Hello, hello, FanFiction! It is a beautiful day here, and I have another chapter for you! But first things first.

Mystical Pine Forest: I liked both of them too. Honestly, as I wrote, I began to like each of them more and more! You know what I find interesting? You told me to "Take your time with updates." And later, "Update ASAP!"

dreams and desperation: Yes, another update! Matter of fact, here's another!

faceless eater aka slendergirl: I'm glad you understand! It was hard for me to just not have the time, but it got done, didn't it? Welcome to the Sponsor club!

ElvenRangerRysel: I'm glad you liked Kiara. You are one of few people who would be willing to let your tribute die for someone else's, and it takes guts to write something like that for the world. Everyone has their own special reason to get back, though. Even those who have already been given a death sentence…

The Rsce: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like my writing so far, and hope you like this chapter, and the ones to come just as much! It is as wonderful for me to hear my phone buzz with an email, saying I have a new review/follower/favorite.

Jayman1919: Okay, I'll put you on the list!

Alien and Wolfie: I was really missing you; I'm glad to see you're still reading!

Reviews are loved and appreciated! It encourages me to write better, and keep the story going! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and/or favorited this story!

I GOT 131 VIEWS IN A SINGLE DAY! IS THAT IN THE RECORD BOOKS!?

I do not own the Hunger Games. I only own multiple characters and their stories.

Kenzie is, in fact, a comedy character. She is mostly here to give me, as well as you, a good laugh. It'll get better after this chapter, trust me.

Also, thanks to Jayman1919 for our tributes from Seven, and for pestering me the past week.

Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District 7


Lights flashed through the studio. I had no idea what would be put on the green screen behind me, but I must have fit it perfectly in my glowing pink dress and matching high heels. Voices behind the flashes barked orders to me once in a while.

"A little to the left!"

"Tilt your chin a little more! No, higher! There ya go!"

"Right hand on your hip!"

"Nice job, Princess! Now, smile!"

With each order I made the adjustment, and the flashes continued all the while. Most people may have gotten bothered once in a while, but I had been in the modeling business since I was seven. Every day, I would walk to the "Capitol Studios, District Seven Branch!" building and stand for hours upon hours, until either curfew or when the Capitolists were sick of my joking around.

Yeah, I'm a bit of a jokester. During short breaks, me and my friend Lia, who worked as an intern to the Capitolites, would prank the buggers in every way imaginable. Expensive, clear plastic wrap over the superintendent's toilet, a bucket of mud over the main doors, and pies. Lots and lots of pies.

A whistle blew in the distance, signaling the end of the Games Candidates' work day. Without waiting for the superintendent's approval, I left the studio without looking back.

I stumbled when a pie slammed into my face. Wiping the thick cream from my eyes, I saw the retreating figure of Lia entering the busy section of the city. Figuring I'd get her back later, I made the quick walk home.

Slamming the door shut, I called, "Ma, I'm home!"

"In the kitchen!" She called back. I walked into the tiled kitchen, where my mother, Linda, sat at the dinner table. "What happened to your dress?" She asked when she saw me. "Wait, don't tell me. Lia got you again, didn't she?" I only nodded, wiping a little banana off my face.

"I'm gonna go clean up, alright?" She only nodded, and began to wash the dishes. I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, which I shared with nobody, having no siblings whatsoever. On my nice, warm bed was my Reaping dress, which I didn't dare touch with my messy hands. So, to clean off, I took a quick shower.

After my shower, I threw on the dress, knowing full well that I had little time before the Reapings. In the mirror, I took inventory of myself.

My long blond hair flowed loosely around my shoulders and pretty face. My 5'10" slim frame was perfect for the sparkling blue dress I had just bought with my own money for the Reaping.

"Kenzi, darlin', you're gonna be late if ya don't hurry!" A gruff male voice called from downstairs.

"Comin' Dad!" I called back, running downstairs. I snatched my satchel from the stair railing, which was full of the bakery's thickest pies, and met my parents at the door.

