Ishtar Marmaduke, 18

"I don't want money, I don't want presents, I don't want empty words of kindness, I just want my love."

(Three Years Before the Reapings)

Ishtar's parents have forgotten her birthday.

Again.

It's not like Ishtar is surprised. Her parents rarely speak to her at all, leaving her in the care of nannies even when she's fifteen fucking years old today, she can survive on her own.

When she was thirteen, her parents forgot for the first time. And she had been naïve enough to think they were planning a surprise party, like in all the movies from the Capitol. Someone feels bitter because they feel like their family and friends have forgotten their birthday, and then they come home and surprise, surprise, their friends haven't forgotten! There's presents and cake and games and all the previous bitterness goes out the window.

Instead, all Ishtar gets is to sit alone in the expansive kitchen and eat a three-day-old cake. She bought it as a fail-safe, hoping to get something better, yet here she is. She didn't even bother to cut herself a slice of the cake; it's not like anyone else is around to eat it too.

She sullenly stares at the white icing, the words Happy Birthday cut off by fork marks. It reads, Happy Bi thd y. It looks as lifeless as she feels.

"Ish!"

Ishtar looks up, her eyes landing on Jayce with a different, much livelier cake in her hands. Her face lights up in excitement as she pushes her chair back forcefully, knocking it over with a loud thud, but in her excitement, Ishtar doesn't even notice. "Jayce!"

"Happy birthday!" Jayce exclaims, placing the cake on the table and pulling off the lid. Ishtar glances at the cake, noting the meticulously done frosting flowers dotting the surface in a rainbow of colors. A grin spreads across her face as she reads the words Happy Birthday Ishtar!. "I hope you like the cake."

"…that must have cost you a lot of money," Ishtar says quietly. She knows Jayce is poor, much too poor to afford a cake like this. Although, she can't exactly complain—she'd rather have a cake from Jayce than a cake from herself. Hell, she'd take a pile of flaming shit as long as it came from Jayce.

"It's worth it," Jayce proclaims. "Especially since I can take the leftovers home and surprise my family."

Ishtar smiles wider and pushes her own, much sadder cake away, dropping the fork into the sink. Look at her, to always think of everything, Ishtar thinks, practically melting to a puddle when Jayce's smile grows wider. God, she'd do anything to make Jayce smile. "It's good to see you, Jayce."

"We saw each other yesterday, Ish," Jayce says jokingly, laughing and shaking her head. "But it's good to see you too." She glances around the kitchen, seemingly taking note of the lack of other people, decorations, or anything pertaining to a birthday in general. "I take it your parents forgot again."

"…yeah," Ishtar answers after a moment, staring down at her lap and messing with the tablecloth. "I missed you."

"…again, I came over just yesterday." Jayce looks at Ishtar oddly, cocking her head to the side like a confused puppy, but Ishtar knows Jayce could never be confused about anything. She's just so, so smart. Ishtar also knows Jayce could really go places with that brain of hers, but she's not getting anywhere if she's starting from District 12. A glass ceiling hangs over the entire district that no one is strong enough to break through.

"I know," Ishtar says, knowing how much she looks like a lovesick puppy but really not caring. She sees that look in Jayce's eyes. Jayce is just as lovesick as Ishtar is. "I still missed you."

Jayce laughs a little, taking a seat across the table from Ishtar, two forks and a knife in her hand. She carefully cuts Ishtar a piece. "You know, my dad is working on another train plan. I don't know what he plans to do with it, but it's amazing. You should see it. It could really change Panem, you know? It's a shame no one will ever see it."

Ishtar disagrees but keeps quiet. If someone were to see it, then Jayce and her family might have to leave District 12. It's not that she doesn't want Jayce to be happy but…but Jayce would be much happier staying here in District 12 with Ishtar by her side. And so, eager to change the topic, Ishtar says, "What do you want to do tonight? I'm sure my parents won't come home until late."

Jayce grins and takes a bite of her cake, the bright blue frosting smearing on her lips. God, Ishtar wants to kiss her. Like, really bad. That would make this the best birthday ever, parents or no parents. Actually, scratch that. It would be so much better without her parents present to fuck everything up.

And do they do? Well, they certainly don't end kissing each other on the couch, climbing onto the roof to look at stars and end up kissing each other again. No, of course not. Why on Panem would you think that?

