Ava Barkley, 15, District Ten Female

She can't fathom the fact that the Games are tomorrow.

It's been a while since Ava last cried, but the night thus far had brought her the closest to that despicable action she's been since then. Joel refused to speak at dinner, pushing around his meal half-heartedly and biting back a tear when he smelled a scent of the classic butter rolls of Ten. It's been so long since Ava's had a butter roll. She wished that she had eaten them more. She wished that she spent more time with her family. She wished that she could have just gone into the prairies of Ten, with the rich flowers that those cows loved so and the sweet bluegrass that lined the ground. She wished that she could have sat down in the middle of a field and smiled, ignoring the pale canyons to the west that marked the other side of Ten and the stunted, muddy rivers to the east that marked the divide between District Ten and Eleven. But she hadn't, and well everything's just screwed up now, isn't it?

She looked back at the room and watched her Capitol mentor watch Joel mournfully, caressing a small picture in the palm of her hand as she watched the small boy. Ava wasn't able to bear seeing them. She had left, climbing up the few stairs that marked the border between Ten's suite and the main hallway, and then had walked into the elevator and waited for the elevator to reach the top floor before running onto the roof and smelling the sweet flowers and plants that lined the side of the roof. It was beautiful.

She's currently sitting on the top of a plant holder, dexterously weaving flowers in and out of her hair to braid them in the way her mother had always done for her when she was young and had always wanted flowers in her hair when she went to school. It had been nice just having her mother's attention on her, with none of her siblings messing up the moment. It was just the two of them, and Ava was always a little more than happy when she tore down the road towards her school. She had been grateful.

The wind blows through her hair and some of the flowers fall out, blowing away in the wind towards the Capitol. They fly towards the dancing lights of the city below her, and Ava smiles to see her precious flowers so gracefully descend into the city of lights.

She walks towards the door of the roof, opening it and walking towards the elevator. As she waits for it to come up to the top floor, it finally opens and lets out the girl from Eight, who looks away from Ava as she hurries onto the roof. Ava nods silently, pressing the button for Ten and letting the elevator carry her away. The tributes all had a tryst to keep with the roof. They had one last tryst to keep with their home.

Sidney Fawkes, 16, District Two Male

It's been a long night, far too long for one who should be easily winning the games, for Sidney. But when a person knew that they were heading into the Hunger Games, a pageant that had already killed dozens before him, they found it hard to sleep. Alexis seemed to still be awake, silently keeping vigil for whomever she had in the district. But she hadn't come out into the living room; Alexis hadn't even talked to Sidney ever since the train rides, and he continues to sip the hot cocoa that he had whipped up for himself. Clay had drunk gallons of the stuff as he had mentored the two for the past few days, reminding them of what they had to do to survive the Games.

But no one ever truly survived the Games. Not even Clay had left intact; Sidney had seen something leave his eyes the instant he had slipped out of the dust of the Coliseum.

He knew that his parents wouldn't be sleeping tonight. The two had always been night owls, staying awake and walking through the rooms until they gave a gasp of delight and rushed towards the door, Sidney and their spouse easily forgotten in the excitement of another mission. Because when you were addicted to your work, your family could be thrown away as an expense for serving the Capitol.

Not that Sidney had minded very much. He had learned to cope with sleeping alone in their house, silently turning off the lights and treading up the stairs towards his small room. But it had always felt very large at night when he was small, when he didn't know why he couldn't hear his parents breathing on the other side of the wall and why they never responded to his pleas for help when he fancied that he had seen a fearsome monster lurking in the dark corners of his dresser. He had been a fool when he was younger. It was easier to learn the truth, to realize the reason why he was alone at night was that his parents were righteously serving the Capitol in their missions.

But was the Capitol really worth saving?

He had always hid the truth from everyone he knew. School, friends, sports, all were part of the facade that the Fawkes family were just as normal as the Masons living right next to them. But it had been a facade. His true life had always been tied to the Capitol, to tense moments in the night when he waited for his parents to return and when he had finally received the chance to come along with his parents. It had always been the fact that he would be a spy, that he would serve the Capitol as well, that he would be an even better assassin than his parents, that was true.

Was it?

Bah, two o'clock in the morning was no time for Sidney to ponder the mysteries of his life. He'd have plenty of time to do that when he became a victor.

But the nagging thought in the back of his brain that whispers but what if you don't? continues to eat away at his haggard mind.

Joel Fletcher, 14, District Ten Male

Joel just wants to go home.

It had been the beef that the servers had brought out for their last night in the Capitol that had made Joel fall into silence, only able to comprehend the fact that he was heading into the Hunger Games. The Hunger Games! His brothers would have laughed if they ever heard that Joel, the bookworm, the coward, the slothful farmworker, would have to fight for his life in a game that he hadn't even attempted to get into. Joel had always enjoyed games with his brothers; willing to do anything to taste victory: and rub it in their faces. But the fact that he had to kill, that he had to murder innocent children in order to win, was the reason why he didn't want to play. He didn't want to win a game where even the victor left broken.

