Ianto Baines, District 8, 16

"Fuck the Peacekeepers!" Marc shouted into the mic. The crowd cheered in response.

"Hit it!" shouted Marc, signaling the band. I clicked my drumsticks, and we were off, Marc singing into the mic. This song was about Selinna Hart, who had been killed in the Games last year. It was a fan favorite, probably due to Marc's lyrics. You'd never know it from looking at him, but the guy had skills. Backed up by a fast-paced instrumental track, it was the kind of song that made you angry deep inside. My favorite.

I looked across the stage at Tyra, who was deeply engrossed in her acoustic guitar. I smiled to myself, happy to be in the pocket. Right tempo, right tone, knowing the song well enough to not be nervous about screwing it up. We'd played this one a hundred times, and I believed we'd play it another hundred times before we grew sick of it.

I flipped my stick and caught it, then the other. A feat, especially considering the tempo. I heard a cheer from the crowd as I did so and smirked in response.

They thought that was cool? Wait until I show them this.

Slowly, I stood from my stool, keeping the beat as I did so. Marc grinned at me, knowing what I was about to do. Tyra rolled her eyes. Stella glanced at me from the keys, biting her lip. She was always worried we'd get too loud and attract attention, but it was always in vain. Time to prove her wrong, again.

Marc finished his verse. I started a solo, flipping my sticks higher and higher, letting gravity help pound the beats from my drums. I let myself show off, ignoring the crowd. When I played the drums, I was free from my life. I could let my temper take over instead of constantly pushing it back. I put my anger and my pain into my solo, hammering the drums with all my might.

The neglect of the community home. Bam!

No parents. Bam!

Having to take care of Owain. Bam!

What if Owain got Reaped tomorrow? Bam!

Tyra always yelling at me for "being impulsive." Bam!

Stella's overcautiousness. Bam!

Watching Peacekeepers kill civilians again last week. BAM!

Being forced to watch my classmates die on TV next week. BAM!

"Ianto!"

I looked up, snapping out of it. My bandmates were frantic and calling my name. The small crowd was no longer cheering. Instead, they were fleeing through the exits, and it didn't take long to see why.

Peacekeepers.

"You idiot!" Tyra screamed. "Why don't you listen?"

Marc grabbed Stella's hand, and they ran through the back exit. Tyra flipped her guitar to her back and followed them. I tried to pursue them, but the Peacekeepers had rallied up most of the more unlucky audience members, and were now interested in catching me. In my haste, I tripped over a drum and crashed to the floor. The Peacekeepers dragged me to my feet, smirking as I raged against their grip.

"That was a nice solo there, buddy," said the taller one. I couldn't tell if he was being sincere or not, and I didn't care. I tried to punch him, but my arms were held back too tightly. "No, no. Not a good idea."

"Was only a matter of time," said the other. "'Fuck the Peacekeepers?' Really?"

They dragged me away from the stage with the rest of the captured audience. The last thing I saw was my drumsticks lying, forgotten, on the stage floor.

My bandmates had left me behind.

Levi Viscose, District 8, 18

The morning of the Reapings, I woke up to the sound of a baby crying. I looked at the clock and started to get ready for the day. Four hours of sleep was plenty. It was the most I'd gotten in the past month, if I were being honest.

I could hear Dimitry's footsteps moving towards the baby's room. I pulled back the curtain to peek at the sunrise. The sun was moments from surfacing. I stood there in my nightdress with bated breath, watching as golden light began to pour over the world, and smiled in spite of myself. Who needed sleep when there was a view like this right outside?

My door creaked open. Dimitry stood there with the baby in her arms, looking much older than her eighteen years. The baby was fussing loudly, and the circles under Dimitry's eyes were enormous. She was nearly unrecognizable from the girl I'd met all those years ago, back when she was still gentle and kind. Back when she was my friend. None of that was evident now, when she thrusted the baby toward me.

"Take him," she said. "I don't want to deal with this."

"Dimitry-"

"He likes you better than me anyway," she said. "You're already up. I'm not arguing with you right now."