(Two years before the Reapings)

This is the worst birthday Ishtar has had yet.

No, not because her parents forgot (and yeah, they did, but that's not the point). No, not because the cake makes her sad. No, not because her parents just fired one of her favorite nannies.

It's all because of Jayce. Fucking. Dotter.

She ruins Ishtar's day—no, her entire life, in one little sentence:

"I'm moving to District 6 tomorrow."

Jayce goes on to explain why they're going to District 6, something about her father's train plan getting picked up by the Capitol, but Ishtar doesn't hear any of it. She stares blankly at the ground beside Jayce's shoes, having a rather difficult time processing this new development.

This can't be happening. Jayce can't just…just leave! That's not—that doesn't—it's not—the only way you leave District 12 is to get Reaped for the Hunger Games! You don't get to—to—to go to District 6, of all places, just because your father has a cool train plan! Hell, Jayce's dad has come up with hundreds of plans, and this has never happened before!

But Ishtar doesn't say anything. She just continues to stare, unblinking, at Jayce's shoes. This must be a dream. Yes, it must be a dream. Any moment, Ishtar is going to wake up, safe in bed, and she can go tell Jayce about her silly dream and Jayce will laugh and tell her that she would never, never ever leave. They love each other! Jayce can't just leave! She has to stay here—she has to! Ishtar loves her. She loves her so much it makes her head spin and her heart pound. Doesn't Jayce realize that? "I…"

"I'm sorry, Ishtar," Jayce says, sounding sincere.

One part of Ishtar feels frozen with sadness. But another part is angry. Why does Jayce get to leave District 12, but Ishtar has to stay here? It's not fair that Jayce gets to go somewhere new and Ishtar has to stay in boring, bleak District 12 while Jayce is off in District 6! What makes Jayce's family better than anyone else from District 12? That's right; nothing! So why do they get to leave, but Ishtar has to stay here? After all, the only thing that made life tolerable for Ishtar is that Jayce was always there.

"I…I…" Ishtar continues to stammer, her words stumbling out of her mouth. Nothing makes sense. Her fingers and toes are numb, and the feeling is spreading to the rest of her body. When at last her words stop rocketing out of her mouth in a torrent of gibberish, she whispers, "Let's make a pact."

Jayce looks at her skeptically. "…what kind of pact?"

"When we turn eighteen," Ishtar starts. "we'll both volunteer for the Games. That way we can see each other again." After all, the only way to leave District 12 is to get Reaped for the Hunger Games.

Unless you're Jayce Dotter, of course.

Jayce seems to contemplate it for a moment. "Okay." She smiles and pulls Ishtar into a hug, kissing the side of her head as she does so. "I love you, Ishtar."

"I love—" Ishtar's voice cracks. "I love you too."

She hopes that when Jayce pulls away, she can't see the tears in Ishtar's eyes. She doesn't know if they're angry tears or sad tears. Maybe they are a bit of both.

Jayce kisses Ishtar on the lips one last time before she whispers her a goodbye. Ishtar can hardly bring herself to answer it before Jayce leaves. Forever. Gone. Never again will Ishtar and Jayce curl up on the couch and watch a trashy Capitol movie. Never again will they climb onto the roof and kiss while searching for constellations in the sky. Never again will they just take a stroll through the market, where Ishtar can indulge and spoil the girl she loves. It's all gone. Done. Over. Forever.

Ishtar springs into action, running over to the take in the entry way and snatching up a (expensive) vase and hurling it at the wall. She grins in satisfaction when it shatters into a million pieces and falls to the ground. It feels like her heart. Destroyed beyond compare, beyond reason, beyond healing. Jayce left her. Jayce. Fucking. Left. Her. Jayce left her. Jayce doesn't love her. Jayce doesn't care. Jayce wanted to leave. She wanted to leave Ishtar.

More vases and other easily-breakable trinkets as thrown across rooms as Ishtar sobs, tears streaming down her face, sobs forcing their way out of her mouth. Finally when she hears her parents' car pull up outside does she run to her bedroom, slamming the door and throwing herself on the bed to sob some more.

From downstairs come her parents yells of anger of the mess Ishtar created. "Isidora, what have you done?"

Ishtar doesn't have the energy to tell them what the name of their only child is.

