Lilac Rafflesia, 16, D12 Female

My face is as stony and unmoving as ever, even while a dusty wind batters my face. My eyes, while burning, remain open underneath my long lashes. I feel incredibly relieved once my brother Damon gives me the familiar nod signalling that the hole was deep enough for the casket.

If District 12 wasn't, well, District 12, then perhaps this occupation could have some dignity to it. My brother and I wouldn't be referred to as 'Banshees'. But considering death is all too common here, it's treated as a rather mundane occurrence. Oh, well, so-and-so died, let's just get them buried and move on with our lives, because mourning doesn't put food on the table. Any contemplation about death is seen as pointless because death is inevitable, especially here. For me, it's not so simple. Death is such a huge part of my life that I have no choice but to think about what it would be like to take that final breath.

The casket that's being carried is a nicer one than most, made of solid oak and with a fancy wreath of flowers atop it. That's because it's carrying the son of the mayor, a boy close to my age who was often a troublemaker. His latest misadventure had ended in tragedy when he was electrocuted to death on a fence surrounding the wilds.

Many people are weeping, but like most funerals, my eyes are dry. Damon's posture is upright, standing guard over the casket along with me, another one of our duties. After the wooden box is lowered into the hole dug by my brother and I, most people disperse, probably because it's such a hot day and I assume there's to be some kind of bereavement service at their house. For us, though, there are more holes to be dug at the northern end of the cemetery. Scarlet fever was not kind enough to spare even one child of a family of seven.

…

I wake up with a strange feeling, like I had been free falling. It only lasts seconds, and soon I'm sitting up, nudging Damon awake.

"Wake up, dummy. We have a hole to dig before the Reaping."

Damon groans and stretches, nearly falling off his side of the bed.

"I almost forgot about the Reaping," he says in a nervous voice. "Maybe I'm going to be digging my own grave!" His tone is good-natured but the thought of it causes me to shudder.

"Don't say that! After all, it could be my grave we're digging." I put my hands around my neck and pretend to choke to death, slumping over on the bed. Damon chuckles and shakes me by the shoulder.

"How about we dig two holes, just in case," Damon tells me. I shoot back up, grimacing.

"Oh God, all jokes aside, that would be horrible. Who would guard the cemetery?" I ask him. Damon thinks for a moment before tossing our threadbare sheet over his head and holding his arms out in front of him in a zombie-like manner.

"We would, as ghoooooosts!"

I laugh so hard my side starts to hurt. We decide to surprise our six-year-old sister Rosy with a visit from Ghost Damon, and she screams before pulling off his sheet and claiming she knew it was her big brother the whole time. Her giggles fill me with life. Dad didn't think it was as funny, as someone who seems to believe ghosts really do exist and that shifts at a cemetery are only bringing them into his home.

When my dad tries to convince me that my profession is cursed, my brother's usual light-heartedness always cheers me up, not failing even as we dug in the hot sun just hours before two kids were to be sentenced to death.

We have no time to change, so I show up to the Reaping in my usual newsboy cap that is always on my head, obscuring my usually messy light brown hair. Considering it's the only gift I still have from Mom, I don't plan on it leaving my head anytime soon. Part of me wishes she could be here to comfort me on such a nerve-racking and death-filled day. Too bad she's partying six feet under.

I try to wipe off the dirt from my faded green button-up shirt, my attempts to keep it clean for the Reaping obviously in vain. Damon waves goodbye as we're separated into our gendered lines, and I'm quickly told to stand in the area for the sixteen-year-olds. Everyone looks worn out and lifeless. They probably lament the fact that like every year, they're going to have to witness a massive amount of death before their eyes.

If only you've seen what I've seen, I think to myself. The Hunger Games are nothing.

The escort is a tall and wiry man with dark skin, tightly braided hair and a pearly-white smile that blinds me more than the sun broiling the entire square.

"Hey there," he says casually, giving off an air of adolescence. "Can't wait to find out who the tributes are going to be this year? Me neither!"

The mayor then reads the Dark Days speech owing to the fact that Twelve still does not have a video monitor in its square.

Maybe if we had one, we could be wealthy enough so everyone can have a coffin after they die. Some people are buried in nothing more than a tarp, which always makes me wonder why the Capitol is willing to provide coffins for dead tributes but not anyone else. It can't be that much of an expense. We give them herbs and medicine, so shouldn't they give something back? Maybe District 7 would have to do it since they're the lumber district.

For some reason, everyone has started to whisper and look around. I glance in every direction in confusion, looking for whatever everyone else is trying to find.

"Her, the Banshee."

"Oh, it's her."

"There she is."

Suddenly I'm yanked by the arm, hard. I turn my head to notice a Peacekeeper dragging me to the stage. I didn't even hear him walk up to me. Why am I being taken up there, the only kids who go up there are-

Oh crap. I must have gotten picked.

I'm in a pretty jovial mood, it seems, because no tears are forming in my eyes. Instead I just shrug as I stare upwards at the escort.

"Who will guard the zombies when I'm gone?" I ask him, my voice filled with false concern. The man just scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"Silly district girl. Anyone who is cultured knows zombies don't exist. Now, go stand over there."

I'm still giggling at my joke as he trots over to the male's bowl. Damon is wrong, I can be funny. I don't even mind that nobody laughed.

"Damon Rafflesia!"

I instantly stop laughing, and my face goes white. Damon really got picked. That isn't funny at all.

Last intro! We can finally move on to the Games! Are you excited? I am!

I am very happy with all the tributes I've received, and I hope each submitter liked the intro their tribute got. Next will be a sort of Reaping recap/train chapter, because not every intro was really a conventional Reaping.

Thank you for reading, and thank you to everyone who has been reviewing. Quick shoutout to Firedawn, I hope you did well on your finals and thank you for going back to review each chapter! :D

See you next time!

-Aemma