She walked over and passed the baby into my arms, and left before I could protest any more. In truth, she was right; the baby did like me more. Probably because I liked him, too.

"Hi there, little buddy!" I cooed. Checkers's face shifted at the sound of my voice, and he stopped fussing. It was so fascinating to just watch him. At only a month old, he was the most precious little thing I'd ever seen. I played with his hand, looking at his little fingernails. How small they were!

"Want to watch the sunrise with me?" I asked. He just looked back at me, his blue eyes so big and bright. "I'll take that as a yes." I brought him over to the window with me.

"Look at that! Do you like the colors?" I asked him. "Yeah? Me too!"

Checkers was quickly engrossed in looking out the window with me. From the top floor of our building, you could practically see the whole city, even my old house. The Victor's Village was mostly dark, with only one light on. It'd been a while since I took a trip to my old neighborhood; I made a mental note to visit Senna once she got back from the Games. Bringing her home was one of my mother's proudest accomplishments. She had been such a long shot; I still remember her Games well. Maybe I could take Checkers by her house sometime. Did Senna like babies?

"Today's the Reapings, Check," I told him. He looked back at me, his mouth open. I bounced him on my hip as I spoke. "It's my last one. After the ceremony, I'm all safe, and we can spend the afternoon together. How does that sound?"

I could have sworn his eyes got brighter in response. Then, they closed, already exhausted from watching the sunrise with me. Golden light slipped through the folds of his blanket, and I looked at the sky one last time before shutting the curtains. Then, I carried him back to his crib.

Maybe my father and Dimitry didn't care, but I hoped Checkers never lost his bright eyes. The world could use some more of that innocence.

Senna DiCaprio, District 8 Mentor, 22

I sat idly in my chair, listening to the Mayor drone on about patriotism and the Dark Days and textiles. I wished that he would try to spice it up sometimes; changing more than just the year from 84 to 85 would be so much more preferable to this nonsense. If nothing else, he could at least shorten it. I could fall asleep right now. It didn't help that I'd barely slept last night; the night before the Reapings, I rarely did. This year was no different. Looking out at the crowd, it's clear no one is listening. Most of the kids that are eligible this year stare off into the distance, their brows furrowed or biting their lips. I shift in my seat, remembering the anxiety.

"Thank you, Mr. Mayor!" said our Escort, taking over the microphone. Philippia Fillender was naturally tall, with her massive high heels bringing her to a height well over six feet. She towered over the Mayor, who returned to his seat beside me. I rolled my eyes as the scent of his cologne hit me. Every year, I hoped he'd ease up; every year, he never did. A creature of habit, that man.

"And now, for this year's tributes!" she announced. More elegantly than I would have expected, she strode over to the boy's ball, reaching her long, long fingernails into the pile of slips. She fished around for a moment. I didn't hear a single breath as she reached around, finally selecting a small white slip.

"Ianto Baines!" she announced. I looked back to the crowd. There, among the sixteen-year-olds, a circle was clearing. A boy in a juvie jumpsuit stood in the middle of it, his jaw set. He was on the shorter side, with pale, freckled skin and a head of unruly red hair. What he lacked in height he clearly made up in attitude; I could practically feel the fury radiating from him as he stepped forward, his shoulders hunched and stride quick. As he came closer, I noticed he had a nasty black eye. I wondered how he earned that. He stomped up the steps to stand beside Philippia and didn't utter a word, staring straight ahead.

That boy… he could be interesting. Maybe he even had a chance.

Philippia took him in for a moment, then turned to the girl's bowl.

"And, for our female tribute…" she trailed, swirling her hand around the pile of slips. "We have… Levi Viscose! Oh, wow!"

Oh, God.

Among the eighteen-year-old girls, another circle opened up. Levi stood in the center. Her blonde hair was slicked back into her standard ponytail, and she wore a patterned blue dress. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered if she made that herself. She pinched her arm. Then she looked up, her chin high, and walked up to the stage. I tried to catch her eye, but she moved too quickly. I couldn't blame her.

