Georgina Melville- 18

District 4F

The Morning of the Reapings

When it comes to my life choices there are two options: bad and worse. I might be the typical District Four career: strong, fair and hardworking. I'm also the top female tribute at the academy, a feat that I am extremely proud of.

There is just one- or should I say two- small problems: my mothers. On one hand, my birth mother, Coral, wants me to get a simple job and settle down with her. On the other, Tanya (my adopted mother) is dead set on me becoming a Career tribute.

I wish that my birth mother would have just dropped me of at the academy and left it at that, but no, she just had to remain with one foot in my life and one foot in hers It took me a while to forgive her and my biological father for leaving me to some rich fishing trollers as an enfant.

I understand that they were poor and couldn't afford to raise me, but was I really worth that little to them? They didn't even find a proper family for me, they just left me alongside the mail near the academy gates.

Now that they've seen me grow up to be a strong and good-looking individual, Coral decided that she wanted me back. As for my father? He didn't even see me as his own daughter. I've refused to move back with her for obvious reasons. My current family is wealthy and have always treated me as one of their own.

While there are some similar trends between my birth father and my father , Adan, at least the latter acknowledged me when he wasn't teaching my adopted sister the family's trade. When you compare Coral to my adoptive mother however, things get complicated.

Tanya is a loving mother, who has encouraged me during my entire academy process. What's the catch? She's a strict, academy reject who desperately wants me to achieve after my sister proved to be a failure. Thus, I was enrolled in District Four's sole academy, Tidewater.

Tidewater gave me a purpose, as well as a source of encouragement from Tanya. As much as I love the exercises, competition and adrenaline, I'm not sure that I would have enrolled if it weren't for Tanya's firm coaxing. I've never been a blood-thirsty person, and I can't see myself becoming one anytime soon.

Nevertheless, I must be destined for gore-filled greatness since I've far surpassed the expectations of my academy trainers. I braid my hair and step into my reaping dress, sighing heavily as I do so.

I traipse down the small flight of stairs into the kitchen where my family is waiting. "Oh, my baby! You look simply dazzling!" my mother pulls me into a tight embrace, taking care not to rumple my dress in the process.

I smile weakly in response, dread clouding my mind. My adoptive sister, Charlene, slides me a plate of eggs and fried fish. "Thanks." I receive an eye-roll in response. Sisters. According to my adoptive father, one of his girls had to learn the family trade.

That girl had been Charlene, making her the favorite daughter by default. After I had finished my plate, I stood from the table and gulped in an attempt to swallow my fear. Father appeared in the dining room and my mother, Charlene and I took that as our queue to leave.

As I made my way to the district square, the food I had just consumed threatened to force itself back up. Just breathe Georgina, you'll be fine. As I checked myself into the reaping, I caught sight of one of my friends and hurried over.

The best thing I could do to distract myself from the nerves was to treat this reaping as its many predecessors I had endured in previous years.

As the Treaty of Treason was read, and the mayor delivered his heavily embellished speech, I put on a false mask of confidence. The audience didn't need to know I wasn't confident, as long as I looked the part.

As Nelly Pilkington takes the stage, I prepare myself to utter the three self-condemning words I had never imagined would leave my mouth. "Lavinia Shores is the lucky lady, but I suppose we have a volunteer?" Nelly waited expectedly for the volunteer.

Taking a deep breath, I walked towards the stage, announcing my presence in a clear, strong voice.

It's too late to turn back now.

Mizushima Katsumi- 17

District 4M

The Morning of the Reapings

T/W Katsumi's profile contains implications of self harm and suicide. Self harm and suicide are thing that are very serious for me on a personal level. If you're feeling sad or in a harmful mindset yourself, please reach out to me. I'm always free to talk. Please read with caution and skip this chapter if this topic upsets you. I'd be happy to fill in the gaps, or provide a more in-depth description of the above subject in my PM's.

I examine my scarred hands that are clenched into fists- a nervous habit I had developed a few years back. My eyes rove over each blemish, which shimmer in the faint rays of sunlight penetrating the room.

Many of these scars were self-inflicted during some point in the last year, permanently burned into my skin with my lighter. The rest of the scars that criss-cross my body were sustained during the fire when I was fourteen.

