District 1

Apollo Dallier

I awaken to light streaming in through the sheer chiffon curtains and climb carefully out of bed, being sure to straighten the sheets behind me.

It's reaping day. It's my last eligible year, and I'm not about to pass up the opportunity to volunteer and prove myself.

I splash some water on my face at the basin in my room and run my fingers through my hair to comb it. I've got to look good on stage, or I won't get any sponsors. Not that I need them, of course- I'm more than capable of winning single-handedly- but I see no reason to make the Games any harder than they have to be.

I rub the bracelet on my wrist absent-mindedly as I wander downstairs for breakfast. It's going to be my arena token, and I've worn it all my life. It's light and simple, just a delicate gold chain, but it reminds me of home. Father is a goldsmith, after all.

Mother is making buckwheat pancakes and I grab a plate and eat heartily. Normally I'd train after eating so many carbs, but I don't want to risk injury before I head off to the Games. And with the amount of training I've done these last few weeks, I don't need to stress myself out.

A few hours later we all head to the city center. I stand by the eighteens, and mother and father watch with pride from the front of the parent's section. I'm their only child, so I'm their only chance to live in a Victor's house one day.

I won't let them down.

Illyria Dreamstone, our escort for the past decade, starts her speech about the Dark Days. I don't pay attention. I've heard it a million times. Well, eighteen times, but that's enough. I just lower my center of gravity and prepare to run to the stage. It's boys first, and I will get there.

Illyria digs in the bowl for what seems like a lifetime. Her hand pulls out a slip of paper and she begins to open it, but I'm running before her mouth even opens.

"Ullysses Vaster," Illyeria says, and one of my classmates reluctantly trudges forward. He looks strong; I wonder if he was planning to volunteer. Too bad for him. He can't volunteer if he's been reaped.

And then I'm at the stage, words flying out of my mouth. "I volunteer," I say. Illyria nods and invites me to join her, and I climb up the stairs with a smile on my face. I wasn't even out of breath from my sprint. I'll crush this.

"Name?" Illyria asks, her voice bright and peppy as always.

"Apollo Dallier," I answer. "Eighteen." I gaze over the crowd and wink at a particularly comely girl in the audience, who pretends to swoon in response.

Illyria grabs my hand. "Your District 1 male tribute, Apollo Dallier!"

Sparkle Melchor

I'm always up at dawn on reaping day. This one is no different, even though everything has changed. Ever since my sister won last year, life has been blissful. Her salary is enough that Mummy and Dad don't need to work anymore, and I probably won't have to when I'm old enough, either.

But I don't care if it's 'probably' enough for me to live on. I want to win myself.

I stand in front of the mirror and copy her style from reaping day last year. Two dark brown braids, a sleek silk dress, and a swipe of muted red lipstick. I want everyone in the Capitol to be reminded of her when they see me. I want them to remember how she won and give me the same sponsorships so I can go home and make my parents the wealthiest people in District 1.

"Sparkle," Mummy calls from her bedroom, and I head over to join her. She gives me a look. "Please don't volunteer this year," she says, her voice reproachful.

"I won't," I say as innocently as I can, but she keeps going.

"Wait until you're eighteen, like Maren did. Then you'll have our full approval."

I nod. "Of course, Mummy."

It's a lie. What if I'm not fast enough to get to the stage then? I'd miss my only shot. Better to go now, when I still have years to try again. And just because a fourteen-year-old hasn't won before doesn't mean one can't. Especially when winning runs in my genes.

I slip the feather I mean to use as a token into my hair. Mummy only thinks it's decoration. She knows nothing of me, of how I've been training, building traps and snares ever since Maren used them to capture her last opponent. I'm ready for the Games, with her permission or not.

When we reach the city center I join the other fourteens and get ready to sprint. We're closer to the stage than some of the older girls, and there aren't usually too many volunteers from this age group, but you never know.

A guy named Apollo volunteers for the boys. He's eighteen, and he looks pretty sturdily built, with neatly parted short blond hair. I wouldn't mind having an alliance with him, that's for sure.

Illyria reads off the name for the girls, Sora Danvers. I dart forward, barrelling through my peers, and reach the stage before anyone else. "I volunteer," I shout, raising my hand and jumping onto the stage.

"You seem excited," Illyria says, helping me climb up. "And what's your name, hon?"

"I'm Sparkle Melchor, and I'm fourteen," I say, facing the crowd and beaming. "My sister won last year, and I can't wait to do the same!"

That gets a round of applause. Illyria grabs both of our arms and raises them up. "And your female District 1 tribute, Sparkle Melchor!"

Apollo Dallier

After the reaping, I say goodbye to my family quickly.

To be honest, there's not much to say. I already have my token. I plan to return, and if I don't, I wouldn't want to have wasted my last minutes with my family sobbing and gushing over them. There are no tears and no delays. Just a simple "I love you," and then I step onto the train.

Sparkle is another matter. She's young, really young. She may have been fast enough to get to the stage, but I'm doubtful of her chances in the Games themselves. How did her parents let her volunteer? It's no matter. She has to die for me to win, anyway. I don't plan on killing her, but whatever happens, happens.

