Authors Note: AHHH! We've reached the final reaping! I'm so excited to begin the Games with you guys and I'll be updating a little more frequently now that the reaping are done. So get ready!

District Twelve Reaping:

Cinder Mooreton, 16, District Twelve

"Maybe I could pix-ax someone to death," Hexar whispers, running his fingers slowly down my arm. "What do you think the chances are of getting a pix-ax in the arena?"

I want to sigh at his words. The moment was so blissfully perfect a moment ago. The grass we were laying on was soft and downy. The sky above us was a clear shining blue with thick, fluffy clouds. My eyes were closed and I could smell him perfectly, his familiar sent of ash and tree bark. All I could feel was the warm skin of his forearm on mine. And he had to go and ruin it with talk of the Hunger Games.

I look up from my heavy lashes to give him a stern look. "I don't know. But it doesn't matter. You are not getting reaped today."

Hexar sighs too, and his entire chest crashes down an inch as he does. "You and I both know it's a possibility, Cinder. We should prepare ourselves."

I roll over onto my stomach so I can look at him while I talk. "I don't want too. You're ruining our perfect morning."

It had been perfect only moments ago. Things like this are the only reason I don't hate Reaping Days. Sure, it's a systematic annual lottery that tries to pit us against twenty-three other kids in a fight that will surely end in our short, gruesome deaths, but it's nice to have at least one day during the year that nobody has to work.

"My name is in there an awful lot," Hexar reminds me. He's frowning now, and his bushy black eyebrows are furrowed in frustration. I trace one with my fore-finger.

"So?" I ask. "A lot of other people took out tesserae too. Me, included. It doesn't have to be you."

Hexar frowns. "I don't know. I just have a really bad feeling about this."

I shake my head furiously. "I don't. You're going to be fine. We didn't go through two whole years of you flirting with me in school for you to die in an arena."

Hexar cracks a wide grin. "Well, when you put it like that." He reaches down to place a deep kiss on the end of my nose.

"And anyway," I tell him. "I'm a hundred times better with the Pick-ax then you are. I practically run circles around you in the mines."

"Lies," he whispers in my ear.

He runs one of his hands through my big bushy brown hair, and smiles. I know he loves my hair. While most of the District has similar inky, straight locks, my voluminous mane tends to stick out a bit. To me, it's familiar. My mom and sisters have the same hair. Even my brother does. But were some of the only ones, and I know it's one of Hexar's favorite thing about me.

I stretch forward and kiss him deeper, trying to make sure he understands just how serious I am, and how much he means to me with the simple gesture.

When we break apart, I groan. "If we don't leave now, neither of us will have enough time to get ready for the reaping."

Hexar grins. "So? I'll go like this."

"With coal dust under your finger nails and in a dirty t-shirt?"

"It won't matter much what I'm wearing when I'm reaped."

I give him a hard shove in the shoulder. "You're not going to be reaped!"

Hexar chuckles and gets to his feet, pulling me with him. I frown but follow his lead down towards our houses. I do have to get ready to for the Reaping. My parents will kill me if I'm late because of Hexar. They like him as much as parents are expected to like their daughter's boyfriend whose two years older. But they constantly remind me how I spend too much with him. Personally, I think their dislike stems from the fact that his family is much poorer than ours. Hexar takes out tesserae for himself, younger brother and both of his disabled parents. My siblings and I don't have to take out tesserae. We all work part time in the mine, and both of our parents are still employed. I think my parents want me to end up with someone a little better off then Hexar. Something I think is gross.

Hexar lingers when we get to my little wooden, white house. He senses my parent's indifference to him and tries to spend as little time here as he can. Not that I blame him.

"See you at the reaping?" he asks, dropping my hand.

I smile and place a kiss on his cheek. "In clean clothes," I remind him.

Hexar rolls his eyes dramatically, "Fine. But I make no promises that I won't still have coal dust under my nails."

He darts down the street before I can say anything else, and I shake my head as I make way into the house. My heart is still racing when I enter the living room. It always does when I'm with Hexar. Young love and all that.

"Cutting it kinda close, don't you think?" My brother asks from one of the wooden chairs. He's sitting in the living room and I almost didn't notice him. He rocks back and forth on one of the chairs legs, a slice of bread in his hand. I see his hair is combed and he's wearing a clean shirt. Mom must have already made him get ready for the reaping.

"You know me, Blaze" I tell him, ripping myself a piece of bread from his slice. "I like to live dangerously."