Wonder Hammerfort, 12

"I just want peace."

(Three years before the Reapings)

(TW for mentions of sexual abuse, attempted suicide, self-harm and suicidal thoughts)

Wake will be home soon. Wonder just knows it.

When Wake comes home, everything will be okay. Wake can save Wonder like no one else can. Wake can fix this. Wake will be home soon.

This is what Wonder keeps telling himself as he curls up on the couch in the dark, watching the T.V. screen with sheer panic in his eyes. Yoldan isn't home, but that doesn't mean Wonder isn't scared. If anything, Wonder is always scared.

His hands are tightly clenched around the edge of the couch, so much so that his knuckles have turned white. He leans forward in his seat as he watches Wake get up and quietly slit the throat of the boy from 1. A cannon booms as Wake moves on to the girl from 5, kneeling in preparation to slit her throat as well. He watches as the girl from 1 gets up and stares in shock at Wake. He watches, still as a statue and quiet as a mouse, as the girl from 1 locks her hands around Wake's throat, pressing her up against the Cornucopia. He watches as Wake splutters and chokes, screaming and pleading with Coin to let her go. He watches as Coin doesn't let her go, as the life slowly drains out of his only hope in the world, as Wake slowly dies—pop!

Coin drops Wake's body to the ground as a cannon fires. Wonder doesn't stick around to see the rest. He bolts to his feet, leaping nimbly over the couch and sprinting out the door wildly. His eyes dart around as he runs, his feet pounding against the carefully polished asphalt, tears streaming down his face.

Wake. Is. Not. Dead.

Wake can't be dead.

If Wake is dead then Wonder is all alone.

Wonder can't be alone. He just…he can't! Wake can't leave him here! He knows Wake just wanted to help him, but he still feels slightly…betrayed. Wake promised him she could come home. She promised. She promised she would never leave him.

Wonder just keeps running, wondering if it's possible to run so long that he'll just die. His legs scream at him to stop, to slow down, but he doesn't. It feels like he's being chased by the ghost of Wake, who was alive just a few minutes ago.

The world tilts dangerously before Wonder, and the next thing he knows, his face is becoming rather acquainted with the cold, hard street. It grates along the side of his face, scraping at his skin, but Wonder hardly notices.

This is the part where I wake up, Wonder thinks, staring out into the darkness, unmoving despite the blood that is trickling down the side of his head. This is the part where I wake up back at the house, with Wake safe. Wake is not dead. Wake is not dead. Wake…is…not…dead…

He slowly sits up, the realization that this is not a dream, that this is his reality, sinking in. He just continues to stare off into space, feeling like he is sitting on a separate plain of existence from the rest of Panem.

The tears that continue to stream down his face is mingling with the blood, making it run faster until it is dripping from his chin onto his shirt. But Wonder doesn't notice. He doesn't really notice anything. It doesn't feel real. He doesn't feel alive. He doesn't feel dead. He doesn't feel anything.

(Two Years Before the Reapings)

The blood runs warm and fast down Wonder's wrist. His hands shake as he moves onto his other wrist, the scissors swaying back and forth in his grip, but he doesn't stop. Blood starts to drip from his other wrist as well. He breathes a sigh of relief and sets the scissors down, laying back against his teacher's desk. It's late. School ended hours ago. Yoldan will be looking for him.

But by the time anyone finds him, it will be too late. He will have bled out. He will be dead. He will get exactly what he wants. Freedom. Safety. Release. This is his final bid to take control, and he will not allow anyone to screw it up.

Okay, maybe in order to do that, he should have closed the door first. Wonder carefully gets up, finding his legs shaky and his vision slightly blurry. He stumbles across the room and shuts the door before staggering back to his teacher's desk and draping himself across the wooden surface. He stares at the silly glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, shifting his head around. He likes stars. Stars are pretty. He used to look at stars with Wake…

He likes Wake too. But Wake's dead. That's why he's here. Because Wake is dead. He misses Wake. Wake was nice. Wake wanted to help him. He wishes Wake wasn't dead. If Wake wasn't dead, he wouldn't be here. He wouldn't be bleeding out on his teacher's desk at his school, scissors stained red sitting on the ground. But Wake isn't here. Wake's gone. She's been gone for a while now. Wonder can't remember how long it's been. Actually, he feels kind of light-headed. His vision is starting to get blurry at the edges. It makes seeing the stars harder. Wonder wants to see the stars. He misses seeing the stars. He wants to die under the stars. The real ones, not the ones he's looking at right now.

