You walk the easy way, I work every night

You sell your soul for fame, I stand for my rights

You think that I'm insane, I'll never play your game

Oakes Laine, 36

Resident of District 7

Victor of the 4th Annual Hunger Games

I walk alone through the windswept residential street. The streetlights, black iron, hook over the road, their bulbs turned off since it is the middle of the day. Torrents of colorful autumn leaves and tough acorns rain down onto the street whenever the wind gusts through the trees that are interspersed between the imposing streetlights. The wind ruffles my hair, and I find the scrape of leaves against cement and the soft pitter patter of falling acorns comforting. I pull the sagging bag I have hitched over my right shoulder back higher onto my shoulder so it doesn't slip off. Its contents aren't fit to be seen on a residential street like this, with richer families all watching as I stumble towards the residence of the Tayn's.

The house is three stories, gray and dark brown in color, made of stone with bits of brick and wood here and there. The roof is aluminum painted dark green. They have an expansive plot of land, inherited from their ancestors, who owned it before the Dark Days, before even Panem's inception, before the flooding times, where the oceans swallowed up half of the world. The four acres they have are crowded with forest and little buildings where their three children and their friends frolic.

I walk up the steps and knock thrice on the door. When there's no answer, I open the unlocked door. Knocking is a formality here. After all, "Mrs. Tayn", Sequoyah Laine in my book, is my sister, older by two years. Those kids playing out back are my nieces and nephews. My bag is filled with things for them.

Sequoyah is kneading dough in the kitchen when I walk in. My brother-in-law, Sequoyah's husband Mac, is looking over the bills with a perplexed look on his face. Mac is a great dude, but mathematics are not his forte. Sequoyah looks up when I set down my bag with a clang and a bam on the granite kitchen counter. She grins at me and runs over to embrace me. I hug her back, and when we part flour coats me. I wipe it off as she sniggers.

"Thanks for coming, O," she says with a wry grin.

"I always come, Seq. Every Wednesday and Sunday. You don't have to thank me every time, sis. I'd do it even if you didn't approve of what I was doing."

"I know, O. I know."

Mac waves at me hurriedly before turning back to his bills, chewing his bottom lip contemplatively. It's a Sunday, so both he and Sequoyah are home. Mac is a manager of a paper mill, and Seq works at the town's bakery. We all live in the suburban town of Elmboro. It's an hour's drive from the heart of the District/its capital, Ashburgh. The Victor's Village is located on the outskirts of Ashburgh, where Paula, my fellow Victor from Seven, and I live. I make the hour drive every Wednesday and Sunday not only to visit my only sibling and her family, but also to teach them.

I walk out the back door, Seq walking out with me. I set down my bag on the patio, making sure to keep the contents from spilling out.

"UNCLE OAKES IS HERE, KIDS!" Seq hollers at the top of her lungs. Almost immediately three kids come bounding out of the treeline, sprinting across the lawn and clustering at me feet, grinning and excited. They love these days despite their purposes.

"Hey, Uncle Oakes," little Margot peeps, smiling gleefully. She's the youngest, at 8. Her brother, Mac Jr., is 11, and her sister, Francine, is 14. They all have Mac's straw blonde hair, but Seq and I's bronze-y skin tone and dark brown, almond shaped eyes. Francine and Margot are thinly muscled and tall like Seq, while Mac Jr. is barrel chested and very muscly for his age, if average height. He looks like a miniature version of the extremely buff Mac Sr.

"Hey, guys," I say with a thin smile. "Ready to train?"

Since Francine was 7, Seq's been having me train her kids. She was and still is scared to death that one of them will get Reaped just because I was a bit rebellious in my Games, so she employed me to prepare them physically and mentally. On Wednesdays, we do survival, working on edible plants, how to make a fire, how to build a shelter, how to find water, and how to make a trap, along with learning every arena there ever was and learning each Victor.

On Sundays we practice with strength, and with weapons.