"Ready to go?" My father, James asked. I nodded, and he added, "You look beautiful today, Kenz. Then again, that's rather normal, isn't it?"

My mother laughed. "Yep. Our beautiful little girl is almost through with the Reapings! We don't want to be late!" She gestured to the square, and we set off.

Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7

I swung the axe half-heartedly at the base of the pine tree. Thunk! Again. Thunk! And again. Thunk! And again. Thunk! Staring at the C-shaped hole, I stepped to the side, and, with a final heave, cleaved the tree in two.

"Timber!" I shouted. With a crash, the tree fell to the forest floor. I looked over to where the forman's tent was, and called, "Kyle! Ash! Get your lousy butts over here, and help me out with this thing!" From the bright yellow tent, my two best friends turned. Like me, they had a lumberjack's build: tall, broad, and lots of muscle.

"What, so you can't lift this little tree by yourself?" Ash grinned at me.

"That ain't the problem and you know it; I need your ugly face to scare it to the mill!" The three of us laughed, and picked the tree up, me and Kyle near the base, and Ash near the middle. We carried it the short distance from Lot 57's working area to the one truck we were allowed to use. Hefting it over our heads, we tossed it onto the other trees on the pickup's trailer.

In the distance, a whistle pierced the air, loud and clear. I turned to Ash and Kyle. "Work's over, guys. See ya right back here after the Reapings, 'aight?"

They both gave an affirmative, and we all set off toward our homes. I ran, however, through the fields of dead tree stumps and wood chips. Following a long, twisted, well-worn path, I made it to my home.

My house is like any other in Seven: a shack more than a home. With an old, near-rotting oak door, wooden flooring and walls, and barely big enough to comfortably fit 5. Lucky for me, my family only had 4. Walking into mine of the three bedrooms, I noticed for the hundredth time how creepy the place was when it was deserted.

The emptiness is normal, though. My father, William, and my twenty-year-old brother, Jake, don't get off work on Reaping day until the actual Reaping. My mother, Lena, was probably out with friends, getting drunk. Again. So, I was left home alone, not that I minded too much.

On my bed was my Reaping outfit. Nothing fancy, it consisted of a white polo and khakis. Grabbing the clothing, I strode into our only small bathroom and washed up in the sink as best I could, throwing my dirty work clothes in a hamper.

My Reaping clothes on, I examined my appearance in the mirror. My biceps stretched the sleeves of the polo, and the khakis looked very dull. My dark blue eyes stared back at me, and my dark brown hair was barely visible for how short it was. The skin under it was as gold as it was everywhere else.

Leaving the house, I breathed in the fresh air of District Seven. It was a beautiful sunny day, but, with the Reaping hanging over it, the tension in the air was intense.

Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District 7

I wasn't paying much attention to what was going on in the Square. I was too busy looking for Lia in the crowd of girls before me, and didn't register the video or anything the new escort said. After what felt like forever, I found her with her back turned. Slowly, I pulled one of the pies out of my satchel and advanced on her. I reared my arm back, ready to fling the pie, when:

"Is Kenzi Williams here? I swear, if she isn't, I will personally throttle her."

I froze, and looked up at the stage. The new escort, whose name I hadn't even cared to learn, was searching the crowd, a slip of paper in hand. Slowly, I slid the pie back into my bag, and walked, hesitantly, to the aisle.

I could make the Capitol love me, right? I'd have to do something memorable. Say something remarkable. Before I could decide what to do, I was at the stage, and ushered to the top of the stairs. The escort welcomed me to his stand, and smiled.

"So, you're Kenzi, then?" He asked. When I only nodded, he added, "Well, we're happy to have you, Kenzi. I feel like I recognize you from somewhere. Have you ever been to the Capitol? Any distant relatives in the Capitol? Any family die in the Games? I swear, I've-" He stopped short, a look of horror on his face.

I smirked, and smashed the pie all over his brown suit.

Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7

The whole congregation roared with laughter. Up on stage, the female tribute had turned Lumeo's nice brown suit into a ruined, white and yellow one. I watched, still laughing, as Lumeo wiped gunk from his face, and scowled at everyone.

Shaking his whole body, he stomped his way over to the boys' bowls. Shoving one creamy hand into each, he touched nearly every paper before pulling one out of each. Back at his podium, he cleaned off the papers as best he could, and lifted them closer to his eyes.

I was still high on laughter when he called, "Logan Woodson!" In a voice that made him sound like an angry father. I stopped my chuckling, and slowly stepped into the aisle.

Nervously, I looked around at my peers. Some of the girls stared at me silently, while others didn't dare meet my gaze. The guys were all sighing in relief, except for Ash and Kyle, who stared at me, seemingly on the verge of… tears? And, up front, were the twelve-year-olds, who, not even being eligible, were still in a state of sheer pleasure and cosmic relief. It could have been any one of them, but it was me.

Once up on stage, Lumeo looked at me and spoke into the microphone, "Well perhaps we have a competitor, District 7, your tributes, Kenzi and Logan, shake hands, and so forth. I am sick of this stupid District and so help me I will have you all killed slowly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go clean off and find Oak. Stupid name, really." He stomped into the Justice Building, making very undignified noises as he did.

I turned to my new partner, who I'd have to kill in a matter of days.

I hoped against hope that I wouldn't be the one to kill the beautiful girl in front of me.

Kenzi Williams, Age 16, District 7

The door opened while I was staring out the window at the beautiful trees behind the Justice Building. When I turned, I wasn't at all surprised to have yet another pie all over my face. I grunted, and wiped the cream from my eyes. "Is this really the time?" I demanded, tapping my foot impatiently and staring down Lia.

"Sorry." She hesitated, embarrassed. "Just figured, you know, for ol' times' sake. Figured we could have a final laugh before you, um… leave."

"Thanks," I laughed nervously. I held up the messy pie tin. "Maybe I can refill this and take it into the Arena. I could chuck it at the first person who comes after me in the Bloodbath."

"Like you did with Lumeo?" We both laughed until our sides hurt and then some. When she was forced to leave, my parents in walked slowly, methodically. Both had tears in their eyes.

I looked at them in shock as I realized: I'd have to be the one to comfort them. I'd have to assure them that I could brave the Arena, and escape with my life. I have to tell you, it's hard to do when you don't believe it yourself.

I caught my mother as she fell to her knees. "You can't go." She whispered. "We can't lose you. We'd have nothing left." She began to sob again.

I hugged her on the floor, her head in the crook of my neck. My dad embraced me from behind, and said, "Kenzi, I-" He teared up, and looked at me in misery.

"It's okay." I hugged his neck, getting pie all over it. "I can do it."

Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7

I would tell you that the waiting room was small, but that would be incorrect. By that, of course, I mean the "waiting room" part. When one thinks of a waiting room, they think of the ones in hospitals. Waiting rooms in hospitals symbolize hope. Hope of a loved one being okay. My waiting room wasn't at a hospital. It was death's living room.

I was so anxious I was thinking about trying to rip an arm off the comfortable leather chair that had been provided when the door opened. I turned, lifting my hands from the leather. My mother paraded through the open doorway and stumbled across the room. She got in my face, and whispered, "District Seven isn't getting a seventeenth Victor this year, is it?" She paused, and I inhaled a breath of alcohol-free air. She turned, facing my father and brother. "Is it?" She repeated, rage in her tone.

Dad and Jake looked at me helplessly, and answered, "No ma'am." And "Of course not."

"See there, boy? You will not be allowed to survive that Arena, I forbid it! You get out, and I will strangle you, you hear?" I simply nodded, not wanting to antagonize her. She huffed, and shoved my chest, sending the chair, and me, spilling to the floor.

I looked up just in time to see her walk out, calling behind her, "You will die before the Games even start, you brat. It was horrible knowing you!" I never understood why she hated me. I worked even harder than Jake.

