Lucent Saccharyn POV:

Ah, it's time for the least relevant Career district's Reaping to take place. Good luck trying to compete with One and Two, District Four. The decline in volunteers from this particular district is primarily due to the man in charge of the Academy. I've only had the misfortune of meeting him once, but even that was absolutely disgusting. His beard is full of moldy food scraps, his breath smells like lutefisk (fish pickled in lye and jellied) left out to rot in a primitive bathroom for a month, and he constantly mutters about "murder 'em all", and "stupid kids".

I've never met a more off putting person. Naturally, very few sensible teenagers want to be around such a violent, unhygienic man, so fewer of them are attending training and thus volunteering. I fired him as quickly as I could, but having the gym available for a week before the Reaping can't compare to undergoing a decade of intense, comprehensive, personalized training.

It's for this reason I'm expecting District Four to be a mixed bag. Some likely toughed out training because they're scared of getting Reaped and wanted to be prepared. Others had dreams of fame and glory but eventually couldn't take the pressure of the Academy. Still others were pressured by their parents to train but really don't want to ever volunteer. I'm guessing we'll have one Reaped and one reluctant volunteer. Nobody's enthusiastic about being a Career anymore in District Four. I fully blame the gross trainer. Hopefully putting a new person in charge will inspire more young people to enroll at the Academy in future years, but that won't help the situation this year. I just hope that these tributes will be Reaped without delay or incident because I want to go eat lunch.

Lyra-Rose Ripley, 16:

I always sleep in, but today is special. Today I get an extra few hours than normal because it is Reaping Day. That's absolutely spectacular news because I absolutely adore this holiday. Hunger Games season is my favorite time of year because it's the only time I get to be better than Stacey. I've always been the least-favorite twin, the one cast aside, despite having higher grades, prettier looks, and of course I train at the Academy and she doesn't. Today is the only day this whole year that I come before her, because I'm the future victor of the family. I don't even want to volunteer, it's just that training is the only field in which I'm recognized as the superior sister. It's a rivalry I've been forced into practically since birth.

I silently pad down the hallway and look in the mirror. I pick out all my best features in the mirror: slightly tousled strawberry-blonde hair bleached light by the sun, freckles dotted across a turned-up nose, pale, milky skin that miraculously hasn't tanned at all, bright green eyes. Stacey can't compare to me, so why does she have a boyfriend and I don't? Who could ever love the dark hair, plain brown eyes, and sunburnt skin peeling off the apples of her cheeks? Who would want to kiss uneven, thin lips or rest an arm around a plump waistline like hers?

Irving, that's who. Her nice, handsome boyfriend who's just a little bit older and deliciously tanned. The one who I invited home for a project and who, instead of falling in love with me like I intended, took an interest in the uglier of us two. Pity's the reason, I'm absolutely certain of it. There's no other explanation. The worst part about him is that Dorian likes him more than me. My baby brother would rather be held, dressed, and fed by the man who's rightfully mine (but deceived me in favor of someone else) than his own sister. Dorian's my flesh and blood, and I have more of a right to his favor than anybody outside our family, even my sister's boyfriend. It's horribly unfair of him.

I lower myself into the terracotta tub and grab the sandcake out of its dish to scrub the dirt off my body. My hair is kept nice-looking by the seawater I swim in every day during training, but I still rinse and comb it to remove any traces of crystallized salt. I pat myself dry with a towel and select an outfit to wear. I go for my best dress instantly. It's a purple chiffon gown with a neckline cut in a loose v-shape that displays quite a bit of cleavage. My parents had it imported from District One especially for me. Our family is incredibly wealthy, so we can afford to do things like that. I drape my favorite string of pearls around my hairline like a headband to finish off my outfit.

I walk downstairs to demonstrate my outfit to my parents, grabbing a plate of food as they sing praises about me. They know I'm not going to volunteer this year (hopefully I never will) but compliment me on my training prowess nonetheless. I wave at Dorian, who's giggling as my father feeds him a spoonful of some lumpy brown concoction. I swear he manages to glare at me. I angrily glare back until he bursts into tears and promptly leave the house to go to the Reaping. I join up with a few of my friends, showing one another our dresses and jewelry. We're the best-looking girls in the whole damn district. So much better than Stacey.

We pass the time talking shit about her and her friends. It baffles me why everybody likes her better. She sucks up to adults, she tries to bribe small children to like her by passing out candies to them, she's overly affectionate with people and turns them into brainless minions, and she sweet-talked Irving to steal him from me. It takes only a few minutes for the escort to ascend the stairs. The videos and speeches pass quickly, and soon the escort reaches her hand into the girls' bowl.

"Stacey Ripley!" Well, that's what I call karma. Serves her right for being such a manipulative, jealous, attention whore. I'm interested to see what she's wearing since I haven't seen her all morning. As usual, I look better than her. She's wearing a women's navy blue business suit with a pair of simple black flats. Her curly dark hair flows down her shoulders. Her misshapen face is quirked up at he escort, almost placid, accepting of her fate. She walks daintily to the stage, expressionless. She suddenly looks behind her, directly at me, and calmly shoots me the most reproachful, withering look I've ever seen. It absolutely screams I'm mortified by you. You are no sister of mine. You spend a decade training for this moment and don't have the decency to volunteer? I catch a glimpse of Irving from the corner of my eye, who appears to be having a mental breakdown in his section.

A wave of guilt hammers me all at once. I find my parents in the crowd. My mother cradles Dorian and my father wrings his hands. They look anxiously at me, willing me to do what's expected of me a year early. Before I can think it through, my stupid, big mouth makes the descision for me.

