Thanks a lot to CoffeeTarts who provided me with these lovely tributes. I had to use your quotations; they were too perfect to just leave.

Sammy Jester:

The sheep dumbly follow one another into their pen. I give the last one, a stubborn ewe, a shove to get her past the gate. I slam the rough worn fencing shut and lock it. One job down. Life at the farm never ends. I know for a fact that town people get to sleep in 'cause it's Reaping Day. Not me, I grab the bucket of grain and skip off towards the chicken coop.

After I feed the chickens I run to the house. The mud splatters up behind me, speckling my legs brown. I almost make it to the door when my foot hits a slick spot and I slide onto my knees.

"Slow down, honey," my mom absently says as she sidesteps around me. I roll my eyes. It takes a lot more than a little bit of mud to slow me down.

I throw open the door and go up to my room. After rummaging in my dresser for a minute I find what I was searching for: one of my nicer outfits. I pull on the clean white blouse and step into the denim shorts. I don't have to look for my shoes; I know right where they are. My favorite boots are worn down with age and love. They have just the slightest bit of a heel, which gives me a little bit of extra height.

"Aren't those a little bit, um, short?" a voice asks. I turn and see Jeff leaning against the door frame. Apparently he isn't getting too dressed up for the reapings. He's wearing black jeans and his normal green shirt.

"Huh?"

"Those," he says, pointing at my pants.

"No," I reply.

"If you weren't a dwarf, they would be."

First off, let me say that 5'1 isn't all that short! "Shut up," I tell him.

"It's true," he says. I know he is only teasing, but it still hurts. But of course he doesn't stop there, "Maybe you should drink Melvin's milk, get some growth in you."

Melvin is my cow that I raised since he was a calf. "Melvin's a boy, dumb nut!" I snap at him.

"Whatever," he says with a small smile, "Com'on, we're going to be late"

Jeff Jester:

We start up the path towards the town square, taking a long detour away from the chickens. Those things are evil. Sammy runs ahead and then doubles back, and then skips along next to me. Even though she is sixteen, she has more energy than most little kids. Her pace slows down after a couple minutes.

"Hey Jeff?" I look at her and she continues after a quick pause, "You know what I think?"

"You think that you smell like sheep?"

She sticks her tongue out at me. Her face goes all serious, "The Capitol needs to find better things to do than making a 'game' where children are thrown in to die. That's despicable. And the Games need to be banished. The president needs a head check too..." she starts rambling.

I agree with her, but this is dangerous talk. I need to stop it. First thing that comes to mind, "They're a bunch of sickos." Sammy looks up at me and grins.

I watch her caramel colored pony tail weave its way through the crowd to her section. I turn to go to the seventeen year old pen, but crash into Brandon.

"You ever gonna let me ask her out?" he asks. Brandon is my friend, but the thought of him with Sammy- any guy with Sammy for that matter- just sickens me.

"Nope," I say.

"She's not a little kid anymore. When are you going to stop being the bad guy and let her get a life?"

"She does have a life. It just doesn't involve losers like you." Or any loser guy.

"Whatever," he mutters as the Capitol escort steps up on the stage.

Sammy Jester:

The Capitol lady is crazy looking! Cheyenne Woodsy has been District 10's escort for the past few years. Apparently she's grown close to the herding district. She has purple cow spots all over her peachy pink skin. I wouldn't be surprised if next year she comes back with a tail!

As she starts her standard speech, I look nervously at the giant bowls of names. I'm not too worried about me. I'm more worried about Jeff; he takes all the tesserae. He won't share the load. I stand there for what seems like hours. The girl next to me gently places her foot on mine to stop it from tapping. Oops.

Cheyenne finally starts wrapping up and head's over to the girl's bowl with a chipper, "Ladies first!" She reaches in and dramatically digs around. She grabs a small slip of paper and draws it out.

"And our lucky lady for this year is," she pauses, building the tension, "Samantha Jester!"

No way. This can't be happening. I take a long deep breath. There are sure to be cameras searching for my face. I smile as brightly as I can and start to head to the stage. Slow deep breaths, keep smiling, breathe, Sammy, breathe.

I reach the stage and wave to the crowd. There is nothing else I can do.

Jeff Jester:

"Samantha Jester, Samantha Jester, Samantha Jester," my sister's name keeps on echoing through my head. This can't be true. This has to be a dream, no, a nightmare. My little sister is going into the Hunger Games.

She smiles brightly as she almost skips up to the stage. She looks quite confident, I'm sure I'm the only one who caught the slight tremble in her hazel eyes.

Cheyenne chirps, "Now onto the boys!" That is it. I was hoping in the deepest depths of my heart that someone would volunteer, even though I knew it was impossible.

The escort smoothes the piece of paper in her pink hands and calls out the name, "Jeffery Jester!"

The world goes out of focus as the words sink into my brain. She just called my name. My sister is up there. No matter what happens, only one of us can make it back. There is no way I could ever kill her. The ground rocks beneath me. I steady myself and take an uneasy step forwards.

The guy in front of me chuckles. I swing out my fist. That was stupid. I move too fast and end up throwing up instead. I shake my head to remove the blurriness and then walk up towards the stage, towards Sammy, towards death.

I'm not sure how, but I make up the stairs. As soon as I reach the top, Sammy throws her arms around me in a hug.

Cheyenne stares at us for a minute, "Are you dating?" The crowd erupts in a nervous laughter.

I open my mouth to say something but I choke and just shake my head. Sammy's face screws up, "No! He's my brother!"

Sammy and I don't exactly look alike, but still. Dating? We have the same last name for crying out loud!

Cheyenne breaks the awkward silence with an, "Oh, well this is going to be dramatic! District 10, I give you your tributes!"