District 11. Tributes courtesy of Goddess of nightmares and Radioactive Raven.

Nala Wheat

I sit down at our table. Since I took advantage of my day off by sleeping in, Dad and Cotton already beat me there. It's weird to see Dad at this time; usually he's been in the fields for hours by now.

"What's for breakfast?" Cotton asks impatiently.

"What do you expect? It's going to be oatmeal, just like always," I snap at her. When is she going to realize that we can't afford anything better? She's ten already! I was younger than she was when I started working to provide for this family. And what does she do? Nothing.

"Calm down Nala," Dad says as he spoons, you guessed it, oatmeal into the three bowls in front of him. I watch him deliberately give more to Cotton. I raise my eyebrows at him is disbelief. He doesn't meet my eyes as he explains, "She needs the most; Cotton is weaker and more vulnerable than you are."

Weaker? It's only because she does absolutely nothing! I know the truth in his words though.

"You only do it 'cause she looks like Mom!" I snap at him. It would be true, if Mom was still alive. But no, Cotton had to come along and kill her.

"Nala!" My dad snaps back.

"What!" I yell, scooting my chair away from the table.

He doesn't answer. How can he answer?

I stand up and storm out the door. Where am I going? Anywhere away from them. I wander around aimlessly for awhile before realizing where I've come: the fields. Though I technically work there, it is also a place of refuge for me. It's a place of sunshine and growth.

I'd stay there all day if it wasn't for those darn reapings. It's just another horrible reminder that the Capitol doesn't really care about us in the Districts. All they care about is their wealth and power.

Buffet Jacobi

I write the last words of the Mayor's speech down. After that, I'm done for the day. I am lucky. Unlike most people in District 11, I have a future ahead of me. I might only be a secretary, but I'm climbing my way up. Maybe one day, I'll be mayor of this place.

I fold up my papers and lock the doors of the Justice Building behind me. The building won't be used again until the poor reaped kids get to say their goodbyes. Granted, there is a chance that I might be that person. But that chance is very slim.

I walk through the door of my home and is instantly greeted by Nesh, my little sister. She runs up and gives me a huge hug. From the corner, Cane smiles widely at me. He is a small kid but at fourteen, he is way too old to be enthusiastic about his older brother coming home.

I feel bad. We used to be so close. But then he started being a monkey in the orchards and I got my job working for the mayor. I think he resents that fact. I try to make it up to him when I can, but it's hard.

"Com'on, kid," I say, "Wanna go with me to the Reapings?" A wide smile crosses his face as he scampers to his feet and runs out the door.

Nala Wheat

A freaky looking lady stands on the stage. Her pink skin glistens in the sunlight and golden tattoos disfigure her face and arms. She looks excited at the prospect of her job. I would despise the task, dooming people to death. She rambles on about the Hunger Games. It's the same old stuff every year. That is until she grabs the girl's paper.

My name echoes over the hushed crowd. Oh shit. That can't be good.

I make sure I have an emotionless face as I walk up the stairs to the stage. Those Capitol people are like bloodhounds trying to find the trail of fear. Of course I'm scared. I'm freaking terrified! But no one can know that. If someone knew that, I would be devoured within the first day of the Games.

Buffet Jacobi

Nala stands up on the stage, chewing her bottom lip as if it was the only thing keeping her alive. Maybe it is, I don't know.

The pink lady grabs a slip of paper and calls out the boy's name: "Cane Jacobi!"

No. Cane. It can't be Cane. My brother. Little brother. Small kid. No. It can't be. But it is. Cane.

I should volunteer. I'm older than him by three years. I might have a chance. I should volunteer for him.

I almost raise my hand. Key word: almost. I'm so close. So close. But I don't. I have a future here. I have a good job, a beautiful girlfriend, a hope for a better life. The Games only bring death.

Cane walks by me and his dark eyes stare me down. I look away. I can't do it. He looks so hurt standing up there on the stage. He is smiling, but I know that isn't his real smile. He is gritting his teeth together tightly.

"Your tributes, District 11!" the escort cries out. Then she quickly ushers them off the stage and out of site.

No. I should've done it. I should've volunteered for him. My throat closes up and I feel my eyes start to water. I could've saved him. But I didn't. What kind of brother am I?

Cane Jacobi

I sink down into the chair in the Justice Building. There is nothing I can do. I thought for sure that Buffet would volunteer for me. I can't believe he didn't. How far does love go? Can it really save?

I guess not. I am sitting here. Buffet is free, and will still be alive by the end of the month!

The Hunger Games could be fun, an exciting adventure in a new land. Well, it could be fun if it didn't involve 23 innocent teens dying. There must be some pretty twisted people in the Capitol.