Raise your words, not your voice. It's rain that grows flowers, not thunder.
-Rumi

The Frayman Residence, June 16th, 9:00 am

Heather Frayman (14) POV

District 3 female

Lana runs to the Cornucopia for the supplies that will keep her allies alive. She's the fastest, the one supposed to run. She gets to the supplies, grabbing two backpacks and a sword. The boy from District 8 charges her, trying to kill her for her supplies. A deer in the headlights, Lana stabs the sword in her hand through his abdomen. She drops it immediately, standing, disbelieving, staring at the boy she's just killed. While she's frozen, the girl from District 2 fires an arrow into Lana's forehead. She falls, dead. Lana's ally, the boy from District 6 comes in, running for the supplies. The girl from 2 kills him as well.

Two weeks later, Avalon Xerxes has won the Games.

I wake up from my nightmare, my face wet. Whether it's tears or a cold sweat, I don't know. Today marks six years since Lana was Reaped, and if I'm being perfectly honest, I don't think I'll ever be fully over her death. She died when I was 8 and she was 16, and as my babysitter, she was always the closest thing I had to a real friend. My parents are always in another District for business- usually 5, 6 and 8- and while I'm grateful that their foreign affairs bring in more money than they would if they worked in a factory with the rest of the District, it makes me sad that I rarely see them.

Lana started watching me when I was four, so by the time I was eight and saw her more than my own parents, and I became really dependent on her. She would often spend days at a time at our house; even though she was only twelve when she started babysitting, her parents were okay with it because my parents paid her. Over four years, I developed a special bond with her, which is why is was so heartbreaking when she died so suddenly. Even worse that the girl that killed her is still alive and well, living the life that everyone dreams of.

Lana's Games were the first ones that I watched. My parents wanted me to wait until I was 10, but with my closest friend in the Games, they wanted me to be able to understand fully what was going on. In the years after her death, I had a few different sitters, but I never made as close a bond to them as I did with Lana. Besides, they only started watching over me because they wanted the money; I could tell that they couldn't care less about my safety and well being. Catching onto this, my parents decided that I was old enough to stay home alone when I was 10.

Once I calm myself down from the nightmare, I drag myself out of bed and into the kitchen for breakfast. I manage to produce a bowl of cereal, half of a grapefruit and some tea. It's the best I can do considering Mom hasn't gone shopping for food in a while. I eat in silence so thick that it's unsettling, so I lightly tap my foot on the floor of the kitchen under the table. As I'm finishing my food, my cat, Boots jumps up onto the table and makes his way towards me, nudging my arm with his nose. I reach over and scratch him between his ears, the sound of his purring filling the room.

Once I'm done eating, I drop my dishes in the sink. I open up all the windows in the kitchen to let the air circulate, since it's getting to be unbearably hot. I wash the dishes from breakfast, as well as from last night's dinner. While I'm cleaning up, I absentmindedly start singing softly; a short, slow song I picked up at school. After a little while, however, I hear a few voices outside, and I stop abruptly. It's not that I think I sounded particularly bad, but I don't like for people to hear me sing. It makes me feel really self-conscious, and hyper aware of everything I'm doing.

Once I finish the dishes, I decide to get dressed for the Reaping and take a walk. I run upstairs and grab my Reaping dress; a knee length white dress with cutouts at the bottom. I go into the bathroom by my room and take a quick shower before pulling on the dress. I dry my hair and brush it out, deciding to leave it out of its usual low pony tail. I regard myself in the mirror for a moment. My mom has always told me that my eyes are a pretty shade of brown, but I don't understand how there can be such a thing as a pretty brown. They're just brown, the exact same color as my hair. I brush on a bit of mascara and blush, then go back downstairs. I feed Boots, and while he's occupied, I slide on a pair of tan sandals, grab a small white purse and head out the door, locking it behind me.

I wander to the Square, walking slowly since I know I'm insanely early for the Reaping; I still have two hours, since I left the house at noon. I get to the Square in about 15 minutes, since the wealthier you are, the closer into town you live. It would usually take half as long, but I was walking slowly. Since I have time to kill, I wander into town, looking to see if there's anything I want to look at. I stumble across a pawn shop, and the glittering jewelry in the display case catch my eye. Slightly dazed, I push open the door, and the sound of the bells ring in my ears.

"You got money, little girl?" the man behind the counter asks.

