Adair Brites (16) D5M

"You know, this is a one-of-a-kind book. Only three like it exist. Okay, so not quite one-of-a-kind. But this book, signed by the author, is extraordinarily unique. Most of them got destroyed when the author died in a fire, her house burning down with it," I said to the person reading the book cover. I had signed the book, beautifully forging the author's signature, but he didn't have to know that. Really, what did it matter? He would live his life thinking he had a signed copy, and my family would get to eat fruits and vegetables instead of just grain. It wasn't like he couldn't afford the book, anyways. The golden chain on his golden watch told me that.

"Are you sure only three exist? How could you know?" the man asked me suspiciously, and I understood his skepticism. I was asking four of my paychecks for it. That was probably little to him, but he wouldn't want to spend any more than he had to. Money made the world go around, and he was greedy. Everyone was. Greed was one of the ugly parts of humanity, one nobody could avoid.

"No book broker knows for sure how many copies of a book exist," I conceded. It always made lies look better if you said one thing that didn't support your cause. "But I've only seen one on the market other than this one, and the guy was asking 15% more for it! I assume there's another somewhere, but there are no confirmed instances." I was lying like a rug, saying whatever came to mind. Now the guy was getting a discount, as far as he knew, as well as a rare book. A silver tongue was a blessing in Five.

"Hm... Are you sure? Give me a discount, since you don't know your way around," the guy demanded. I shrugged, pretending to think about it. Really, I had already marked the book for way more than it was worth, knowing everyone would ask for a discount and that people were more easily persuaded when they thought you thought they were special. He was going to get the discount even if he hadn't asked for it, just to try to keep his business coming.

"Well, it really is a beautiful book..." I muttered, still acting. "But, you're obviously a collector, and I guess I can let you have a special deal. Not too much... How does 85% sound?" That would still be a ton of money, the guy would think a fifteen percent deal was nothing to me, expecting more later, and I'd get a permanent customer. I just had to keep a straight face so the guy didn't know I was scamming him.

"Hm... I suppose," the man finally said, handing over a bag of money. I gave him the book and smiled. A worthless book with a worthless signature, made valuable because I could lie. My family sure was lucky to have one person with little morals.

Cecilia Q. (16) D5F

It was time. It was time for the fifth year of the worst day of my life. Two more times I'd have to go through it, and then I could hopefully be safe, at the low price of knowing I stood freely on the graves of other children. I hated Reaping day with a passion, knowing it was one of the few things in the world that was actually evil. The Careers? Brainwashed. Victors? Did what they had to. Psychopaths? They actually had brain problems. But Ginger and her Games were things that were thought out by someone sane, someone evil. That I would admit.

Ovid Leek glided onto the stage, wearing a dress made to give the image of a plane. It wasn't a plane, no; that would be stupid. It just looked like one. Ovid was an idiot, but she wasn't evil. She didn't have the brain capacity for it. Her voice boomed when she spoke. She didn't seem to know what a microphone was. That destroyed my efforts to tune it completely out, as it did every year, leaving me waiting for her to be done and the old Capitol propaganda to start playing.

"Aren't you worried, Cecilia?" Fayrie asked me, bringing me to realize that I had zoned out, lost in thoughts, and therefore lost all facial expressions. I shook my head.

"The odds are like a million to one that we'll get Reaped," I whispered back to my friend, switching to a smile. Bright on the outside, cynical on the inside. Society knew no one for who they truly were. I laughed, faking the joy, and went back to zoning out, knowing Fayrie would quickly talk to her other, closer friends. In order to have close friends, you had to put effort into it. I didn't have time for that.

"And our female tribute will be... Cecilia Q.!" Ovid yelled, almost bursting my eardrums. I glared at her internally. You have got to be kidding me. This does not happen. It can't be me; everything says it wouldn't. There's no way this is happening. A plethora of thoughts ran through my head, but I had to strategize. I had to be confident.

"I volunteer!" I yelled out, smiling at Fayrie. "See? You weren't going to get Reaped." Some people would see through my bluff, and I felt silly volunteering after being Reaped, but I could just pretend I hadn't noticed, or that my excitement to volunteer had overwhelmed my hearing her voice. It was better to be a dumb volunteer, in the Capitol's eyes, than just some Reaped nobody.

Ta-da! I got to write part of this today in class, and nothing gets you writing like having nothing else to do.

Shout-out to Cecilia for ROCKING getting unexpectedly Reaped

Question: Is it all right to kill people who aren't specified Bloodbaths in the Bloodbath? Morally speaking.

While you're never required to answer questions (I won't kill you just for not doing it), if you don't, I'll assume your answer is what I want it to be.