Indy Carmedas, 16, D6 Male

Mom and I are heading to a car convention today! She had promised me the trip after a slew of car magazines had made their way into my library. Although reading some of the books is difficult for me because of all the big words they use, it's still cool to look at all the pictures of fancy rides. I like to dream of having a full garage of my own someday because then Mom and I can drive cars together anytime we want. Dad probably wouldn't care much at first but would want to fix them if one of them broke, being a mechanic. Maybe I'd damage the car's gearbox or transmission on purpose so he'd have something to occupy himself with. Hopefully, he won't be too mad at me for breaking my car, though.

I spot a bright red lanyard across the train tracks ahead of us, with a shiny silver key attached! If it's a car key, maybe I can find whoever dropped it and they can reward me with a test drive. I know eight-year-olds can't drive, so maybe they'd give me the car to keep until I was old enough!

All these thoughts are in my head as I bolt to the track to retrieve the key. I hear Mom calling after me.

"Indy, what are you doing? Wait for me!"

I look back, the key in my hands, to see her speed walking across the tracks, telling me to come back. Through the corner of my eye, I see a light and turn to notice an oddly silent freight train. Or maybe it did make a sound, because I couldn't hear myself warning her of the train before it sped across the tracks, hitting her full-force, as she disappeared from my sight.

"Momma!"

…

It seems that when you least expect it, a perfect day presents itself, and you will know in your heart that it will be a day to remember. Race day is always just that.

I head for my tricked-out Challenger, pinker than a sunset (which I see as a cool color, unlike some), and hop in through the window without breaking a sweat. I spot Rick Nitro flashing me a smile and wave back at him with gloved hands.

As I eye my competitors, I notice the flag-waver, a stout thirteen-year-old girl wearing a checkerboard dress, raising her arms as the start lights extinguish themselves.

"And it's lights out, and away we go!" shouts Kia, our race commentator, over the loudspeaker. I sink my foot into the petal the moment the last light goes dark, the engine roaring like a lion as my acceleration gets me to full speed within seconds.

I round the first corner, which is actually elevated on our track, the asphalt screeching as I make the nearly 90-degree turn. Suddenly my wheel locks up, and I'm unable to stabilize it. I whip my head to see the other cars heading towards me instead of past me so clearly my car's been turned. I can hear people shrieking despite there not being any spectators near this area of the track. My neck feels like it's going to snap from all the G-force pressure. Before I'm able to register anything else besides the fact that I'm spinning so fast that I might throw up, I smack against one of the concrete barriers.

...

I awaken shaking like a leaf. I absolutely hate dreaming about crashing. It makes me feel way less confident in myself because it's like my body is telling me what I'm doing isn't right. Not that I will listen, because I wouldn't give up racing for anything.

But then it hits me. I remember a red key, and her face moments before it had happened.

I had dreamt about Mom again.

For the rest of the day, I tried to brush it off, appearing as my normal self to my friends Diesel and Kia, but even they saw through it, with Kia bringing up my odd demeanor.

"You alright, Indy? You don't seem like yourself." Her genuine concern motivates me to tell the truth, but at the same time, it isn't something they've never heard me complain about. I don't want to sound like a broken record.

"Just Reaping nerves," I tell them, rubbing the back of my head.

"I hear you," Diesel says in a weary voice. We all gather in his garage after I get off from school, a place I hardly consider to be one of my refuges. Here, with my friends and my cars, is where I thrive.

"If I get Reaped," I begin, "You had better be ready with one of these puppies to pick me up just after they call my name, and we'll drive off!" I motion to a matte black streetcar that is one of Diesel's most prized beauties. Diesel and Kia burst into laughter and I chuckle along with them.

"If you're going to pay for gas, sign me up!" Diesel goes on to say how we're going to have a "raging" road trip to District 13. Not the most pleasant destination but anything better than being in the Hunger Games.

Later that evening I met with Rick Nitro, my main father figure considering my own father's lack of interest in me or anything that doesn't have to do with mechanics, and confide in him about the strange dreams that have brought me down lately.

"Besides your mom, anything else that you dream about?" Rick Nitro questions, smacking a glass of bourbon onto the rough wood table of his dining room.

"I think I dreamed that I crashed," I admit to him. He raises an eyebrow.

"Well, some nobody once said that dreams are a vision of the future, which is a bunch of baloney. You are too good of a racer to be having doubts about yourself. You just need to accept life for what it is and go with the flow, kid."

Rick Nitro has always praised his intuition, not his intelligence, for getting him out of all kinds of bad situations (most of them having to do with drugs and gangs) and reminds me to never second guess anything. Little words of wisdom go a long way when your only living parent doesn't bother to provide any, and I take those words to heart. No bad dream is going to get me down, because I know that no matter what I do, I can't change the past and I certainly can't change whatever will happen in the future. All I can do is what feels right and makes me happy. Racing makes me happy, and I don't intend to give it up no matter the risk. Risk is what I live for.

I think the only thing that would get me down is if I got Reaped. Good thing I probably have more of a risk of really crashing than the chosen slip having my name on it.

Aston Shinjin, 14, D6 Female

Sometimes I truly believe I would be better off if I was never born.

It sounds melodramatic, something every angsty teen would utter in a moment of self-depravity and sorrow, yet I find myself cursing the day I came to be. It can be hard to appreciate life when it just always seems to get worse. And I had a decent life, up until last year. I lived as any normal thirteen-year-old did, relatively happy and enjoying spending time with my mother. My dad was absent, having been dead for many years. Or so I thought.