Wonder staggers to his feet, watching the ground teeter curiously before he stumbles toward the door and yanks it open. No one is around. The school is practically abandoned. He can see the doors to the playground. All he has to do is make that far, and then he can die under the stars. Someone once told him when you die, you become a star. He wants to become a star. Becoming a star sounds cool…

He makes it about halfway down the hallway before his legs give out. It's actually kind of funny. He starts to giggle in a heap on the floor, squirming as more blood soaks into his shirt. That should hurt, shouldn't it? It should definitely hurt to press on the cuts.

He catches a glimpse of the stars when the door to the playground opens. The stars are pretty. Wonder can't wait to be a star.

"Wonder."

The one word startles him enough that he makes an effort to lift his head. He can barely make out the silhouette of someone kneeling in front of him. He thinks their lips are moving, but he can't tell.

"Wonder." He hears it again, trying to figure out what it means. He should know that word…oh. It's his name. Someone is saying his name. "Oh, my god."

And then someone is picking him up, bridal style, and running through the halls of the school. The movement makes Wonder even more light-headed. His blood continue to drip from the slits on his wrists, trickling down his fingertips and plopping onto the ground. He's leaving a trail. A trail for someone to find him…but he's already been found. He doesn't want to be found. He wants to be a star. He wants to be dead.

"Stay with me, Wonder!"

He really, really doesn't want to do that. He stares blearily up at the face of his 'savior', noting that they're probably a girl. Maybe it's Wake, come to take me to the other side…he thinks as he drifts off, hopefully for the last time.

(Six Months Before the Reapings)

"Come on, boy." Yoldan's tone is always a good indicator of what is going to happen when they get home, but Wonder usually has a pretty good clue. It's the same thing over and over again, because Yoldan apparently does not get tired of raping him day after day after day. Wonder has learned not to fight back. He has learned to just let it happen. He's used to it. Not that it isn't a problem, but there is only so much an eleven-year-old can do about it.

Wonder just sighs and lets Yoldan start to drag him down the steps of the school. Three times he has tried to end his own life. Three times he has failed. Three times he has gone back to the same old routine as if nothing ever happened. Three times, and Panem knows there will probably be more.

"Mr. Hammerfort?"

Wonder looks up, unsure of if Mr. Stonehold is addressing him or Yoldan. Mr. Stonehold—or Rupert, as he usually asks to be called—is one of the few people left in the world that Wonder has any sort of relationship with. Him and Jilda, Wake's girlfriend from way back…well, they're the only people that Wonder can put even a tiny piece of his trust into. Not that he has much left to hand out.

"I was going to ask Wonder to stay late today and help me with something," Rupert continues, looking at Wonder instead of Yoldan. Wonder can't help the small spike of fear that scream at him. What if? His mind screams. What if Rupert is finally going to show his true colors and he's going to hurt you just like Yoldan and what if he was lying about his old girlfriend and what if what if what if?

"Sorry," Yoldan says, not sounding the least bit sorry. "but Wonder has something going on this afternoon."

"Oh, yes," Rupert says. "Like being attacked by you?"

Yoldan apparently has the audacity to look affronted. "I would never. Would I, Wonder?"

Wonder weighs his options for a moment. On one hand, he could say no and nothing would change. On the other hand, he could say yes and potentially get help. In the few seconds that follow, Wonder feels faced with an ultimatum of far too expansive proportions for a child of eleven-years-old (not that he has really been a child for many years).

At last, he gains the courage to say, "No, I think you—" his voice cracks, and he falters. "I think you…w-would."

Rupert smiles at him sincerely, a look of pride on his face.

"Oh, please," Yoldan growls, tightening his grip on Wonder's hand. "Like I would ever hurt one of my children—"

"I do believe your first child is dead, yes?" Rupert says innocently, taking a step forward. "Wake Hammerfort, died in the One-Hundred, Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games? I've seen her gravestone."

Yoldan falters. "Yes. Yes, of course. Wake died years ago, and I still would never hurt my remaining child!"

"That's not true," Wonder mutters.

