Weave your own path to victory.

Cassandra "Cassie" Noman, 15

District Eight Female

District Eight. Textiles. Most people work in factories, but Mother got special permission to work at home and teach me and Ethan what she knows. This morning, while I'd normally spend two hours before school weaving, I have the day off. Because it's Reaping day. I spent yesterday on a project which I really want finished by the end of the week, but I'm not sure I'll get it done at this rate.

"Cassie! Are you awake yet?" Ma calls. I have about twenty seconds before she'll burst through the door and demand to know why I'm not out of bed yet, so I stand up, the blanket falling to the floor, and notice how messy my reflection's hair is in the mirror. It's old like most things in our house. "Cassie, why aren't you awake yet? We have half an hour until we need to leave."

"Half an hour? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Too long. Now put on something decent and get some breakfast." And then she leaves, probably to go and yell at Ethan to make sure he's not falling behind. Or he might already be up, and I'm the late one. The former is preferable, the latter is more likely. I choose the dress I wore to last year's Reaping. It still fits. I'm not surprised really - I've barely grown at all in the last two years.

"Cassie, what have I told you about sleeping late? Honestly. You're going to be a nightmare to wake up tomorrow morning." Mother chides when I sit down at the table with a cup of water. Tomorrow morning. She says it with such confidence, as if she's not afraid it will be me or Ethan taken to the Capitol this year. It would be stupid to not be afraid. We both have to take tesserae so that we can make it through the year. And if we were to be reaped, it would be impossible for us to win. "Cassie, could you tell us what skills you have that will help you in the games?" "Well Decius, I can sew. Maybe I can throw a needle at someone." The Capitol crowds would laugh like it's a joke. Maybe it would be. To them.

"Sorry, Mother."

"It's fine. Honestly. It's the Reaping, I think. Makes me anxious."

"It'll be fine, Mother. Ethan and I aren't going to be sent to the Capitol." Us both being reaped is exceedingly unlikely, so Ethan-and-I aren't going to be sent to the Capitol. But just Ethan or just me is much more likely to happen.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we should probably leave now." Ethan says. Mother and I both look at the clock. He's right. All three of us stand and head out onto the street, clumping together to avoid being separated by the crowd. We live quite close to the town square, so when we leave the house we're immediately swamped by people. Almost everyone is visibly worried or nervous, apart from the people who don't care anymore. There are more of that type of people than last year. There will probably be more next year.

When we reach the square, we are separated and sent to our areas. Mother to the street outside the square to watch on one of the screens. Ethan to the area roped off for thirteen-year-olds. Me to the area for fifteen-year-olds. I recognise some of the people around me form various occasions, but I don't know any of them very well.

"Feeling nervous?" Someone says from behind me. I'm so surprised I almost jump.

"Chiffon, stop grinning. It's not funny." I tell her. In response, she laughs. I roll my eyes at her, which makes her smirk.

"You're smiling." She says in a sing-song voice. Am I? I attempt to go back to a straight face, before turning back to the stage.

Mayor Jute begins to speak, the same old drivel about the glory and kindness of the Capitol. They always say the exact same thing, the same words of praise for the people sending children to die every year. Yes, the Capitol is very kind for killing us and calling it entertainment. I can't focus on Mayor Jute or I might die of boredom. Instead, I glance at Chiffon next to me. She isn't focusing, instead fiddling with a lock of her short black hair.

"Hello District Eight! I am...very...glad to be here. Let us get started then. Ladies first! The female tribute for District Eight will be..." I focus on Theoni, watching her run her hand through the slips of paper. She chooses one, raises it above her head and reads the name. "Cassandra Noman!"

That's me. I don't believe it. There's no way that's me. And yet it is me. I have been chosen. Maybe I'll get to throw a needle at someone. Hopefully a Capitolite. I take one, two, three steps forward and soon I'm walking to the stage with a fake smile. I need to be calm. I need everyone to think I'm calm. But once the panic sets in, I know the only thought in my head will be I am not calm, I am not calm.

I arrive on the stage and stand next to Theoni. In the crowd, I spot Chiffon watching me. Even from here I can see the concern in her eyes.

I am not calm.

The world on repeat.