I pick up my big black duffel bag again, and Seq waves as I lead the kids into the woods. We walk into the forest for about half an acre before reach the small shanty hut that we use as our makeshift training center. Targets are painted with red paint around the sides of the house, and inside there are targets that we can move around outside along with two weapons I can't bring back and forth from the Village; a large, barbed spear, and a razor sharp machete.

As we walk through the woods, I quiz the kids on statistics from previous Games. They know it all by heart.

"Margot, Victor of the 13th Hunger Games?"

"Kenyan Rudd, District 1, age 18 at time of Victory, made 5 kills."

"Good. Francine, who placed last in the 10th Hunger Games?"

"Bison Seville, District 10 Male, age 13."

"Nice. Mac, Bison's killer?"

"Natalia General, District 1 Female, age 15."

"And Francine, her killer?"

"Hailea Himalayan, District 11 Female, only age 12."

"Design of that Game's arena, Mac?"

"Jungle island, with beaches and an abandoned hotel."

I'm about to ask them who the Victor of those Games was, but we've reached the outpost. I unzip the bag, and pull out the weapons inside. Three hatchets, an axe, two daggers, two throwing knives, a shuriken, and an awl. I give Margot the awl; she's too young for anything else. Mac gravitates towards a hatchet as always, and Francine selects the throwing knives, which she's very adept with.

The next four hours are devoted to training them in the art of weaponry and killing. Over the years I've learned the tricks of the trade from Career Mentors, along with books from the Capitol, one of which was written by the Headmistress. Francine is better at throwing knives than most Careers at only 14, and all of the kids are in the top 1% in muscle mass, speed, agility, and intelligence in the District. It would be hard to take them down if they were ever to be Reaped, and I make sure to instill in them not to volunteer because they are strong enough to survive. They listen dutifully. I don't think Margot quite yet understands, but Mac Jr. and Francine understand the blood and the gore and the horror. I'm happy about that.

As we pack up and head back to the house, I smile as the kids run ahead of me. If only we could do this for every kid in Seven.

Then again, Seven has never been a Career District. We have honor, integrity, morals. We would never become a Career District no matter how many little kids are shipped off to their deaths. We could never condone training all of our kids to kill like they do in One, Two, and Four, and sometimes in Three and Five. We always produce hearty tributes. Two examples that always fill my head: Adom from the previous year, and the infamous loverbirds, Chen Evoncurst and Bethany Taylor, who made a statement by openly showing their fledgling love during their Games. Of course, Bethany was eaten by a giant serpent and Chen was slaughtered by the maniac boy from One, but still. That's beside the point.

Seven is different. Seven is strong.

If you try the best you can

If you try the best you can

The best you can is good enough

This one's optimistic

This one went to market

This one just came out of the swamp

This one dropped a payload

Fodder for the animals

Living on animal farm

Woof Parsons, 21

District 8 Resident

Victor of the 17th Annual Hunger Games

You would think that Eight was a phenomenal District, correct? How else would we be the only District in the Lower 6 Districts to have more than 1 Victor? How else would we happen to place in the Top 8 quite frequently? How else would we meet our every quota, and have one of the lowest crime rates in Panem?

Luck, and discipline.

Our Victors are two men. Uriah Matherton, the Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games, and myself, Woof Parsons, Victor of the 17th Hunger Games. Uriah won by eating bugs and hiding in a tree, and I won using rudimentary snares knowledge I learned in the Capitol and perfected within the arena. Neither of us is extraordinary. If anything, we're among the most normal Victors, in the same boat as Pumpkin and Anneliese, who are really just very normal and got decently lucky enough to emerge Victor. Luck really is the only reason Eight does not have a Capitol Mentor like Twelve.

