Here's District 2. I still have 2 open slots, btw. This is 8/12 reapings done.

Marc Steiner - District 2, 18 years old (1 year before reaping)

This was it. Inside the envelope I held, there was a letter. A letter which determined the course my life would follow. Depending on which assortment of words was in the envelope, it would validate whether or not all the work I'd done in my life was worth it. It would give a meaning and purpose to all the learning I had devoted a part of my life to.

Family and friends were all around me. My father to my left, my sister, Tay, to my right, and my friends and mother on the couch opposite us. My mother had thrown a small little party for my MCAT results and my medical school acceptance, although she claimed it was "a celebration of my hard work and dedication."

As I ripped open the envelope, I saw the Capitol medical school insignia emblazoned on the top of the letter and took a deep breath. I unfolded the letter and read.

Marc Steiner, the letter read. I scanned through the introductory paragraphs without much focus as I moved towards the bottom. In a year in which so many applicants were incredibly qualified and skilled, we regret to inform you that your test results have failed to qualify you for medical school and we cannot offer you a place. We invite you to test again next year and reapply as we are constantly looking for the most qualified candidates. Best wishes.

"I didn't get in," I said blankly, looking around at so many hopeful faces.

The rest of the "party" was a blur. I was a bit lost in my thoughts, that along with all the heartfelt apologies and condolences from everyone there. I glanced over at my parents and saw my dad consoling my mom as she cried over my own dream.

I felt a tinge of jealousy. This was my own dream, and everyone I'd talked to had seemed far more upset than I felt. I was disappointed, of course, but distantly. My entire life, I'd felt detached from my emotions, as if I was observing another person go through these emotions, and I was jealous of that reserved part of me. I resented the fact that people like my mother could feel so strongly that they could cry over someone else's dream.

I looked over at my friends from the academy. I saw the emotion stitched on their faces as they conversed in a trio. I had heard the hope in Lorcan's voice as he talked about his dream of volunteering. I heard Honey cackle as she made some sort of joke that the other two couldn't quite grasp. Finally, I remembered the pain on Catullus's face when he wasn't chosen this year, in his final chance, and how he had urged Honey and I to let him train us as the next volunteers. I realized I was jealous of how visceral the Games were to him and Lorcan.

I decided then that I would take Catullus up on his offer. I'd had enough of sitting in the backseat of the car, taking in my own staleness whilst others felt the wind of emotion sting their face from the window seats. If the Games were inspiring enough to urge Catullus on in such a manner, surely I could find something there worthwhile.

Terpsichore Chuvarada - District 2, 18 years old

Seven separate glasses clattered against each other, filling the air of my family's home with a warm clinking sound. The cold cachaca swirled around in our caipirinhas as we went in for a toast.

"Saude!" My papai, Zeus, shouted out to us. Without hesitation, my family answered in unison.

"Saude!"

A wide smile broke on his face as he watched our family gather for dinner one final time. He and my mother, Mnemosyne, had made my favorite childhood meal, feijoada, as we prepared for the reaping tomorrow.

I grimaced when I looked into my mother's eyes. I saw the pain and the fear in her eyes, sharply contrasting the smile she displayed so often and so prominently. I knew she blamed herself and my father for my entry into the games. That shouldn't have been the case. Nobody should ever have to be forced to enter the games, and have their parents be scapegoated. Unfortunately for me, we lived in Panem. That wasn't really the case here.

Throughout dinner, although I continued to talk to my sisters, I glanced back at my father. As he took my mother's hand for comfort, I saw a much different look in his own eyes. I saw a fire, and I saw anger. For such a gruff and fiery man, he settled like a duck to water with a household and family where the girls outnumbered him 6 to 1. He was fiercely protective of us and our culture, and he was doing what he could to help both of his loves survive.

I suppose it's that fire that drives one to rebel. My parents had hid that side of their life from my sisters and I, but from the Dark Days until I was 11, my parents had sheltered and supported rebels. They'd preserved their culture and tried to pass it on to us, living the lives they wanted, unobstructed by the Capitol. My sisters and I were raised dancing the samba and learning capoeira. When I was recruited to train by the Academy, and eventually become a volunteer, they'd offered me a choice.

It was an ultimatum, to be sure. When they'd showed me that they knew about my parents rebellious actions, I was surprised. When they told me what would happen if I didn't volunteer and the Capitol "happened" to find out, I wasn't surprised whatsoever. The academy's negotiating power became even stronger when they realized my older sister, Cleo, wanted to be a historian. One random slip in that bowl, and boom! She'd be in the games in my place.

Papai tapped a radio, turning on carioca, for one last dance as a family. As my mother took my hand to drag me out to dance, I looked at her once again. When I saw the tears in her eyes, my own eyes almost cracked. I'd made the right choice, but what would it cost? How was it fair that I'd been made to choose between the lives of those I loved the most and my own?

Both are volunteers and trained.

Terpsichore's scene is funny to me. I kind of took a similar familial setting to my own, and just toned it down times 3. I wanted to adjust for what's likely centuries of displacement and Capitol cultural suppression so I used Google Translate. It was fun for me to hear some of the ways translate worked on phrases I use so commonly and twisted them.

Marc - Kind of smoky brown skin. Short shiny black hair. Slightly almond-shaped dark brown eyes. He doesn't smile much but it's not because he's mean, he just has a naturally subtle smile. He looks like Adam Beach from Smoke Signals.

Terpsichore - Terpsichore is of Afro-Brazilian descent. She has dark brown skin, brown eyes and wild, black hair that reaches down to her waist. Even though she's not as well-built as some tributes, she's clearly very athletic, with a lot of lean muscle. She likes to wear brightly-coloured clothes when she has the choice.

Next up should be District 9. Not entirely sure when it'll be out, but I'm aiming for a Sunday, December 6 publishing.