I'd win a thousand Games just to prove her wrong.

Oak Teare, Age 37, District Seven

As the Victor of the 130th Hunger Games and District Seven's fourteenth Victor, I have a lot of responsibilities. One of them is mentoring. I do it almost every year, and I've thus far brought only one girl home. In my Games, I won by outlasting all the other tributes. The President, and the Gamemakers, hate me.

In the 130th, the Gamemakers decided to blow up the Cornucopia at the very beginning of the Games, to increase the drama with the Careers. In the bloodbath, they killed fourteen kids, and then two of them died in the surprise explosion. Before the end of Day One we were in the Final Ten.

Now, you'd think the Games went quickly from there, but no. Just no. No blood was spilled over the course of ten days, and the Capitol hated it. With the tributes never getting within half a mile of each other ever, they called a feast, to which nobody went to, fearing the Careers. The Careers, it seemed, couldn't find it.

Me, I traveled across the Arena, eating berries and drinking from a single canteen for 24 days, until finally, the trumpets sounded above the jungle canopy. Without a single kill, I won the Hunger Games.

As soon as I made it out I attempted to hide from the public eye, and I even committed some treason to do so. For my treason, my family was executed or Reaped for the Hunger Games. My oldest daughter, Mary, turned twelve the year of the Quell. Me and my wife, Abigail, have trained her hard for the Games, so she could survive them. Then the Quell rule was announced.

There's the long version of why I wasn't surprised that I'd be mentoring for the 6th Quarter Quell.

Lily Jeng, Age 124, District Seven

The first thing I noticed when I left hibernation was the yelling. Opening my eyes, I saw that Cecelia and Gloss were in the corner of the room, arguing, not that that was unexpected. Nearly every year that I've mentored since the 96th, there's been two tributes from the 3rd Quarter Quell, fighting about something. Usually one killed the other, as is this case.

And, as usual, I chose to ignore it.

I flexed the 16-year-old arms I had in my youth, when I won the Hunger Games. The 42nd Games were quite easy, really, when the Careers only numbered four and only a few other tributes survived the bloodbath.

I reached over to the table next to my bed, and grabbed the manila envelope resting on it. Opening the file, I read:

Name: Logan Woodson

Age: 16

Gender: Male

Notes: A lumberjack, Reaped for the 6th Quarter Quell. Likely to make Top Eight, if Arena allows.

*Placing prediction is based off previous stats from previous tributes, including background, age, District and assigned mentor.

I closed the file and placed it back on the table, not willing to read the rest. Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the heavy oak headboard. To my immediate left, panicked breathing could be heard, and I looked up just in time to see a little girl, possibly only thirteen, slap a nurse across the face and run out of the room, screaming.

Cecelia and Gloss didn't even pause their argument.


So, District Seven is history! Yay!

Questions!

Favorite D7 Tribute?

Favorite D7 Mentor?

Favorite District so far?

How was your Easter? (If you celebrated)

Where would you like to be from, District-wise?

What are some hobbies you have? (I do track and archery)

Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know:

dreams and desperation: 77

ElvenRangerRysel: 71

Mystical Pine Forest: 65

We're All Okay: 56

faceless eater aka slendergirl: 56

Jayman1919: 56

Rina-The-Fangirl: 56

Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:

Clis2339: 62

The Rsce: 62

Jotunheim Storm: 59

CreativeAJL: 53

InfiniteDespair: 53

HufflePuffleJay: 53

MushtcheNinja29: 53

grimbutnotalways: 53

Alien and Wolfie: 53

Here are the submitters who have not reviewed (If I don't know you're reading, I may kill your tribute(s). Just saying) (and I like your tributes, so don't let them down now!):

superepicstarkette1211

If you are on none of these lists, you are probably a non-submitter, and I have not included your name because I haven't seen a review in a while. If you'd like to be on any of these lists, let me know. Remember everyone, your donations can save lives!