So he pushed away the meal that he had had with his family the night before the reapings and disappeared into the floor, trying to find a place to sleep, a place to run, a place to hide, a place to cry. Because the tears won't stop themselves from splashing onto the floor. So he lets them fall, the salty drops merging into a small puddle as he buries his face in his hands and shudders. Why did he have to be the one to be reaped this year? Why did he have to die in a game for entertainment? And why wouldn't he be able to win?

Why couldn't he? Why couldn't he kill others to win?

But fourteen was too young to win the games. Everyone knew it. Even if he was about to turn fifteen, he was still three years and a hundred pounds down on the rest of the competitors. He had no chance against people who had been working in forests their entire lives, who had used a weapon that he didn't even know what was for.

His family would be holding a silent vigil right now, talking quietly about how Joel was a good son and a good brother and a good friend and how he didn't deserve to die. Because when you were fourteen-years-old and about to die, that's what happened. You pushed away the thought because you didn't want to believe it. You didn't want to realize that you weren't going to see the sun rise in days to come.

Would the arena have sunrises like District Ten?

He pushes away the tears and stands up firmly, watching the moonlight illuminate the building from his viewpoint. He won't let himself cry in the games. He's going to fight until his blood splashes onto his body and he can't see his hands punching, moving, trying to win. Because he won't give up. He's going to come home, even if only those above fifteen ever won the games.

Screw them all. He'd consider the Games a birthday present for himself. He's going to live until he's fifteen. He's going to survive. And he's not going to become another cannon. He won't let himself disappear.

Emmett Lightway, 16, District Three Female

He yawns as the alarm beeps in his face, trying to think of what he has to do today. Oh, wait. Crap.

Emmett throws aside the covers and walks out to the living room, his mind already a mess. Because he's going to die. He's going to die.

He's going to die.

Hallie smiles as he comes into the living room, still writing down a few more figures. "Hey, ally!"

Wait, what?

"You're my ally, Emmett." Hallie huffs impatiently, waiting for me to come over to the table. "I've seen your school records. You're smart. And smart means that you can help me with any mutts in the arena. I know where to go, we just have to make sure that there's nothing else there. Got it?"

Emmett nods slowly, trying not to smile at the earnest little girl. Even with all of her genius and haughty air, Hallie was just twelve. She didn't deserve to die in the Hunger Games. She didn't deserve to be ripped apart by a mutt. Because for all of her front, he could see her hand trembling as she put her pen down and started to eat. She was just as scared as the rest of them to die.

He eats slowly, savouring the scrambled eggs and how the melted cheese fits in just perfectly with the egg. There were even strawberries on the side of the table, and he started to nibble on one. The berry seemed to just ooze with juice and flavour, and Emmett calmly eats another while he lets his taste buds run amok. Pretty good for a last meal.

He doesn't resist when the two are directed kindly towards the doors. He half-expected for them to leave earlier. After all, it was just a game for the Capitolites. Why wouldn't they want to start early? It was their game, after all.

In District Three, the only sport that was able to hold Emmett's interest was horse racing. He loved watching the beautiful creatures race around the racetrack, the tiny jockeys pushing their horses to the limit. He had begged his mother to let him become a jockey after the first race he watched; every kid in Three who loved animals wanted the job. Because who didn't want to lean into an animal and urge it to go faster than ever when life in Three was just that; everyone urging everyone to go faster than their limit.

But what if they want to stop?

He smiles as the bright light of the morning sun swallows the little group as they head towards the helicarrier, viewing the rest of the tributes slowly processing towards the helicraft. Funny, the closer he got to the games, the quicker he wanted it to be over. Humans always hated pain, always loudly proclaimed to others that they hated feeling any sensation of the feeling. But when it came down to it, they'd rather feel pain than boredom.

And he just wants to get the pain over with as quickly as possible.

Davina Sterling, 18, District One Female

She watches the rest of the tributes file onto the helicarrier, all nervously fingering their sides and watching each other with veiled gazes. Because when you were sent into a deathmatch, you didn't exactly trust anyone else in the arena. You didn't trust your future killer. That was what made your cannon boom in the sky. That was what lost your chance at coming back home.

She watches the boy from Two confidently smile, looking back at the ground to watch the tiny figures near the landing pad wave goodbye to the peacekeepers on the helicraft. He had always seemed to be different than any of his other compatriots. He seemed smarter, he seemed stronger than anyone else on the helicraft. He was a threat. Who could trust someone who had that light smile heading off to his death?