I look up nervously. I open my mouth to try to form a response, but I end up just nodding, holding up my bag. He lets out a small huff of disapproval; most shop owners don't like kids, because we notoriously take a long time to decide on one cheap thing. But I'm pretty decisive, so maybe I'll prove him wrong.

I wander over to the counter covered in glass, with an array of necklaces and lockets. Most of them are similar; chubby, heart shaped gold lockets or silver necklaces with diamonds strung on it. But one is different, and it catches my eye. It's a thick bronze chain with a large ovular pendant on it. The pendant has a cursive letter L engraved into it, and it looks really familiar, but I can't place it for the life of me. I'm trying to figure out how I can ask to see it without coming across annoying or bothersome. It's always been a struggle for me to talk to strangers, or really anyone in general, due to social anxiety. I spend a good few minutes just staring at it until I can't take it anymore.

"Can I see that one?" I ask quickly, pointing to the necklace. The man looks up, raising an eyebrow quizzically, and I feel the heat rush to my cheeks. "I mean, if it isn't too much trouble."

The employee grabs a key from next to the cash register, and opens up the case. He takes out the necklace and hands it to me. I hold the pendant in my hand, staring at the L, willing my memory to be jogged. I find a nob on the side and twist it half a turn, and the locket flies open. Inside is a weathered, yellowed picture of Lana and I. My breath hitches in my throat, and I look up at the disinterested sails-man.

"You wanna buy it?" he asks, glancing down at the locket.

"I-" I take a deep breath. "How much?"

"$75," he says, glancing at a tag on the case.

I'm reaching for my money from my purse when the bells for the Reaping go off.

"Come back after the Reaping," he says, taking the locket from me. "I'll keep this behind the counter so no one takes it before you can."

"Thank you," I say, with a slight smile.

I head across the shop for the door and push it open and head out to the Square.

The Holding Residence, June 16th, 1:00 pm

Cyno Holding (13) POV

District 3 male

Of course my parents aren't home. Why would they be? I mean, it's not like it's literally the most terrifying day of the year or anything. Whatever. My parents are out working, because apparently CEOs don't get vacation on the day of the Reaping. There's always people to micromanage. As much as I fear the Reaping, I know there's nothing I can really do about it. It's here to stay, and there's no changing it at least not on my part.

I need to kill some time before the Reaping, so I make some food. It's a pretty long walk to the Square, and I don't want to be light headed or dizzy on the way there. I'm finishing my bread, cheese and apple when the bells go off, signalling to start heading to the Square. I decide to just buck up and deal with the Reaping, since I've reminded myself that I can't change it, and the consequences will be severe if I try. I look down at what I'm wearing, and decide that the jeans and T-shirt are good enough. Any more or less would draw attention to me, and I don't really need more reasons for people to make fun of me. It's always something; my pale skin my skinny frame, or the bruises given to me by the very people that mock them.

It's always the rich kids, the ones with better clothes and more to eat. More friends, too. I don't think they know how much they have to lose. They take so much for granted, it's like they don't even know how hard the rest of us have it. It's gotten only slightly better in the past year, but so much worse at the same time. The guy who made fun of me the most was Reaped for the Games last year, and died almost instantly in the bloodbath; a fate I know is destined for me, should I ever be Reaped. I was friends with his younger sister Mirah for a while; people didn't like her much because she was autistic. Never mind that she was one of the sweetest girls ever. But she died in a tree climbing accident mere days after Fenton came to District 3 on his Victory Tour. I haven't made other friends since.

After I decide that I can't possibly stall for any longer, I head out the door and shuffle slowly to the Square. As I'm walking, I see Vulcan Copper, the sixteen-year-old boy that's taken over terrorizing me since Will died. He's in line for getting his finger pricked, standing in the very back with his friends. If I get in line with him, he could do anything, but if I hide until he's through the line, I run the risk of being late to the Reaping. I decide to take the risk and duck in an alley between buildings.

My plan backfires almost immediately, when a Peacekeeper comes up to me with his gun, hitting me in the temple with the butt of it.

"Trying to skip the Reaping, are you?" he asks, rhetorically.

"No sir, I-" I'm cut off.

"You better believe if you're not Reaped, you'll be in the Square tied to the whipping post."