"I volunteer!"

Ardledge Merton, 18:

I wake up next to my fiancée for the 353rd day in a row in the white-painted cedarwood bed in our new house. I'm still not tired of it. Every time I see her still-sleepy face cozied up against my shoulder, it's like the first time. I blush. "Hey Winnie." She raises a hand to scratch at her pillow-creased cheek, gazing at me and smiling idly.

"Hey Ardledge." Her voice is husky and thick from sleep.

"Happy Reaping Day."

"Yeah. Adrian's first Reaping Day." There's a touch of melancholy to her voice. Craning my neck, I lift my head up from the pillow to look at our five-month-old son, happily gnawing on his hand as he sits in his crib. Winnie untangles her legs from the sheets and hauls herself upright and out of bed, stumbling over to Adrian's crib and scooping him up. He does his funny little surprised baby squawk as she holds him up and coos at him. "Good morning, darling!"

"Bah!" He waves his little chubby arms around as she bounces him in the air.

"Yeah, I did have a good night!" We like to pretend Adrian's answering us when we talk to him, even though it's just squeals and random sounds. I laugh quietly and she tsks at me, fake-upset. "Boy, what are you smiling at?" She struggles to keep the giggle out of her voice as she sets him back in his crib.

"You're beautiful, Winnie."

"That's not getting you out of trouble." She pretends to glare. I pout.

"Really?" Her façade breaks and she too bursts into laughter.

"God, you make me melt! The charm is too much to handle!" She pretends to shield her eyes and I grin.

"I know." I hop out of bed and sweep her off of her feet, running into the kitchen with her in my arms.

"Ardledge!" she squeaks. "Put me down!" I kiss her instead, even though neither of us have brushed our teeth yet. I set her down on the edge of the kitchen table. She jumps down and starts setting up Adrian's high chair. I get out a block of lard from the pantry and start up the stove, taking some kippers out of the icebox and pulling a pan out to fry them in. She disappears into our bedroom to feed Adrian as I get our breakfast ready, flipping the kippers over in the pan as they erupt in sizzling noises. When Winnie emerges with Adrian, she sets him in the high chair and gives him his favorite plush toy to play with as we eat.

Once we're finished, Winnie takes care of Adrian so I can shower. I get priority this morning because I have to go to the Reaping and she doesn't. She's only two months older than me at nineteen, but that little bit of time makes a big difference. She doesn't have to worry about going into the Hunger Games. I don't think the Capitol is that bad, but the Hunger Games are horribly inhumane. I doubt I could ever kill someone, even in self-defense. I absolutely hate seeing people get hurt, especially kids. I've never trained for the Hunger Games because the violence just disgusts me. I shower quickly and unceremoniously, taking just long enough to get clean. I wrap a towel around my waist and let Winnie have her turn. Adrian is sleeping in his crib so I make sure to move quietly so I don't startle him.

I put on a light blue shirt and some grey corduroy pants. The shoes are rough canvas and brown. Once I'm finished changing, Adrian has woken up, so I dress him too, in a soft yellow shirt and teal stretch pants. Winnie's gotten ready in the bathroom and grabs the baby sling to strap him to her chest. We walk leisurely to the Reaping as a family, and the mood is much less cheerful than it was earlier this morning. We chatter absentmindedly about this or that but we each have things on our mind. Winnie's worried for me, I'm sure. And I'm worried about being Reaped for the Hunger Games. Winnie squeezes my hand in hers before dropping me off at the check-in booth. I boop Adrian's nose with my finger as they depart. A Peacekeeper pricks my finger and I make my way to the section for eighteen-year-old boys.

I close my eyes, blocking out the horrors of the video, with all its carnage and destruction. The speeches are at least somewhat more palatable, talking about honor and such. The escort selects the female slip and a calm girl in a business suit walks up to the stage, looking pretty. Not as much as Winnie of course, just objectively good-looking. A guy in

the sixteen-year-old pen, probably her boyfriend, looks scared for her. Suddenly, the girl shoots a venomous look behind her at another girl, who, after fifteen seconds or so, volunteers, looking a little nervous as she takes the stage. She introduces herself and has the same surname as the first girl. Sisters, I'd guess. Though no fondness, that's for sure.

When the escort chooses the male slip, I'm suddenly aware that I'm holding my breath. Time is suspended as she fumbles with it, dropping it and scrabbling on the floor before finally tearing the seal open and reading it. "Ardledge Merton!" she practically screams. I take a few seconds to compose myself but dutifully walk up the aisle, sneaking looks at Winnie. She's standing with Adrian near my parents, who absolutely adore her. I moved out of their house last year. All three adults look equally concerned for me. My mom and dad clutch each other, horror written all over their features. Winnie's mouth is set in a hard line, as though she might just march out and stop them from taking me.

My stomach gives a lurch at the knowledge I'm going to become a tribute, but I keep trudging along. I'm sure I look frightened, but I reach the stage, and that's what matters. The escort pastes on a shiny red-lipped smile and reveals artificially teeth as she beams wide and pats my shoulder.

"Our tributes, District Four! May the odds be ever in their favor!"

Hey y'all! These tributes were both really fun to write. Lyra-Rose was created by an anonymous guest user and wasn't super detailed, so I couldn't reach out to ask any questions and had to go heavy on the creative liberties-I'm sorry if she wasn't written as you'd intended. The next Reaping will be District Three, but I still need some more tributes! If you haven't submitted any, I'd suggest going to my profile and using the tribute form to create one, sending it to me either via review or PM. Thank you so much!

~LC