Donhall Peters, 12, District 11

If I could be anywhere in all of Panem now, I would be in an orchard. I swear, they're the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Ever better than the fancy District Six train. Even better than the star-studded Capitol.

I have no weapons. I'm defenseless. I'm still not hungry, though. I don't have a trace of supplies on me. I lay down on the roof of a house that I climbed up the side of. It has funny slots in it, where I could fit my tiny hands and feet. The climb winded me, but laying in the sun up here is nice. It reminds me of laying in the orchards with Elie, my...well not friend. She wasn't a very reliable friend. She didn't want to be seen with me in public and only really hung out with me because she felt bad for me, but she was the closest thing I had to a friend.

With the sun shining on my face, I find my self deep in euphoria. I never realized how...good it felt to be happy. Probably because I never really was all too happy. For a moment, I feel the best that I've ever felt all my life. I close my eyes and enjoy. Something I've never been able to do before.

I hear footsteps, barely there, though. Swift and at a perfect pace, almost rythmic. I look up to see a tall figure with porcelain skin, long, straight raven hair, and dark eyes. She's pretty, very pretty, I would say. She doesn't look like much of a killer, especially with such doll-like features, but she holds a long scary knife like it was made to fit her hand.

She eyes me and gives me a sadistic smile. "Well, aren't you asking to be killed?"

"Begging, actually. Are you going to come up or should I come down?"

"Your choice. But maybe you should come down. The blood is easier to cover up on grass rather than that bright white stuff. And I'm going to need to keep my secret in this hellhole," she responds, confidently. This was not the weeping girl at the tribute interviews. This was a killer.

"I'll be down soon. But let me position myself before you come at me. I'll tell you when," I say.

"Sure, fine," she says with a shrug.

As I climb down, I realize what I'm doing. And I know I'm doing it for a reason. All of those years of feeling worthless haven't paid off. There was nothing I could do about it. All of the people in my district, the ones who hated me because of my problem, I wanted them to know that I was worth something. I was a person, too. Even if they didn't treat me like one.

I jump to the ground. "Can you please make it painless? I've had such a good day. You wouldn't want to ruin, it, would you?" I say, smirking. I become aware that this is the only time in my life I've ever smirked. "I want to die happy. I want to die looking happy, too," I say. I settle myself on the ground, hands behind my head, smiling. From a few yards away, she walks over.

"Whatever floats your boat. I'm Gena, just to let you know. Because you want to know the name of the person who killed you, obviously," she smirks. "You ready?" she positions herself.

"One," I say.

"Two," she responds.

"Three."

In one quick motion, she plunges the knife into my chest. There is a tingle of pain before I go numb, the sharp taste of blood in my mouth is the last thing I sense until all I've ever known of the world slips away from me.

End of Donhall Peters.

The canoon booms through the arena at 5 AM that morning, waking some of the tributes from their slumbers...if they were lucky enough to get sleep. The arm of the hovercraft descends to reach the boy with the blood-crusted smile.

Dawn Swift, 14, District 5

A cannon boom startles me from my sleep. I wake with a start, my head flying upward only to bash into the top of the bar table that I'm sleeping under. Too fucking tall. "The most wonderful way to start your day," I mumble sarcastically, only to check over my shoulder a moment later to reassure myself that no one is here.

I slept in a bar on one of the big streets. Some of the side walks have crushed pieces of marble with stars on them. They say words but they are far too crushed to make out what the words actually say. I laid down a pillow I got from the cornucopia that came with a small rolled op futon and think of a plan. Should I leave the safety of this bar? I have food, water, and this nice bow and arrow. But hunting seems stupid when the arena is a city. The gamemakers have probably hidden food everywhere.

I lift myself from the safety under the bar table and check outside of the windows. Not a soul. I make my way around the broken tables and upside-down chairs to find a back room with a door broken in half.

But when I enter, I immediately realize that this is not part of the bar that I'm hiding in. This room is all Capitol, with a shiny silver floor and matching walls. That's when I see it.

Pantries stuffed with food. Two large refrigerators humming with electricity. There's enough food in this one room to keep every tribute in the arena full for days. I approach the fridges and the pantries without a second thought or even a single doubt.

A moment after I pull the shiny black handle back, revealing the insides of the fridge, I'm blown backward into the air.

Aurelia Tyree, 16, District 12

It's rare that anyone from District Twelve ever makes it past day one, but before I get too cocky, I'm proud of myself for being here. Breathing. Only now do I realize what a gift it is to be breathing. I'm stil amazed at how far I've made it. I guess growing up on the grimy streets of the Seam has taught me a thing or two about survival. One: when you hunt, the hungry will always beg for a share of game, shake them off by taking your weapon out to polish. Two: some days, you will go hungry, so instead of whimpering, take it like a man. You waste the stored up energy from your last meal doing something pointless. Three: always keep a sharp eye out for pursuers. You never know who you can trust.

But yet I still feel so close to Kat and Fernando. They're good friends, not just allies. And I'm in no position to pass up friends. I've never had one before. I keep my mouth shut during school and do my work during lunch break. I've probably killed twenty percent of the meat we eat at lunch, when I sell it to the butcher and the butcher sells it to the school.

We sit together, legs crossed on a mountainside facing away from the Cornucopia. And man, you can see everything from here. I know my stuff about mountains, considering I live surrounded by them. These two were not so lucky, living in those districts where the district industry is all indoors, or very techy. I can see they don't know very much about the outdoors, but they handle weapons decently, and that's a big chunk of the game.

I throw the last piece of firewood that I scavenged into the stack. Fernando furrows his brow as he tries to light a match but ends up breaking the match. Kat snatches it from him and strikes it roughly against the sandpaper. As it sparks into a flame, she becomes scared and squeals, tossing it onto the firewood.

"At least you didn't miss," I say, popping a berry into my mouth. Fernando lays a spit over the fire and I put my cleaned and plucked turkey over it.

"And you're sure that no one will see the smoke?" Fernando asks.

"We climbed up a mountain and down the other side. Most of the others travelled west-we saw them. We're too far down the mountain to be seen. By the time the smoke is high enough, it will all have already faded," Kat nods, but she seems confused.

Two days in the arena, going on three. Allies are fun, but not always reliable. They're clueless about the ways of nature and it's not so easy teaching them. I know I'll have to get away, but I'm still a little bit attached. I watch as Kat struggles to flip the turkey, and when the flames rise up a bit, Fernando jumps back a little. I stifle a laugh and pop a berry into my mouth.

Hey guys! So I hope you liked this chapter. The last POV may be a bit boring but it just can't be, "ALL OF YOU FREAKING DIE!" in every chapter, so I need to tone it down a bit. I'm honestly letting this story write itself. I'm trying really really super hard to make this the best it can be. Anyway, I've put up a new story called "Torn" which I really hope you like. It's based off of the One Direction cover of the song Torn. It's honestly amazing. You guys should go listen to it...and R&R my new story. So I know what you're thinking, "Ew, One Direction? But guys, I love them. They are honestly so talented. I've heard all of their voices without this or that and autotune, and that's what's going on in Torn...no song lyric quoting intended...in the meantime, please keep submitting characters to Berniegirl13's SYOT (You guys were super great about that, xox), and read BeccaJoy's story Dead Hearts, a sequel to Seventy One years, about my very own character, who's name will not be mentioned if you're going to read Seventy One Years before you read Dead Hearts (which would be a good idea). So, uh, yeah. And I would be so, so honored if you R&R'ed Torn. Enjoy!