Yoldan rounds on him. "Come, boy. We are leaving. You're going to have to move schools and—"

The next thing Wonder knows, Rupert has punched Yoldan in the face, sending the latter man tumbling the ground in a heap. Yoldan retaliates with a punch to Rupert's nose. So Wonder doesn't think; he just bolts. He leaves the two men brawling in the courtyard and runs toward Jilda's house, hoping beyond hope that she is home. When he bursts through her door, looking more haggard than usual, she appears from the kitchen. "…Wonder? What are you doing here? What's wrong?"

"I—Rupert and Yoldan—fighting—punching—blood—" Wonder stammers, sinking to his knees. He's always hated fighting, hated confrontation.

Jilda pulls him into a hug and comforts him.

Later that night, when the T.V. announces that Rupert Stonehold has been arrested for the unprovoked murder of Yoldan Hammerfort, Wonder starts to sob once again. He doesn't know if it's from relief or mourning.

Lana Meadows, 14

"There's always a wild side to an innocent face."

(Two Days before the Reapings)

Lana is ninety point nine percent sure her family used to live in District 10. Maybe decades ago the Meadows family migrated that far, all the way from District 10 to District 3 for whatever reason. Maybe it's because of her mother, who has always been the brains of her family's operation. Maybe it's just because the Capitol decided to uproot them. But for whatever reason, they're here now. And Lana really doesn't mind.

District 3 is…well, not very pretty, but it's not the worst place to live. Lana has seen District 6 on T.V. before, and she can't imagine living there. They say the pollution is so bad there that everyone dies early and you can't even see the sky at night. District 3 may be an industrial place, but it's nothing like that.

There's nothing to say Lana's family isn't well off or happy. Sometimes, Lana just longs for a different place, a different life she could live. Her life is monotonous and generally very…life-ey. She hangs out with her friends and her dogs and her siblings. She goes to school and does her best.

Of course, the homework currently staring her down is certainly not her best, but there is not much she can do about it. It's just hard to make herself focus long enough to write out an entire essay. And she wouldn't even be here if she hadn't spent so long messing around with her friends in english class. She would be hanging out somewhere fun, instead of wasting her time with a stupid english essay. It's not even on an interesting topic. Lana couldn't care less about famous Capitolite movie directors! All of the movies that the Capitol makes are ridiculous anyways. How can they expect her to write an entire three pages praising people who write scripts that talk about the amazingness of the Capitol every five seconds? Although, the higher-ups probably demand that of them. After all, everything on T.V. promotes the amazingness of the Capitol. Even the cartoons she sometimes watches with her little sister, Rosie.

Those cartoons are currently playing in the living room, making it even harder to focus on Lana's essay. Maybe she should just take a little break. After all, she has plenty of time to get it done. It's only four o'clock. The essay isn't due until fifth period in three days. If all else fails, she can finish it at lunch.

So Lana stands up and creeps into the living room, spotting Rosie on the floor, watching the T.V. with her full attention on the screen. Rosie is certainly naïve for a nine-year-old, but Lana doesn't really mind. It's not Lana herself is the most mature fourteen-year-old in the world, but at least she understands what the Hunger Games are.

"Ah-ah, Lana," comes the voice of Lana's mother from the doorway of the kitchen.

"Damnit," Lana swears under her breath, slowly turning around. Her mother holds her essay with its all of three lines written rather sloppily up for the whole world to see. Rosie remains oblivious on the floor in the front of the T.V. "I was going to do it! I was just taking a break! You know I'm not nearly as good with words as I am with numbers." That is one skill that is useful in District 3; those who speak in numbers instead of words are prioritized much more than those who are word-savvy, like Lana's older brother. But Lana is good with her numbers and she knows it. But words is where she hits a little bit of a blockade. They just don't make any sense. She has tried to understand words and letters, but x only makes sense if it's a variable.

"Lana, you know the rules. Homework comes first," her mother says reproachfully, pressing the paper into Lana's hands.

"I know, I know!" Lana exclaims, crossing her arms across her chest. "And I'm going to do it!"

"Good," her mother says, watching Lana enter the kitchen before heading upstairs.

