Thank you to everyone who's reviewing! It means a lot to me that you haven't given up on this story. I promise I haven't either. I'm trying to post once a week now.

Tributes are from TacoPhoenix88 (Red) and Guesttwelve (Siro).

I kinda liked my week before "day in the life" format, so I'm sticking to it for the time being.

Warning: Transphobia when it comes to Red. I have him on the tribute list as a female, but that's only because it seemed like the type of shitty thing for the Capitol to do. Red uses he/him pronouns and I will be referring to him with those. I expect everyone in the reviews to do the same. I'm also a cis girl so I hope I don't mess up with anything. If I do, please let me know.


District 9

Red Collins, 15


The school bell rings, knocking me out of the world of my book. Slightly irritated by the distraction, I tuck my bookmark into the pages and stick the book back into my bag. I want to get out of here before all of the kids get out. I don't want to deal with the harassment today; that's the reason why I stuck myself up a tree and read a book instead of going to class again. I'm so sick of everyone's torment.

I loop the satchel strap around my arm and quickly shimmy down the tree. Years of hiding in trees has gotten me quite used to scaling them, and I find myself much quicker at climbing than most kids my age. Hell, most kids in District 9 can't even climb a tree. It's not like we're District 7. We only have a few trees dotting our District, and they were all imported from other Districts. The only thing District 9 is abundant in is wheat fields.

And alcohol. We have a lot of alcohol too. It's mostly wheat-based and considering the access most people have to wheat, it's extremely easy to find.

I curse under my breath when I hear the rowdy thunder of children exiting the school. Evidently I haven't managed to get off the premises fast enough to escape the horde. Usually my instincts are pretty good about that sort of thing, but I was too wrapped up in my book today.

There's a tap on my shoulder. My heart immediately freezes, expecting to be confronted by one of the kids who likes to beat me up, but when I turn around it's just Nadia. Nadia may be a bitch, but she's no threat to my personal safety. As small as I am, I could easily beat Nadia up. Don't get me wrong, I'm still on the skinny side, but I've been trying to bulk up more. I'm hoping some of the muscle I've been gaining will hide my natural curves a bit and give me a more masculine appearance.

"Hi Rena," Nadia says with a smirk. She's flanked by some members of her posse, all of whom are equally bitchy and equally unthreatening. I don't bother to correct Nadia- she's completely aware of my name change, she's just purposefully trying to piss me off.

"I'm busy right now. Can I ignore you another time?" I say, beginning to leave.

"Why weren't you in school today? Did you chop off your brain along with your boobs?" Nadia giggles. I roll my eyes. I haven't even had any surgery, so I don't know what she's getting at.

"They're still bigger than yours," I shrug, and walk off. I don't want to deal with Nadia anymore. I dealt enough with her antics when we were friends (I'm still regretting my choice to befriend her when I was six); it's even worse having to deal with her now. Nadia and I were friends for a really long time, and even though I hated her whining and judgemental behavior, I tolerated it because she was pretty much the only friend I had.

And then when I came out as trans, apparently that was the final straw for her because she completely turned on me and got a whole posse of brainless followers to harrass me.

As I walk back home, I glance behind me. To my relief, no one's following me.

I'm a bit disappointed to be heading back home; when I left this morning Mom was already drinking which never bodes well for the afternoon. That just means Mom's either going to be drunk or asleep, and my step dad will be pissed off and somehow find a way to blame me for Mom's depression.

If I wanted, I guess I could go somewhere to hang out until dinner. We have plenty of fields on the edge of the District that are empty and always open for me to roam around in. The idea is tempting, but I kind of need to check in on Lana. If Mom really is drunk right now, I need to make sure my little sister is all right. Whenever Mom's in a bad mood she screams at us kids, and Lana really struggles to take the abuse.

With some remorse, I keep on my path home.


When I enter the home, my stepdad Harold is perched on the couch, half-mindedly filling out forms for his work. He's in charge of the numbers for a few fields; how many seeds were used, how much wheat was produced, how much was sent to which factory, etc. Which basically means he's at home most of the time, which is unfortunate for me.

"Where's Mom?" I immediately asks. Harold grunts in response. To most people that would be super unhelpful, but I've come to understand that Mom's not doing too well. "Is she in the bedroom?" I ask for clarification.

"Don't bother her," he orders, his head snapping up from his documents.

I'll do what I want.

I head upstairs and open the door to the master bedroom. Mom is in half a state of sleep and half drunken stupor. She's splayed out across the bed with an empty bottle in her hand. She has an entire box of tissues beside her, but judging by the crumpled up wads across the floor, it's nearly empty. I guess today was pretty bad.

"Mom?" I ask, wandering over to her. Her eyes lazily find me, and she starts to sob again.

"Peter, I'm sorry," she yells at me through a cracked voice. Peter. My Dad's name.