The Peacekeeper grabs me by the ear, leading me to the front of the line to get my finger pricked. I avert my eyes as we pass Vulcan, but I hear him yelling and laughing with his friends as they see me being led to the front. After I get my blood drawn, I walk to the 13-year-old boys' section and chose to stand in the barest spot, in the hopes of avoiding human interaction. The long-time escort, Pierre Hayes makes his way up to the stage, tossing his head of bright green hair as he goes.

"Good afternoon, District 3!" he bellows, his voice deep unlike most Capitolites. It's a refreshing change to the usual high squeaky voices of most. "I don't see much use in dillydallying, so why don't we begin with the young women?"

Pierre reaches into the female reaping bowl and grabs a slip of paper from the middle of the bowl. He unravels it, then takes a deep breath. In a clear voice into the microphone, he says "Heather Frayman!"

A really pretty 14-year-old girl emerges from her section with a blank expression, shaking slightly as she walks up the steps to the stage. Her wavy brown hair flutters in the wind with the hem of her dress. She has a slightly crooked nose and her eyes are on the small side, but her imperfections make her that much more attractive. I've never seen or met her, but she's got to have boy in line around the District waiting for her. But she doesn't look the type to win the Games, so it's unlikely that I'll ever get to know her, unless-

"Our male tribute this year is Cyno Holding!"

My first thought is Well, at least I won't be whipped in the Square.

My second thought? Fuck.

I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and it takes all of my strength to drag myself up to the stage. Once I get up to the stage, I glance at Heather, who looks at me with pure pity in her eyes. This pushes me over the edge, and I start sobbing. Pierre tells us to shake hands, and we both hesitate, just staring at each other. When I'm sure she's going to turn away and walk into the Justice Building without me, she grabs my shoulders and pulls me in for a hug.

"You'll be fine," she whispers, nowhere near loud enough for the microphone to pick up. "Everything's okay."

I know it was probably supposed to help, but Heather's kind words only make me more panicky. How can she possibly be calm in this situation? In a matter of weeks, we'll both be dead, and she's trying to reassure me? To tell me that everything will be okay? I pull away from her hug and wipe my eyes, trying to diminish the tears, but to no avail. Since I'm still crying, it's hard to get rid of the tears.

We walk into the Justice Building side by side, and I'm led into a small room with a plush couch and dark wooden furniture. I mean to sprawl out on the couch while I wait to be taken to the train station, but instead, I end up laying face down, buried in the soft beige carpet, waiting for Heather's visitor to be gone so I can be one train ride closer to death.

The Justice Building, June 16th, 2:30 pm

Heather Frayman (14) POV

District 3 female

I'm expecting neither of my parents to come and visit me, and I was right. In fact, without my parents visiting I wasn't expecting anyone to. It came as a shock when a Peacekeeper ushers in a man. I'm briefly hopeful when I first see the frame of the man. Maybe it's my dad? Instead, I'm greeted by the man from the pawn shop.

"I brought you the necklace you were eyeing earlier," he says, extending Lana's locket.

I take the necklace, placing it over my head and around my neck. I grab my purse from the side table, reaching inside to give him the money, but he shakes his head, creasing his brow as if the idea is absurd.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "It's yours. Just promise you'll wear it in the arena."

"I will," I say, staring at the ground instead of meeting his eye.

He leaves before he's asked to, and in seconds, Pierre comes in with Cyno to bring us to the train.

The Justice Building, June 16th, 2:30 pm

Cyno Holding (13) POV

District 3 male

No one bothers to visit me. I didn't think anyone would, but it hurts that my suspicions were correct.

While I'm waiting for Heather to be done with her visitors, I take a few minutes to really think about what going into the Game means. I should be terrified; there's next to no chance of me making it out of the bloodbath alive, much less the arena itself. But in a strange way, I'm okay with it. I don't know why, but in this part of my life, I wouldn't mind death. I really wouldn't. The thought of someone plunging a knife through my heart is almost calming, and after a few minutes used to absorb the whole idea, I find myself not a scared as I was this morning.

If death is the worst that can happen, the outcome won't be bad at all.

Big thanks to DobbyTheFreeElf1290 for Heather and Mykindleisawesome for Cyno!

Congratulations Fifidear for being my 100th reviewer.

Questions!

1) Who do you like better, Heather or Cyno?

2) What did you like about them?

3) What didn't you like about them?

4) Any predictions?

Looking back, I wrote a lot for Heather. I wasn't trying to be unfair with the lengths of the POVs, but in all honesty, I had a hard time writing for her, so it was kind of just word vomit.

-No one says no to Gaston!