"That was my bread," Blaze reminds me, simply, one eyebrow raised.

I grin. "I thought twins were supposed to share?"

Blaze rolls his eyes. "The only thing I'm required to share with you is my genetic material. Isn't that enough?"

I catch the end of his chair before it slams to the ground. "Nah, I want the bread too."

Blaze shakes his head and tears me off another piece of bread. "I'd go get ready if I were you. Sister 1 and 2 are almost done and mom and dad are going to be anxious to leave."

"I'll get right on that," I say and practically skip towards me bedroom.

I share my bedroom with both of my sisters, Pyre and Ember. They're both still getting ready when I enter the room. They're hair is expertly styled, their dresses are already ironed and on, and they've even lined their eyes with coal. They look ready to walk straight into the Capitol.

"You guys are really pulling out the stops this year, huh?" I ask, taking my only dress out of the dresser.

Ember shrugs and plays with the end of her ponytail. "It's my last eligible year, Cin. I'll be right up front for the Cameras. I have to make sure I look good."

"Right," I say with an eye roll, slipping on the simple cotton dress that used to belong to Pyre.

Both Ember and Pyre have always been a little more concerned with their looks than me. Then again, they're also prettier. They look like mom. Blaze and I look like Dad. Sometimes Ember even jokes that my face looks better on Blaze. I usually roll my eyes at that. Hexar seems to like my face just fine.

"I used to love that one," Pyre tells me as she floats past me, her hips sashaying dramatically as she does. "It looks good on you too."

Pyre is only 10 months older than me, but it looks like she's years older. She's got a figure that makes her look twenty-two rather than seventeen. It's probably the reason that she can't even go to the town square without the Peacekeepers trailing after her. Both her and Ember are so pristine and clean all of the time, it's a wonder they even work in the mines at all. I guess being fed is a good motivator, even for them. I actually like the mines, but I don't mind dirt.

Ember and Pyre linger at the food of our bed, hovering while I dress and brush my hair. They're anxious to leave, so the moment I've slipped on my shoes, were out the door with blaze.

Ember and Pyre walk a little ahead, talking in quick earnest voices and waving at passing by peacekeepers and District officials. I walk slowly with Blaze. We've always been closer, probably because were twins, but also because neither of us ever have any idea what to talk to Ember and Pyre about.

"Nervous?" Blaze asks as we approach the town square.

I shake my head. "You?"

"Not really. Our names aren't in there that often. The tesserae kids have it way worse. It's usually one of them."

My stomach knots at the thought of Hexar and how often his name is in the bowl. He's about as much a tesserae kid as you can be. Odds really aren't in his favor. I wish my brother good luck and disappear amongst the other girls my age.

I can see my sisters up ahead of me, talking between their sections and throwing anxious looks at the stage. I see my brother too, talking to one of his school friends. A little ahead of him, I see Hexar. He's staring at me too. I flash him the widest smile I can muster and he pretends to be shot in the heart. I mostly keep my eyes on him while the reaping begins. As much as I hate to admit it, all of his talking this morning about being reaped and Blaze's reminder about tesserae kids, has made me really worried for him. I don't know what I would do if he were reaped. I couldn't handle it. I'm staring at him, when they call the female tributes name. Making sure I absorb every inch of his face is more important to me than hearing which poor tesserae girl has been chosen for this year's Games. I don't even like the Games.

"Cinder Mooreton!"

It's takes me a full thirty seconds to recognize my own last name, and other fifteen to realize she said Cinder. It's not a tesserae girl. It's a Mooreton. One of the non-tesserae hardworking, Mooreton girls. And not one of the older ones, it's me.

I watch as Hexar's face turns white with dread. His beautiful face is so disrupted by the pain, I wish he would just smile instead. A smile might make it easier for me to move. His mouth hangs open and I realize he's shocked. With all that energy, we both spent worrying about whether he was reaped, we never took the time to worry about if I would be.

I'm shaking as I take the stage. The escort seems to be able to tell. When he calls for female volunteers, I look sheepishly to my older sisters, maybe out of habit. Neither of them are looking at me. They're looking at the ground. They stay silent.

In the boy's section, Blaze is horrified and staring daggers at them both. I know he's disappointed in them for not taking my place. He's my twin, I know he would if he could, but I can't expect the same from Ember and Pyre. It's not as if either one of them is more qualified or skilled then me. We all know the same thing.

Whichever Mooreton girl enters the arena, comes home in a coffin. This time around, it will be me.