"Mom, it's me, Red," I tell her, but she continues to call out my Dad's name. I remove the bottle from her hand and place it on the night table. It's empty now, so it can't do much harm.

"Peter…" she sobs, falling back against the pillows.


District 9

Siro Mista, 16


The TV blares an advert for the Hunger Games. All week it's been focusing on the upcoming Games with predictions, reruns of past Games, interviews with past Victors and Gamemakers, etc. I personally think the whole thing is sick and if it were up to me, I'd just shut the television off, but my parents are soaking up every detail.

They're not Hunger Games fanatics. They're by no means the bloodthirsty people in the Career District or the Capitol who digest Hunger Games propaganda as if their lives depend on it. My parents don't root for whether or not kids die. In fact, they don't really believe anyone is dying.

"All of us Gamemakers are very excited for the upcoming Games. We have a special twist to our arena that we think will intrigue the Capitol quite a bit. We can't give anything away yet, but I know you'll be excited when you see it," Head Gamemaker Leda Dashlon says with multiple microphones shoved in her face. Reporters flock to her in the streets of the Capitol, shouting out questions.

My parents pore over the interview, notebooks clutched in their lap as they scribble down notes. They're both convinced the Hunger Games are animated and it's all just a coverup for some secret government project. They've made it their life goal to prove the Hunger Games as a hoax.

"Macey, replay!" my Dad demands and my mother quickly replays the interview. As Leda talks, Dad jumps to his feet with excitement. "A-ha!" he yells in triumph. "Pause! Pause!"

The screen freezes on Leda Dashlon's face mid-sentence. Dad points at her face eagerly.

"Look! Look! The obvious signs of a lie!" he declares. "Macey, do you see this?"

Mom nods, equally energetic as she jots down notes. She takes her camera off the side table and snaps a picture of Leda's face. I can't help but smirk at the whole affair. I love my parents; they're sweet as can be and good people, but I don't share their delusions. The Hunger Games being a coverup for some government project? Really? For 249 years? It doesn't seem the most plausible theory to me, but they're both convinced so I just let them have their fun with it.

"See how she's not looking at the camera? It's because she's lying. She's guilty and she can't look the camera in the eye!" Dad exclaims passionately. I decide not to remind him that cameras don't have eyes.

"Look at her lips, too!" Mom announces. "She's licking them! That could be a nervous response. A sign of lying." Dad nods along in complete agreement.

"We're onto something," he decides with a wide smile. "Siro, what do you think?"

"Definitely lying," I smile. "I would love to help you guys some more, but my friends are almost off work. I promised I'd meet up with them at 5."

"Okay. Have fun!" Dad says, giving me a quick hug.

"Don't get into any mischief, especially if there's any pigeons around," Mom warns.

"Don't worry, I have my eye out for those robot pigeons," I say, stepping outside.

Yet another one of my parents' ridiculous theories- the robot pigeon one. Mom and Dad are convinced the Capitol spies on us through the use of robot pigeons. It's a little more plausible than their Hunger Games theories, but the pigeons in our District are far too stupid to be robots. I've seen them fly into glass windows and try to eat rocks. I've never seen them spy on me or anyone else. I don't doubt that we have spies around, but I bet they're a lot less conspicuous than robot pigeons.

I lean against the factory wall as I wait for my friends to exit. Checking my watch, I see that I'm here on time. They always exit the building a bit after the end of their shift, though. They have to deal with clocking out and escaping the mass of other workers who clog the escape routes.

The door opens and people begin to file out. None of them are my friends. I wink at a cute girl as she passes by, but she ignores me.

"Hey," Nara says as he greets me. Right behind him is Tag and Bruno. We all do our quick little group handshake before heading off.

"How was work?" I ask as we walk past different shops.

"How do you think?" Tag laughs. "It was a fucking blast, of course. We had so much fun. You should see the arcade they have in the basement, they have so many fun games."

"Shut up," I laugh.

"There's an arcade?" Nara asks, completely genuine. Tag and I burst into laughter. Bruno isn't as amused.

"Hey, cut Nara some slack. It's not his fault he's stupid," Bruno yells, which just causes us to laugh even more. Nara looks a bit hurt, so Bruno wraps an arm around him. "Just kidding."

"You guys nervous for the Hunger Games?" Nara asks.

"Uh, a bit," I admit. I haven't felt nervous before, but this is my fifth year eligible. Five is my unlucky number. I don't know why, but something about the number five just creeps me out. It's not weird or anything- lots of people have unlucky numbers.

"Is this your thing about the number 5 again?" Tag asks. "Dude, that's weird."

I roll my eyes. "It's not weird!" I insist. "It's perfectly natural to have some superstitions."

"Remember that time when you were over at my house and refused to take the fifth slice of toast?" Tag asks. "That was weird."

"It's not a big deal. Besides, if I get through this Reaping, I'll be fine, you know? I think the only chance I really have of being Reaped is this year. Because of the five thing. So if I get through this year, I'll be all good."