Sash Twyla

District Eight Mentor

Routine routine routine. It's how everything is in District Eight. Everyone starts young in the factories, where routine is key. It's definitely one of the worst districts, from what I've seen. What I saw on the victory tour eight years ago will always stick in my mind. There wasn't very much outright hatred, probably because I didn't kill anyone. But there was an obvious dislike in their eyes. It was written all over the faces of the people whose children I outlived. The only people who didn't hate me where my district partner's family. Tafetta's family. Jersey. Threeda. Ever since, I've made sure to look after them as much as I can. It's the least I can do.

Routine routine routine. Every morning, I wake up at the same time, get myself a drink of water, go for a walk, eat breakfast. The Reaping has interrupted all of that. I don't like it. I don't like it at all. I make sure to choose something nice to wear. I'm going to the Capitol again, and Theoni might try to kill me if I wear anything other than a suit. Whatever empathy she has for the tributes doesn't extend to me. Last year I decided not to bother and she berated me for half an hour. I'd rather not deal with that again, even if it did make me laugh.

Routine routine routine. I take my usual path into town, even if today is anything but normal. It's too early for there to be too many people about. In fact, the square is practically empty apart from some Capitol people setting up cameras and a screen for their presentation. I'm directed into a corner by one of them, where I relax in the sunlight and watch them work. Some of them spend most of their time arguing, which almost makes me laugh. Almost, because I have to stifle my laughter to stop them from noticing. If they caught me laughing at them they might have a fit.

Eventually the Capitol people manage to get everything set up, and Mayor Jute takes their seat, but neither of us say anything. They lost their son to the games a few years back, and I think they still blame me because I couldn't protect him. They need to realise that mentors can't protect tributes from the games any more than parents can, they can only give advice. And their son didn't want my advice. Theoni, the Escort, joins us on the stage, wearing the most outrageous wig I've ever seen. And that's saying something, because last year she wore a wig that looked like it was made completely out of berries.

The Peacekeepers start letting people in, which is my queue to sit up straighter and stop looking at the cameras. I'm supposed to be a role model for the tributes, so it's expected of me. I get a lot of odd looks from the citizens of District Eight, which I think is them blaming me. For the deaths of their children, and the fact that I'm the only surviving District Eight victor. The rest of the victors were killed during the failed rebellion. From all of the districts. So far, I've been unsuccessful in keeping any of my tributes alive. A few have made it a few days, but that's about it.

When enough people have arrived, Mayor Jute stands and starts talking along with their usual speech. Just a lot of talking about the Capitol being great and kind and merciful. Eventually, they finish their speech and asks Theoni to read the names.

"Hello District Eight! I am...very...glad to be here. Let us get started then. Ladies first! The female tribute for District Eight will be..." She reaches for a name from one of the reaping bowls. "Cassandra Noman!"

I recognize that name. She's the daughter of one of Threeda's friends. Cassie. She's not without hope. I might be able to get her through. I spot her in the crowd, her hair tied in a braid. It takes a minute for her to meet my eyes, but when she does she looks completely calm. When she joins us on the stage she looks rather washed out compared to our vibrant Escort.

"The male tribute for District Eight will be..." She reaches for a slip. "Nylon Wishart. I don't recognise that name, but someone in the crowd obviously does, because they start screaming almost immediately. And it's not Nylon who's screaming. It's his parents. Of course. Gavin Wishart died four years ago in the games. He did well for a twelve-year-old. Probably because he somehow memorised the entirety of edible plants, found a clearing on the other side of the arena to pretty much all the other tributes and stayed there. Impressive kid. Actually, more like very, very lucky kid.

The peacekeepers must have found Nylon, because now I can hear a rather confused voice talking to the peacekeepers.

"Have I done something wrong? What's going on? Why can't I see my parents? What's happening?" He keeps asking questions with obvious answers. Like Gavin. When the peacekeepers deposit him on the stage, he looks confused, not scared. He absolutely doesn't look like he's just been chosen to face almost certain death on national television.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes of District Eight!"

Again, long break between chapters, but hopefully I should have the next one out in the next two weeks. I would like to thank iijamesii for submitting Nylon and KitKathy520 for submitting Cassie. Again, thank you for reading and next time is the last reaping: District Six.