I guess I better hope they put a pick-ax in the arena.

Shiloh Bellows, 14, District Twelve:

I got a stain on my shirt.

Any other day of the year, a stain wouldn't be that big of a deal. But on Reaping Day, it is a very big deal. People already think District Twelve is the laughing stock of Panem. It's probably the poorest district in the whole country. I don't like the idea of furthering that idea by showing up to the reaping in a stained shirt, but I don't have much of a choice. Everything else I own is dirty, torn or too small.

The butter stain was my own fault I guess. I was trying to do to many things at once. I thought it might nice for once to toast the bread over the fire, but there were too many pieces and I was having trouble keeping them all straight.

I always get stressed out on mornings when I have to cook breakfast for the whole family. There's a lot of us to feed, and I only have two hands. I shake my head. No that's ungrateful. I should just be happy we have enough to eat at all. I'm lucky the tesserae worked out this year. I came home with wagons full of grain and oil yesterday. We should be able to eat for at least a little while. Even if it takes hours every morning to prepare.

There are just too many people living in our tiny shack. Two Aunts, Three uncles, seven cousins, three grandparents, and two parents, all in two and a half rooms. It used to make me uncomfortable, having this many people crowded into the house, sleeping on rugs and corners of rooms, but now I've grown used to it. It's how a lot of people live in twelve. We've all got too much family and not enough money.

Sometimes it can feel a little crowded, but I also never have to worry about having someone to talk too. I'd take that over anything else. My family is the most important thing in the world to me. I'd do anything for them.

My aunts and mom are already up and out of the house, returning some of the merchant's clean laundry. My Dad and Uncles have left too, no doubt seeing if they can trade anything for some last-minute additions to our reaping dinner. They always try to make it at least a little special for us.

Only my grandparents and my cousins are in the house now, but it's still loud and crowded. My grandparents are too old and disabled to help with the cooking, and the kids are too small. Only two of them are even old enough for the reaping, so it's rare I get any help from them. Not that I mind much. I like making sure my family is taken care of. It's what I'm good at.

My oldest cousin, Telson stands across from me in the kitchen now, trying desperately to make mint tea from the leaves my dad and I gathered yesterday.

"These smell really good, Shiloh," he says leaning into the bowl of them, sniffing deeply.

"They taste even better," I tell him, putting the sixth piece of toast on the plate. "Chew one."

Telson eyes the green leaf with a strange confusion and then hesitantly places one in his mouth. He smiles when he starts to chew.

"They are good!" he exclaims. "How did you know?"

"My dad told me."

Telson frowns and continues adding the leaves to the hot water. "I wish Uncle Rudy would take me out to the woods too. You know so much about plants already. I want to learn too."

My face tenses. The idea of tiny Telson sneaking out of the fence of District Twelve terrifies me. My father and I do it all the time, to scavenge the woods for plants we know are edible. With this many mouths to feed, we have no choice. It's definitely paid off. Between the two of us, we can recognize almost every edible and inedible plant in the entire forest, but that doesn't mean we don't know how dangerous what we do it. It may be necessary, but it's still a crime. We could be arrested for sneaking into the forest. There's no way I'd subject Telson to that. My father wouldn't even bring me if it weren't for his injured leg. He can't make it too far into the forest without using me as crutch.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," I say quietly, flipping another piece of bread. "It is still illegal."

"But you do it," Telson presses.

"Well someone has to or we wouldn't eat," I say sternly. Telson's face falls and I know I've upset him.

"I'm not saying it's right, ok? Just necessary. But I don't need you out there risking your life. It's better you only worry about school," I tell him.

"Yeah, whatever." Telson is unconvinced. He still thinks what we do in the woods is glamourous. Fun. He doesn't understand it's a risk, and that's it's about nothing more than survival.

When I finish toasting the last piece of bread, I realize it will barely feed just the kids. If the rest of us plan on eating anything else today, I'll have to head to the woods. It does make me a little nervous to do it on Reaping Day. There surely will be more Peacekeepers here than usual, and more officials too, but I don't have much of a choice. My family needs to eat. I'll just have to be careful.

I turn to Telson, "Can you feed the kids? I've got to run an errand."

"An errand?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "On reaping day?"

"Yeah a small one. I'll meet you at the reaping, okay?"

"Oh-Kay."

I stop by the front door and lace my ancient old boots. They're almost completely worn through at this point, but I'm hoping they last longer. Everyone in the house is down to their last pair and if these go, I'll be walking around barefoot.