"Later," Lana mutters, setting the paper down on the table. She's got more than enough time to get it done. She'll even get a whole day off to do it after the Reapings on Thursday, since that's one of the only days in the whole year they get off. Of course, there are a few days around the time of Capitolmas, but getting off school for a random day here and there is always appreciated.

She dashes out of the kitchen and up the stairs, disappearing into the room that she and Rosie share before the shutting the door. She'll get that essay done on Thursday. She has absolutely nothing to worry about.

(The Day of the Reapings)

Lana and her older brother, Zack, hop in line. Lana fidgets nervously with the hem of her dress, thinking of her unfinished essay sitting back home. She told her mother it was done, which means she has to finish it in secret. Oh well. She'll be just fine. As long as none of her friends or her brother get Reaped. She doubts she'll still have to do the essay then. Surely she'd be excused from any previous assignment if Zack was going to be sent into the Hunger Games.

She barely feels the small prick from the Peacekeeper, her mind clearly on other things. She'll admit, she's worrying a little bit about that essay. Maybe it would been easier if she had gotten it done when it was first assigned. Maybe then she wouldn't be worrying quite as much. But Lana has it covered; she's good at cramming things in at the last second, and if that is what it takes to get this essay done, then so be it. She'll get it done.

She heads toward the fourteen-year-olds section, wishing she was fifteen instead so she could stand with her best friend, Marta. Instead she just finds her friends from school. She sees the fear in their eyes and wonders what exactly they're so worried about. It's not like any of them will be Reaped. Almost no one at her school has to take out tesserae. The likelihood that they'll get Reaped is some number so small Lana has never bothered to calculate it. She could, if she wanted, but she doesn't need to. She knows it's such a slim chance that there is no need to worry in advance.

The square is filled with tense silence as the escort takes the stage. Lana starts mentally composing her essay, trying to think of different famous directors from the Capitol. Well, there's Corinna Booker-Temperance, and Vesperas Stowe and…

She vaguely notices the escort announcing the name of the female tribute and continues composing her essay. Only when one of the girls behind her pokes her in the back and whispers, "Lana, that's you," does she wake up.

And when she wakes up, she panics. She inhales sharply, looking around as if to confirm what the girl said. That slim, slim chance of being Reaped, a chance so low Lana never bothered to calculate it exactly, has been weaponized against her. She has just been Reaped for the Hunger Games. She's going into the Hunger Games. She inhales again, stumbling toward the stage, fighting back tears. This can't be happening. She's supposed to be worrying about an essay right now! Not worrying about dying in the Hunger Games…

"Welcome, Lana," the escort greets as if she didn't just sentence Lana to death. Lana knows her odds. Maybe the Capitol hasn't quite calculated it yet, but Lana sure has. In the darkness of the night when she simply can't sleep because of all of the numbers flying through her head, she calculates things. She calculated what her odds would be of the surviving the Hunger Games, and she does not like them.

Her heart hammers in her chest as if fighting to be freed. Death is impatient, says a voice in Lana's head.

She's just a child. Lana is just a child. She should be worrying about great movie directors from the Capitol and how to write them into an essay. She was worrying about that up until recently.

Is this really where Lana's life is going to end? This is certainly not what she expected. Three slips out of thousands, and the escort just happened to choose her name. Is this what every other tribute has felt like when their name came out of that miserable glass bowl? Since when has the prospect of death weighed so heavily down on Lana's shoulder?

By all accounts, Lana is not dead yet. She still has some fight in her, and she is willing to use it. She may not be brave. She may not be a hero. But damnit, she is a winner. And she's going to do every damn thing possible to get out of that arena with her life.

A/N: Alrighty, one down, seven to go! I think we're starting off strong with these three wonderful tributes, courtesy of LordShiro, 20 and SchroedingersKneazle!

I do apologize if this isn't the best chapter, seeing as I've written it all in the past few hours and am currently home sick (on Halloween, no less!), but I think it turned out okay.

1. Thoughts on Ishtar?

2. Thoughts on Wonder?

3. Thoughts on Lana?

4. Who is your favorite?

Random Question of the Chapter: do you think any of these tributes are Victor material?

My answer: obviously, I can't answer this one. I do currently have a few Victor hopefuls, but I have not made any decisions regarding that front at the moment. What I really need is to write them before I make decisions on who is going to survive.

Next time, we will meet Everett, Lyndie and Ashe!

-Amanda