…

An incessant knock at the door breaks the peaceful silence of the morning hours. It's my thirteenth birthday, and Mother has a special day of music and pastries planned. I don't remember her mentioning a party, so I don't know who the knock could be. Maybe a surprise party was planned for me and one of the guests showed up too early?

Mother waltzes downstairs to answer the door, but as she approaches she goes tense and gives me a frightened look. I raise my eyebrow in confusion as she opens the door.

I spot an unfamiliar man standing at the doorway, his arms crossed and a wicked-looking grin on his face.

"Well, Felicity, today's the day. I'm here to pick up my daughter."

I'm peering from the living room, a stony expression on my face as my mother looks back at me.

"What do you mean, Baxter?" Mother asks, her hands behind her back.

"Don't act stupid. You know the deal you made with me when she was born," the man says in an annoyed, somewhat scary tone. I'm already incredibly uncomfortable just at the sight of him, and his voice makes me tremble.

"I don't remember anything of the sort. Now, unless you're here to wish your daughter a happy birthday, please leave. It's too early for this."

Without warning the man grabs Mother by the shoulders and shoves her into the back of a van parked outside, all while she screams and kicks. I let out a horrified gasp and turned on my heel to run upstairs but this 'Baxter' man snaps his fingers and two men rush into the house to capture me. As I lock myself in the bathroom, weeping harder than I ever have, a dreadful pounding hammers the door.

It is suddenly kicked open without effort and one of the men scoop me up like I weigh nothing.

"Let me go!" I screech at them, and try and bite his hand, but he smacks me hard on the cheek, and I continue to sob. He clamps his hand over my mouth to silence me.

I think I momentarily blank out because suddenly I'm in the back of a black van, tied up, with my mom. She's crying her eyes out and trying to talk to me but I can't understand her through her taped mouth. All we do is try and hold hands as we're led from home, our place of comfort, to some unknown place where we'll probably suffer. At least we're together.

…

My dreams about Mother always seem to cut off there whenever I wake up. Not even my brain wants me to relive that pain over and over. I can recall each detail of it because I dream about that fateful day almost every single night. Perhaps it's Mother from the other side reminding me of what to fight for.

I'm glad I have no clients today. Father, as he ironically demands that I call him, tells me he's giving me a day off because it's the Reaping. I just stand there and nod silently at him as he tells me but his hand quickly meets my face and he demands a thank you.

"Thank you," I utter as the left side of my face begins to sting.

I sometimes wonder how a father could hate his own daughter so much, to the point where he whores her out just to make himself a few bucks. He seems determined to make my life as miserable as possible, it seems, because in addition to selling me he enjoys forcing me to watch him torture wrongdoers to death.

"Watch this stuff and you'll become a woman, Aston," is what he always tells me but I "became" a woman the day Mother died because that was the day my childhood ended. Thanks to my father I probably wouldn't even flinch at the most brutal death imaginable in the Games this year.

I just need to survive and endure. I know that my life cannot possibly get any worse than it already is. I just need to be patient, and an opening will present itself for me to take my life back. I'd even prefer to do something so bad I get Avoxed. That would be an enormous upgrade, I think. It's not like I need my tongue anyway. Most people aren't really worth talking to.

Father gives me a normal-looking white dress with a floral pattern for the Reaping. It's a far-cry from the skimpy rags he normally makes me wear. He says it's so no one will notice me.

I don't want anyone to notice me anyway, I think to myself as he tells me to get out of his sight. I quickly obey, pretending not to notice the blood-stained kitchen knife sitting almost decoratively on a side table next to the front door.

It's a long walk to the Reaping. Father lives near the slums on the outskirts of Six, so I am usually emerging rather early so I am not late. I notice the slum kids starting to walk with me, looking as miserable as I am. Although they may be no less better off than I am, I would do anything to trade places with them. At least there's a chance they can be normal kids despite being in poverty. Maybe they play, like normal kids, and go to school, like normal kids. I long to be one of them. My situation is anything but normal.

As I arrive at the Reaping and my finger is pricked, I'm herded into the fourteen-year-olds section. I look at the stage to see Lancia and Alysanne Audren already seated, engaged in conversation. The mayor is lingering, waiting for us all to arrive.

I decide to go into my head. It's one of the only safe places I have. The other being in my mother's arms but that's been ripped from me forever.

I stare at the blue sky. I imagine having a house in the clouds, where Mother and I can listen to music all day without having to worry about bills. Maybe we can get a pet, but I would want it to be a cat because dogs frighten me. I would paint the walls of our house pastel blue and make sure there were plenty of flowers to brighten up the place.

We could watch the sunset with the best view possible. If that's what the heavens will be, I'm certainly ready for it.

For the time being, I just have to ensure my life doesn't get any worse. I'm not sure I can handle it.

The escort lady has already pulled a paper slip out of the bowl.

"The female tribute from District Six will be Aston Shinjin!"

I was wrong. My life can always get worse.

District 6 POVs from Indy and Aston! I loved these two and they were very interesting to write about for sure. I have a soft spot for District 6.

Next is District 7 then another interlude with another familiar character, then it may be a while before District 8 and 9 because I haven't received those submissions yet. It shouldn't be too long, though!

Thank you for reading and remember to review! Big thank you to Sakura, Veronica, and ladyqueerfoot for your recent reviews. They mean the world to me! :)

-Aemma