I quietly sulk through the dirt streets of the outskirts of our district. We live in the Seam, the poorest part of the District and closest to the mines. It's not far from here to the forest. I keep my head down as I walk anyway, trying not to attract any more attention to myself then necessary. Occasionally someone will wave, or smile at me. I try to be nice to everyone in the District, regardless of whether they're from the Seam or the Town, and people seem to respond well to my demeanor. Of course, it might also be how I look.

I look so different from most of the people here. Especially in the Seam. Everyone here looks the same; dark hair, grey eyes, olivey skin. In the merchant side of town, they're fairer and their hair is light. I don't look anything like that.

My fathers from District Eleven originally, and possess a darker skin color. He moved here to become a Peacekeeper, but had to stop after he injured his leg. My mom's from the Seam and her skin was already pretty tanned to begin with. It left me with a dark, mixed skin tone, very different from the rest of the people here.

When I get to the tiny hole in the fence, I wait until I'm sure no one is watching before I duck down beneath it and dart into the forest.

It's dead quiet here, and I immediately set to work. First, I gather the edible grasses and flowers that litter the edge of the forest. These don't taste the best but there all over the crowded forest, and make a good base for stews. It's deeper in the forest that I find the better stuff, the things like berries and apples, but it's too risky to go that far today. I still have to make it back before the reaping begins.

Instead I go just a little deeper, where I find it's full of plentiful roots and nuts. I load up on them, stuffing my jacket pockets until they're full. This should be enough to feed me and the other adults for today at least. Tomorrow, I'll have to come back with dad.

As I head back for the fence, I stop abruptly. I can hear laughter. On this side of the fence. My knees lock in fear as I realize it could be Peacekeepers. Immediately I dart behind one of bushes and wait, until the other people come into view.

They're giggling when I see them, and immediately I realize it's not Peacekeepers. It's girls.

There's two of them, dresses in clean pants and jackets. From the look of them, they're both a little older than me, maybe sixteen or seventeen.

The one in front is the one giggling. She's fair-skinned and her light blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail on the top of her head. In one hand is a thin knife, and in the other is a dead rabbit. The other girl also has a knife, and one fat squirrel. The blond hands her weapon and squirrel to the brunette friend, and she shoves them both into a big canvas bag. I watch as they stash their knives under some tree roots and dive under the fence with their game bag. My jaw hangs open.

Poaching. They're poaching. It's brazen to even have a weapon in District twelve, but to poach? They could beaten by Peacekeepers. They could be killed! I thought the gathering I did was risky, but what they did? It's crazy. Still, it's kind of impressive they were even able to catch something. They must be awfully good with those knives. That's exactly the kind of tribute they look for when doing the Reapings.

I don't like the Games much. I think the odds are far too stacked against us. But I can't help thinking that if District Twelve were ever to have another winner besides Haymitch Abernathy, than one of these girls would have to be reaped.

as I slip out from under the fence, and head for the square. I don't have enough time to stop home before the reaping, so I'll have to go with my jacket full of roots and plants. As I make my way through the crowds and find myself in the square, I'm still thinking about those girls. Maybe they should volunteer for the Games. They probably have a decent chance of winning. It's almost worth the risk for the prize money. I bet they could feed their families forever if they won. I'd do that.

When I take my spot in the fourteen-year-old section, I find myself thinking if I was as skilled as those girls were, I'd definitely volunteer to help my family.

I keep my eyes out for them as I wait for the reaping to begin. They're almost late. They both dart into the Seventeen-year-old section at the last minute, both looking frazzled in clean reaping dresses. I don't take my eyes off of them while the reaping starts.

When they call for the female tribute, I actually find myself hoping it's one of them. It might nice for District Twelve to have someone to root for this year. If they won, we'd even get Parcel Day.

They pull the name, and it isn't one of the girls from the forest. It's some town mining girl with big hair. I'm actually a little disappointed. This girl doesn't look like a contender at all. The other girls had a decent chance at least.

Feebly, I look away from the hunting girls and pay attention to the reaping again. They reach for the boy's name and I silently hope it isn't Telson. They call the name out loud, and it isn't Telson.

"Shiloh Bellows!"

It's me.

And in a matter of seconds, my mood immediately changes. A few minutes ago, I was excited for the 59th Hunger Games. Now, I'm terrified.

There won't be any Parcel Day's in District Twelve this year.

District Twelve has no contenders, only tributes.