We do produce a strange amount of stronger, smarter, older tributes than most Districts, so that's luck based. That, coupled with the fact that Eight tributes are very observant from working in the factories and studying tiny threads while doing so, make it easier for any Eight tribute to persevere in almost any arena. But we also have crummy air, crummy food, crummy water, crummy homes, crummy everything, and we're one of the most urban Districts in Panem, just behind Three and Six and just in front of Nine. Really, luck, and the discipline of our tributes who want to uphold our tradition of high placements, are the only thing that give our tributes high placements in the Games. For example, in the 10th Hunger Games, we got a bit lucky you could say. (I was 9 when the 10th Hunger Games aired. It's the first Games I remember in detail.) Our male scored a 5, and the female, Holly, scored a 6, nothing special. The boy went down in the Bloodbath, but the girl lasted all the way till the Feast, where she placed 5th, being cut down by the boy from Seven, one of the infamous loverbirds of the 10th Games. See? Eight is truly lucky.

We meet our every quota because Eight was one of the most rebellious and, in turn, most bombarded Districts during the Dark Days. Our populace is scared stiff of the Capitol after the war, and they comply with everything the Capitol tells us to do. That's also why we have a lower crime rate than most Districts, and why we have the lowest crime rate in the Lower 6 Districts (Seven thru Twelve).

Right now, Uriah and I are playing chess. Uriah's a very strange boy. He won at 15. He was a normal kid, skinny and weak and nerdy, smart, but not abnormally so. He always loved chess, and learning ancient languages. For example, he likes to call chess el ajedrez, which means chess in an ancient language called Spanish. The Capitol is gracious enough to let him use books to learn how to speak dead languages since he's claimed that, and chess, to be his talents.

Uriah moves his rook and easily takes out my bishop. I curse, and Uriah just huffs, rolling his eyes.

"You really don't have to play, Woof."

"I want to beat you."

"Woof."

"I will beat you someday, Uriah Matherton!"

So yeah. We're your typical nerds. Eight is typical. Everything is typical with us. Nothing special here. Just keep moving on.

"Did Laura send you the coordinates of the next rebel meeting?" Uriah murmurs as he takes out one of my pawns.

Oh yeah. One thing that's not luck, not discipline: we're also the most rebellious District in Panem. So maybe everything I've said is false. Maybe we do train our kids. Maybe Uriah and I are skilled. Maybe we're just complacent so they'll never see underneath our act and realize that we're still conspiring against them.

Or maybe we're just District 8, the run of the mill. You decide.

You've got me chasing promises on the horizon

They come and go

All these visions come and go

And I keep chasing knowing I will never find them

Visions come and go

Visions come and go

Unity Carden, 40

Resident of District 9

Victor of the 1st Annual Hunger Games

District Nine is not a superpower. I'll just start off by saying that. But you probably already know that. Our reputation isn't necessarily gold.

The setting sun drizzles its golden hues across my deep, dark brown skin, little rainbows arcing across my knees from where the light streams through the windows. I sit in my rickety wooden rocking chair in my rickety Victor's Village house in my rickety Victor's Village in my rickety District.

I had them build the Victor's Village by my tiny farming village of Flourbrooke. District Nine's layout is rather unique, I guess you could say. It's the third largest District, just behind Eleven and Seven in size. There are four main cities, called the Ports, where bread and flour is created and processed. Ninety percent of the population lives there, and everyone there is usually weak and sickly. The other ten percent of us live in the small little farming villages, where we collect the wheat, and are grown tall and strong and are all dark skinned and have integrity. Rarely is a tribute Reaped from the farming villages. Two tributes are selected from each farming village to be sent to the biggest Port city, Flax, and then four hundred kids from each Port city head over to Flax. These Reapings are called Preliminary Reapings, and they're used in Districts Three, Seven, Ten, and Eleven as well where portions of the population are spread out in small villages or ranches outside of the main cities. Most of the kids Reaped are Port city kids, and those that are rounded up in the Ports are usually orphans between ages 12 and 15. That's why District Nine is usually Bloodbath fodder these days, and is why we don't have an Academy like other Districts who got Victors early, like One, Two, and Four. Just imagine, a pair of Careers from Nine. Unsettling but intriguing at the same time.