Sparkle Melchor

I'm allowed to meet with my family before I get on the train. Mummy is disappointed that I lied to her, and I understand. She'll cheer up when I come home a victor, though. Dad gives me a small hug, and I squeeze him back. Maren just gives me a nod and a smile. And with that, I board the train for the Capitol.

I take closer stock of Apollo once we're both situated. He's handsomer up-close, with hooded grey eyes and a strong nose. I extend my hand to him, and he shakes it silently. He's not treating me with disrespect, exactly, but it's clear he doesn't think I'm as capable of him.

He's wrong. I'll show him.

District 2

Catullus March

I've never liked the idea of killing. I could kill in self-defense, I think, but I could never go out of my way to end the life of an innocent being.

So in all honestly, I don't know why I'm going to volunteer for the Hunger Games.

I think it might have something to do with how I'm pretty much the most capable kid in District 2, even at seventeen. How I've always been told I should volunteer, that I'm made of championship material, that if I don't try that I'm depriving my family of a nice future. I don't want to let them down.

I can still win, and I'm sure of that. I'll be with the other Careers, and I'm sure they'll be more than happy to do the murdering for me. And I'm fine killing in self-defence, like I said. The town is right- I'm strong, smart, and capable of winning the whole thing.

Damn them and their peer pressure.

I eat a light breakfast of eggs and toast before making my way to the square. Cressida is already there waiting for me, just outside where she's supposed to be with the other sixteens. I give her a quick peck on the lips before pulling back and running my hands over her shoulders.

She smiles. "Are you still planning on volunteering this year?"

"I think so," I say. "I guess it depends who they actually reap."

"Everyone is expecting it to be you who volunteers this year. Someone else might not speak up."

"So if it's some tiny twelve-year-old, I'll take their place for sure."

She rolls her eyes. "You've got this, babe," she says.

"You too," I reply. And I join the other seventeens.

Cressida is a year younger than me, so we've agreed she should volunteer next year. I think she secretly doesn't want me to go, and is doing some sort of reverse-psychology shit to keep me here. It would be a very Cressida move to make. I rub the diamond pin she's given me as a token, currently pinned to my lapel. I'm glad I'll have a part of her with me in the arena.

Our escort this year, Cicero Planchette, pulls the boy's name from the bowl. "Linus Mallow," he calls, and sure enough, he's a stick from the thirteens section.

I don't move for a second, and I feel the eyes of everyone around me boring into my back. "Fine," I mutter under my breath, and step forward raising my hand. "I volunteer as tribute."

I go up on the stage next to Cicero, and stifle a laugh as I realize who we are. Cicero and Catullus, Roman politics and poetry combined, much like the politics surrounding the Games and the poetry of what unfolds in them. Cicero isn't laughing, though, and I doubt he'd get the reference if I explained it to him, so I straighten my face immediately.

I clear my throat. "Catullus March, seventeen years old," I say, and force a smile. I volunteered. I've got to look like I want this.

Cressida Dian

Something hurts deep in my stomach when I see Catullus on the stage. He's alone up there, and I know he won't be for long, but I can't stand to see it. I know he doesn't want to kill. I know he's too soft for this. And I still talked him into volunteering.

I'm a terrible person.

And I can't let him go alone. I don't even hear who Cicero has called for the females, but I'm volunteering anyway, my feet carrying me up the steps before I even realize what I've done.

Catullus stares at me next to him as Cicero announces us- "Cressida Dian and Catullus March!"- and he looks heartbroken.

I don't know how to explain this to him. I love him too much to watch him die at home. So you get to watch him die right in front of you, a voice at the back of my brain says, but I quash it down. If I'm in the Games I can protect him. I will protect him. I will jump in front of the sword, give him my supplies, make it so he's only against 22 tributes and not 23. If it comes down to the two of us, I will send him home. Even if I have to knock him out, I will send him home.

Which means I'm going to die.

Catullus March

There isn't much to say to my family. They're so proud of me, and I just want to curl up into a hole and cry. I won't, of course, but I want to.

As soon as I'm on the train I find Cressida and give her a long hug. "Why," I whisper into her ear. "Why guarantee one of us doesn't come home." I sweep a strand of her long, curly brown hair behind one of her ears and tighten my embrace.

"I had to," she whispers back plainly. "I'll die for you. It's the least I can do after sending you here."

"Oh Cressida," I murmur. "You didn't convince me. It's the whole District who wants me to go, not you."

She pulls back from my grasp and looks deep into my eyes, her amber meeting my blue, and all I can think about is our visit to the quarries last year. "Look," she had said, pointing to a sapphire half-buried in sandstone. "That's us, your eyes and mine."

"You think my eyes are gemstones?" I had laughed, and she had laughed, and everything was good.

We'll never get that again.

Cressida Dian

My mother gives me a small rock from the quarries during our hour. "For luck," she says, pressing it into my palm.

I don't think it's lucky. It's a rock.

I haven't exactly accepted my death yet, but I'm sure I will before long. All I have to do is keep Catullus in my thoughts, and I'll come around.

Catullus enters the train after visiting his family. He holds me for a while and asks me why I did it. I tell him the truth. He doesn't say much after that.