She touches the silver locket on her neck, feeling the picture hidden inside as the helicraft starts to lift off and the group are all whisked away towards wherever the arena might be. Her mother is standing on the left, her father grinning merrily on the right, and the twins sitting calmly down on either side of Davina. She always looked happy in photographs. Most would call her photogenic, but that was only because they didn't see the messy hair and the crooked tilt of her head. They saw the glow of her happiness, the life just bursting from her laughter, and their eyes were blinded to any negative sides of the photo. How could you not like a picture where the person was just as happy as it made you feel?

The girl from Seven sits calmly in her seat, watching the rest of the tributes squirm and fidget as the helicraft flies ever higher into the sky. She doesn't seem to have a care in the world. Davina watches her eyes and, sure enough, a slight fear fills the girl inside. But she won't let anyone else see it. Fear was a weakness, and if the only volunteer ever, the very first volunteer in the games for that matter, showed fear to the rest of them, what were they supposed to think? How could they have a chance of surviving if a person who willingly stepped into the games could just as easily have their cannon boom tonight and their face show in the sky?

The helicraft flies through the air, and Davina peers through her window, where she's conveniently strapped in order to make sure that the tributes didn't do anything rash before they reached the arena, and sees the helicraft skim through the clouds. It almost looks like she can touch the beautiful clouds, all shades of white and red and yellow and laughter and love and life and soon enough tears are streaming down her face, dripping onto her lap as she watches the clouds pass away into the sky.

Ashira Marlstone, 16, District Twelve Female

She closes her eyes and waits for the helicraft to land, knowing that the tributes are almost to the arena. The peacekeepers have been muttering to themselves for the past few minutes about how they would escort the tributes off of the helicraft and to their stylists. But all she does is nod silently and hum to herself, silently wishing to be back home. It would be nice at home right now. Her mother would be making tea and happily talking with her husband, and her grandmother would be cheerfully complaining about how the humid weather this week was hurting her bones. She'd give anything to go home. Anything.

A tear rolls down her cheek and splashes onto the floor, and Ashira lets the mark on her face stay as the helicraft finally lands. She knows that she's going to die. Why would she think anything otherwise? She doesn't deserve to live with all of the other kids when they had done so much more to survive and when she was just the girl from Twelve who didn't fit in. Why would she even try?

But why wouldn't she?

She climbs out of the helicraft thirteenth, being carefully escorted by one of the peacekeepers towards a small door which they both duck under to get to the arena. She's never heard of how the tributes get into the arena. She's only seen the Games started with all of the tributes standing on their plates, with no clue to give Ashira of how they got there. Would they be walked into the arena? Would they be let into it?

Her stylist coos in delight as Ashira walks into the room, quickly rushing her and taking one last check for her measurements. "Hello, darling! Oh, the arena outfits will be simply beautiful this year! Even Therone has approved of them. Therone! The woman, the myth, the legend!"

Ashira strongly suspects that Therone wouldn't be very pleased to hear her name spoken in that level of excitement.

The stylist kisses the air as she brings… a dress - a dress? A dress? Really? - into the room, showing Ashira the grey to black pattern that seemed like it would hug her body uncomfortably once she stepped into it. "We were allowed to design anything for our tributes, as long as it was beautiful. Look at the music notes! Aren't they just a statement?"

Ashira gasps as she looks at herself in the mirror, seeing her drab brown hair seem to almost, almost glow in the dress. The dress seamlessly transitioned from ashy-grey to coal-black from top to bottom, and she twirls around in delight to see it spin in the air. It almost looks… beautiful on her.

The stylist beams to see the shock on Ashira's face, impulsively giving the startled teen a quick squeeze. "Come back in your beautiful dress, my darling. Come back home for your district."

Ashira nods, looking towards the tube in the middle of the room. An unfamiliar voice rings throughout the room, bidding her to step inside and wait for it to lift her into the arena. She nods, stumbling towards the tube and climbing inside. Will she live? Will she die?

Will anyone even care?

The tube rises, and Ashira waits for it to bring her into the arena. She doesn't want to die.

She doesn't want to die.

She doesn't want to be forgotten.

She doesn't want to be caught in the middle again.

She doesn't want to be abandoned.

She doesn't want to be neither one nor the other, neither Seam or Town, neither dead or alive. But she has one thing in common with the rest of the tributes.

When the blade digs into their bodies, they all bleed the same. They all die in a veil of red.

The bloodbath is next! Code red! Code red! Maximum death ocurring! Seriously though, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Everyone got the same number of povs to shine in the Capitol, so now we can truly head into the Hunger Games. What did you think? Any interesting points in the povs? WHO WILL DIE? Leave a review to tell me what you think!

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Enjoy summer and your tributes! (While you still can ;)) And after the bloodbath, you can officially start sponsoring people! I hope you like that, because you just have to PM me for something you want with your points, and you can get it! Now, if you really, really, REALLY want to get something big but don't have the points for it, I can consider letting my other stories count as part of the sponsor points if you review them. But if you don't care, no sweat, and enjoy the ride! Until next time, TheAmazingJAJ