As the sun continues to dip below the horizon, I head out to my garden. I live alone. My family used to live here, but after my father died ten years ago from cancer, my two sisters Undula and Ursula, who were both getting married, moved back to Flourbrooke. They visit with their families every week or so, and I go into town every week, but it's still not the same. The Village is deserted, empty. All I have is myself and my plants.

I first attend to the herbs. Oregano, basil, rosemary, thyme, so much more. Ironically, I've had a tribute by all four of those names. Oregano Prax, 6th Games. Basil Chock, 12th Games. Rosemary Caldrun, 8th Games. Thyme Hither, 20th Games. They all died in the Bloodbath of their respective Games, too.

After I water my herbs and look over my vegetable garden, the sun's nearly gone. I take out my flashlight and then tromp over to the other important site that is situated outside of Flourbrooke upon my insistence. I walk under the small stone arch proclaiming TRIBUTE GRAVEYARD OF NINE.

I start at the first stone, where I would have laid had I died. It is inscribed with the words Unity Carden, Victor. The next stone holds the name of my faithful District partner and partial ally.

"Ferdinand Crovin," I whisper. In my hands I hold a basket with 41 flowers, an assortment of wild daisies and geraniums, inside it. I place the biggest geranium on his grave, pushing off the withering one from yesterday. Then I lay a flower on every grave, uttering every name.

"Alexa Blaise. Jonathan Tumbler. Greta Pretis. Wheaton Crawley. Ginamarie Holden. Braxton Cuthbert. Demi Claren. Patrick Chaff. Charta Opan. Oregano Prax. Anna Chase. Oswald Grothe. Rosemary Caldrun. Seed Tunton. Tanya Lieber. Darrick Blusum. Andrea Matches. Calix Jackson. Erika Commodore. Charles Burntay. Keera Mallerd. Basil Chock. Drusilla Leans. Dion Smithereens. Haley Montigne. Aric Svena. Ida Pastursz. Rudolph Flaxe. Quinta Goldhaze. Dennon Uri. Lea Blackstone. Ronan Gretsky. Yaroslava Cumberland. Michael Patterson. Rinna Malt. Gregory Patch. Janelle Kirpatrick. Thyme Hither. Lorana Mitchells. Cedric Lankes."

Two new, blank stones have already been placed, awaiting the next two tributes that will die. I always hold onto that slim chance that one of them will come back, but that never happens. 20 Games I have Mentored. Never have I gotten a tribute to place higher than 6th. Never have I brought a tribute home. Never have I brought someone home that could help me work through my depression and anxiety. Never have I ever brought home anyone to live with me, to love me, that understands me. I've failed in my mission. I will not die, however, until I bring at least one back. Once I bring just one back, I can rest in peace, in retirement. Until then, I will sit and garden and Mentor and lay flowers on graves, because that is what Unity Carden does. When I was young, I was rebellious, high off of adrenaline from fighting in the rebellion for the rebels. It's a miracle the Capitol let me win. When I was young, I was naive and athletic and excitable. Now I'm an aging woman, only forty, who feels like she's two hundred and waiting for her replacement so she can be released into death.

I walk back home to the Village to wait until the next Reaping, until the next death sentence, because that is what Unity Carden now does.

A/N: Hello! I hope you enjoyed Oakes, Woof, and Unity! (Unity's a personal favorite, I just haven't had time to explore her how I would like yet.)

I have figured out what I am going to do. Instead of shutting off all submissions right away, I will shut it down District by District. Once I finish the Lower District Mentors next chapter, I will pick my tributes for One and close submissions for District One. Then I will post their Reaping/Introduction, and then I will shut off submissions for Two after choosing my tributes, post introductions for Two, and then do the same thing for Three, and then for Four, and so on and so forth.

Did you like Oakes, Woof, and Unity? Thoughts on POVs/writing?

Thanks for reading!

Until Next Time,

Tracee