big family.

But today is Reaping day and four of us may be sent to the gosh-awful Capitol for the Games.

I wake at about ten thirty and realize that nobody else is up yet. I dress and head over to Marley's house to see how she is doing.

Marley is not only my best friend, but my fiancée. We're both eighteen, which is just the legal age to get married. We didn't want to wait until our twenties because people die early in District 9. Most don't make it past fifty-five because of the work we do.

I carefully tread the steps of Marley's front porch and knock on the door.

"Come on in, Wheat," says Marley's mother. I smile and enter the little house.

"Hello, Mrs. Seed," I greet, giving her a quick hug. "How are you today?"

"I'm just fine," she replies.

My face falls slightly as I think of Marley. "How is she doing?"

"Oh, much much better today," says Mrs. Seed. "You can go on back to her room. She's reading."

"Thanks," I say.

I walk down the miniscule hallway and slip into her room. She looks up as I enter.

"Hey," she says happily.

"Hey," I say.

Marley sits on her made bed, reading a book I know she must have read over a thousand times. I hop onto the bed and sit next to her. She leans against me and I put an arm around her.

"How are you doing?" I ask, concerned.

"I'm not coughing much anymore," she says. "And I'm finally over the stuffy nose and congestion."

"Good," I say. I kiss her quickly and lean back against the wall.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

I think of today and what it will bring. Hopefully, we'll both get off scot free.

"Everything," I groan. "The Reaping is today and I really can't stand the thought of anybody from our district or any district going in. It's torture, Marley! Making children hunt each other down and eliminate one another? It makes me want to cry."

She hugs me tightly. "Just relax, okay? You're going to be fine. I'm scared, too. I've never worked in the fields in my life and don't have one bit of muscle. I couldn't protect myself from anyone."

"Oh, please," I say. "If you're picked, I'm volunteering for the guy tribute and I won't let you leave my side. I'll protect you."

"Really?"

"Really."

We sit and talk for another half-hour when I realize I have to be getting home to my family for morning chores and to get ready for the Reaping.

I kiss Marley goodbye and leave.

I grab the buckets from outside my family's houses and head to the big well a quarter-mile away. Just as I'm starting to fill the buckets, one of my friends appears.

It's Sadie Hawkins, the blue-eyed, blonde-haired girl I work with out in the fields. She is one of the kindest people I know other than Marley and Mrs. Seed. She's not afraid to joke around when needed, and is more humble than most people in this world.

"Hey, Wheat," she says.

"Hey, Sadie," I reply. "Ready for the Reaping?"

"I just woke up. I'm nowhere close to being ready," she says, rolling her eyes in frustration.

We exchange cheerful banter, knowing we'll see each other at the Reaping.

I leave, worrying about her well-being today.

Sadie is a very nice person and loves her family more than anything. The town blacksmith, Blaise Nightwing, a friend of mine, has been training her to handle weapons. You see, Sadie is volunteering for the Games. Her brother, Basil Hawkins, was lost to the Capitol during the Dark Days. Nobody knows if he's alive or dead and Sadie has made it her goal to find him while getting ready to enter the Hunger Games. She almost seems fine with the idea of dying, even if she does or doesn't find Basil.

I go home and my family and I get ready for the Reaping.

A half-hour after saying goodbye to my siblings, checking in with the Peacekeepers, and finding where my section was, the Justice Building bells begin to chime. That's the signal for the Reaping to begin.

The mayor reads the Treaty of Treason and our district escort floats out onto the stage. Her name is Buzzy Bibs and I can already tell she'll be quite annoying.

She skips over to one bowl, digs around for the right slip of paper, and skips back to the front.

"Clover Stalk," she announces in a chipmunk-squeak voice.

A nervous, younger teenage girl begins to move forward.

Don't worry, I think. You're not going into the Games.

"I volunteer!" I hear Sadie shout nearby. I clench my jaw as she walks up to the stage.

"Ooh! This is so cool! We have a volunteer! What's your name?" Buzzy says excitedly, shoving the equipment in Sadie's face.

"Sadie Hawkins. I'm eighteen," says Sadie bravely.

"Oh, this will be the best Games EVER!" cries Buzzy, doing a little happy dance. "Now it's time for the boys!"

I hold my breath as Buzzy quickly grabs a slip of paper from the top.

Only seven names, I think. My name is only in the bowl seven times. Only seven. Just calm down, it won't be you and it won't be Nickel or Barley. You'll be okay, they'll be okay, just don't panic if your name is—

"Wheat Albi-Alibi-Ablio…" Buzzy turns the paper upside down, sideways, and flips it to make sure she's read it correctly.

Wheat Albion, I think. That's me. That's me.

My breathing becomes shallower and I grit my teeth to stop. I shakily mount the stage and stand next to Sadie. I hold my breath to stop myself from hyperventilating.

I am going to die.

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