A/N: The last of the reapings! I hope you guys love these tributes as much as I did. They are two complete opposites! Okay the next two chapters are going to be Caesar's POV of the tribute parade! I might do them all in one chapter but I might do 1-6 in one and 7-12 in one. tell me what you think I should do and check the POLL

District 12 Reaping:

Eunice Liliton's POV

I wake up with my blond hair in my face. I hear footsteps outside. Coal-miners. Probably off to their first shift.

I quickly get up, out of my bed, and slip off my pajamas. I slip on a plain tee and some comfortable sweats. The floor is all wooden, being my attic in which my room is. Our house, being my dad's, mom's, and I's, is too small for me to have a room downstairs so I had to live in the attic. I don't mind it. I mean it's a place to sleep and draw which is most of my life.

I scratch my blue gray eyes and sit on my bed. Today is the reaping. I wonder what poor sole will go into the arena this year. This is my first year eligible for the reaping. That is never a good thing, especially with my shyness. Some would call me anti-social, but I am just not social. I am shy around people. I am embarrassed too. My body is small and weak. I always blush whenever I go with my mom to the Hob or somewhere. I am petrified of most people except my mom and dad.

I quickly braid the front part of my hair, pulling it back, and leaving the rest of my hair hanging. Then I braid the rest of my hair so there is one braid on top of the other. I smile and then open my sketch book. I got my sketch book on my birthday last year. It was a very expensive gift that we couldn't even afford, but my mom and dad managed to buy it. They know that I am obsessed with nature. Nature is what I draw too, plants, flowers, things like that. Being curious about plants too, I read books about them which makes my knowledge about them grow.

The pencil I use is just a plain black piece of charcoal that my dad finds in the mines. I run over to my dresser, which is just a wooden one with 4 drawers. I pull open the top drawer and grab a piece of blackish charcoal. I quickly put the charcoal on paper and start drawing a flower.

When I finish the picture I put it on my small pin board. I smile at the daisy flower I just drew with perfect detail. As I walk across the wooden floor my bare-feet are cold. I walk to the small window and look outside. People walk on the dirt streets. My smile fades away. The reaping, I am in it this year. A tear drops down my eye. No. There is no way I am going to be reaped.

Grant Coulson's POV

I thrust my pickaxe into the wall of dirt one last time with all my might. I smirk at stones and minerals that come out, landing into a black bucket. Worst life known! My life has never been of satisfactory. It's always been work, work, and more work. At a young age I told myself that life will be hard especially without parents.

I pick up the black bucket. The bucket is rough and rusted. It feel normal on my strong hands though because of all the time I have worked in this little abandoned mine shaft. I live in this place too. Of course I hate it though, but that's what life is, hard and cruel. You just have to keep your chin up and deal with it. How can you when things like the games come around?

I am 18-year-old which means I have a great chance of being reaped this year to be put into the arena. There are positive things to it though. One: I get to leave my horrible life here and go to the luxury of the Capitol. Two: If I die it won't matter because I have nothing to live for. And three: If I win I come back with loads of gold and money.

The air is humid from all the mines around when I get out of my shaft. I still hold the rough bucket in my hand. I have to sell all this stuff for food. The thing is I don't need a lot of food to live. I am adapted to the minimum of food and water that I can afford. I start walking to the Hob, a market in District 12.

The good thing about living and working where I do is that I put on muscle. I am well-muscled which is good to have in the Games. That means I might be good at hand-to-hand combat.

When I reach the Hob I immediately walk to the bread section. I could go to the bakery, but that is more expensive. I can deal with old bread.

"One loaf please," I say in my deep voice as I put the bucket of minerals and rock on the table.

"Thank you," the old woman says in a croaky, cold tone.

"Yup," I say taking the loaf of hard bread. I start to leave but am interrupted by the same voice.

"Good luck son." I look at the old woman's crippled face and sad gray eyes.

"Thank you." My voice sounds cold and old, like its rotting bread. I still don't want sympathy for my life. Sympathy means you're weak. And I am not weak. I am strong.

Eunice Liliton's POV

I step down the ladder to the kitchen to eat some breakfast and wash up. My mother waits for me, holding an outfit. She holds a white blouse, a pleated gray skirt, and black pump shoes.

"Here you go sweetheart." I run over to my mother and wrap my arms around her.

I don't reply. I never really even talk. That is a big downfall to me. I just nod or shake my head or smile. I manage to say quietly, "Thanks." It's just a whisper voice. Something catches my eye. A gray cat looms in the corner of our kitchen. "Scraggle!" My voice is a bit louder this time.

Scraggle is my cat, well my family's. He is the only friend I have. I pick up the knotted cat and sit in a chair with him. He purrs. My mother then puts a plate of food in front of me. Scraggle jumps down and slowly creeps away. I eat the old bread with the cheese on it. It's not much, but it's what my family can afford.

I manage another, "Thanks" to my mom before taking a cold bath. I take the outfit and hang it up in the bathroom. I strip of my clothing and get into the cold water. It sends a chill down my body almost instantly.

When I am all clean I get out and dry myself off with an old towel. I put the white blouse on and then the skirt. I walk out of the bathroom with a shoe in each hand. I sit on the old wooden floor to put them on.

"Are you ready?" I look at my mother. I shake my head. "You better go. Your father and I will be there to see you. I love you." My mother gives me a hug and I am out the door.

I walk on the dirt roads with folded hands. I am not ready for this. What if I am reaped? What then? I don't even know that much about the Games. My family doesn't like watching them. They think it's horrible and pathetic. Well, most people in District 12 think that, but still watch it.

When I reach the Justice Building I walk to the place to sign in. My eyes widen at all the kids and people around. My forehead starts to sweat around all the people. I jump as I nearly run into a bigger boy. "Watch out twerp!" His voice sounds cruel. I fight the tears that are coming and walk to sign in.

"Next." I walk forward as the peacekeeper says this. I stop as I notice that they have to take some blood. "C'mon!" I am pushed forward so I put my finger down. The peacekeeper pokes it and I twitch. "Go ahead."

I wait in the 12-year-old section, shaking from all the people around me. I feel relief as a lady walks onstage.

She has purple hair and wears a puffy blue dress. "Welcome District 12 to this year's reaping. Before we begin we have the Treaty of treason." Her voice is high and smooth. It flows like a waterfall. The Treaty of treason begins. I focus on the words. It talks about how our world came to be. It's horrible. I turn my eyes away and focus on the people around me. It's makes me shake even more.

"Ah! Perfect! Ladies first!" The escort walks over to a large sphere filled with slips of paper. She walks back to the microphone after picking one from the bottom. She clears her throat and says, "Eunice Liliton."

Grant Coulson's POV

I see a 12-year-old walk into the aisle way. She is trying to fight tears, but that doesn't last long. Tears start flowing from her eyes when she reaches onstage.

"Now the boys," the escort says, walking over to the opposite sphere. She quickly picks up one of the slips on the top and then walks back to the microphone. She clears her throat like she did with Eunice's name. Eunice . . . That poor girl. No! I cannot pity somebody that will make me sympathetic. That will make me sad. "Grant Coulson." My eyes widen, but I do nothing. I simply walk onstage. Now I for sure cannot be sympathetic. She will slow my plan down. "May I present to you the tributes of this year's Hunger Games, Grant and Eunice!"

I sit on a plush couch, waiting, waiting to see if anyone wants to say goodbye to me. Nobody. Nobody! Nobody comes in to say goodbye. Good, I am leaving nothing behind in this District. I am leaving my weakness and that is it!

A/N: Check the POLL! I wanna see some of your favorites!