Everything that has happened thus far in my life can be categorized as either before, or after the fire. Most people associate separate chapters of life with a particularly special moment shared with a friend, or the first kiss stolen from a secret lover.

Or at least, that's what I used to associate my rapidly-approaching adulthood with. Now my brain acts as a broken record, constantly replaying the day that the accident happened. The accident that claimed the lives of my little sister, Himari and my best friend Dagian. Calling it an accident was laughable really.

If I were a religious individual I would have described it as a cruel act ordained by a god who relished in the suffering of his subjects. But I haven't believed in much of anything since I lost everything that meant anything to me.

Himari and I had grown up most of our lives without a mother, having had the life of our aunt seized and tossed away by The Capitol during a past Hunger Games. Our mother hadn't taken the loss of her sister easily. My father had apparently found her body less than a year after the birth of Himari.

As a nine year old, I understood enough to know that my mother wasn't coming back. As much as my heart shattered, Dagian had acted as a floatation device for me during the next few years.

Watching my sister mature without her mother would have been too much to bear without his constant presence by my side. Him and I bonded over the loss of our mothers at a young age. His mother had passed away from sickness when he was just four years old.

At first we just sat together in the school yard, looking out at the ocean while exchanging as few words as necessary. As our relationship developed, however, we began sharing our deepest feelings and regrets with each other.

That first kiss happened just a week before the fire. We were sitting in our usual spot outside the school yard, near the cliff when we just started looking into each other's eyes. What happened next was short, but sweet. I consider it as my final blissful memory before the fire ripped my soul from my body.

People tell me that I never graduated past the second stage of grief, known as anger. The truth is that I'm stuck somewhere in between rage and depression. I often wonder why my father had to drag me from the fire instead of Dagian. Why did it have to be me who survived? I was the least deserving of life. I took everything for granted, especially my relationship with Dagian.

As I rise from my tense position on the bed, I change into my reaping outfit carelessly. Without a second glance in the mirror, I head down the creaky stairs where my father and grandfather are waiting. My grandfather clears his throat indicating my late arrival. My father simply finishes his coffee without a word.

I pour myself my own steaming cup of coffee, opting not to eat breakfast as my appetite was close to nonexistent this morning. As my father and grandfather and myself head to the reaping, I share a brief glance with my father. I know he's just scared of losing the last person he truly cares for. It's a feeling I'm all too familiar with.

I walk wordlessly to the seventeen year old section after checking in, shutting my brain off for yet another year. Being chosen was never out of the question, but the idea of being selected hasn't bothered me much since the fire.

As the usual reaping formalities pass by, I become lost in my mind. This would have been the moment where Dagian would have clenched my hand in his in a gesture of encouragement. I could almost feel the phantom caress of his hand in mine.

The district escort announces the female tribute: "Lavinia Shores." Unsurprisingly, a pretty and well-toned young woman volunteers in her place, announcing herself as Georgina Melville.

I wonder if there will be a male volunteer this year. As I ponder the answer to the question I'm met with an answer as Nelly calls the one name I had not been expecting. Heads turn towards me in an attempt to take in this year's tribute. It wasn't too uncommon that a volunteer wasn't present, but of all years why this one?

As I walk towards the stage a dark, yet comforting thought fills my mind. I guess I'll be reuniting with you sooner than expected Dagian.

A/N Here is District Four for you! I hope you enjoy the new additions to the cast of tributes. Please give Dani H. Danvers and justanothersadbean a pat on the back for their awesome tributes. Until next time!

Here are the physical descriptions:

Georgina: Georgina is white. She has long black hair and gray eyes. She has some freckles, but she doesn't like them, so she covers them with makeup. She has muscles due to her hard work in the academy and she is very tall. She is very proud of her body because she thinks it is the result of her effort.

Katsumi: Floppy, black hair and bright, calculating brown eyes. Not traditionally handsome, although there is something captivating about his face. There's a long burn scar that travels from the base of his neck down to his hip, as well as down the length of his right leg, from an accident many years prior. There are more recent burns peppered along his right arm, and most of his fingertips have been burned off. His posture is often relaxed yet confident, and he tends to tilt his head—he finds that it gives the illusion of openness and allows people to trust him more. Considerably tall at 5'9", accented by his lean frame.

-Archer