At that moment, I was glad Batiste was already gone. If she wasn't dead, this surely would have killed her.

"Our tributes, Ianto and Levi!" exclaimed Philippia. The crowd clapped. As the Peacekeepers moved forward to take the tributes away, the crowd quickly dispersed.

Ianto Baines, District 8, 16

The Peacekeepers pushed me into a chair so roughly I nearly fell out of it. I glared at their backs as they left. I would've yelled at them, too, but my eye panged at the thought. I wasn't too eager for a matching set of black eyes today.

My friends came in to see my first.

"Oh, Ianto!" said Stella, wrapping her arms around me. Tears stained her cheeks. "I'm so sorry…"

Marc shuffled around behind her, kicking at the ground. Tyra avoided my gaze.

"Sorry for what?" I asked. "This, or last night?"

"Both!" she cried. "We didn't mean to leave you… and now, you're leaving…"

She stepped back, sniffling.

"Listen, we really are sorry," said Marc. "We thought you were right behind us."

"Well, I wasn't," I said flatly.

"We know that now," he said. "It was just bad luck. Really, really bad luck."

"And this is too," said Stella, wiping at her eyes. "We're so, so sorry."

"You know what you can do with your apology?" I asked, standing slowly. Stella backed away from me in alarm. Tyra crossed her arms. "You can stick it up your lousy, traitor, no-good-"

"Don't say anything you'll regret," said Tyra, cutting me off. "We're rooting for you, no matter what."

My breath quickened, heat rising to my face. I could see red in the corners of my vision. I kicked the chair over, one of its legs breaking off on the floor. "What good will that do me now, huh? What good?"

"We love you, Ianto," said Stella softly. They backed out of the room before I could say anything else.

"What good?!" I shouted at the door. But they were gone. I turned around, kicking the chair again. Another leg splintered off. I spit at it in disgust.

"Ianto?"

I turned back toward the door. Owain stood in the entryway.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said, clearing my throat. "Uh, just-"

Owain ran into my arms, knocking the wind out of me. I felt my shirt dampen with his tears.

"I don't want you to go," he said.

"I don't want to leave you," I told him, ruffling his hair.

"First Mom and Dad, and now you," he mumbled.

"Listen, bud," I said, pulling away. "You're not gonna be alone. Just stick close to good people, and you'll be fine. I'll be back in no time."

"You promise?"

"I swear on Mom and Dad's graves," I said, interlocking my pinky finger with his. "I'll be back. These stupid Games are not gonna get the best of me."

"Okay," he said, his voice trembling. He stepped back, and I sized him up. Only thirteen, with a shock of bright red hair to match mine. I should've protected him more. But if I can come back, we can live in a mansion together. He'd be taken care of, because we'd have all the money in the world. I wondered what that felt like.

"I'll see you soon," I said.

The Peacekeepers returned, signaling my time was up. Owain left, his shoulders slumped as he walked out the door. The officers grabbed me by the arms, and before I knew it, I was on the next train out of Eight.

I would see Eight again. That, I knew for a fact.

Levi Viscose, District 8, 18

The first face I saw in the waiting room was Charleston.

"Oh, darling," my fashion mentor said, gathering me up in a hug. "I'm so, so sorry, honey."

We broke apart, and he held my face in his hands. "This will not be the end of you. We still have work to do! The world hasn't seen your genius yet!"

I searched his face. His mouth was set in a firm line, but his eyes were shining with tears.

"I'll miss you," I said. "At least I'll finally get to see that Capitol fashion, right?"

"You will!" he exclaimed. "When you get back, I fully intend to hear all about it."

I nodded fervently. Charleston and I would always discuss Capitol fashion during the Games cycles. I had wished to debate Philippia's heels with him after the Reapings, but it didn't look like that would work out now.

Charleston had known me for several years. He was the first one to believe in my designs and see beyond who my mother was to what I could do. I owed him my entire career. Thus far, a fairly short career, but a career nonetheless.

"You looked beautiful in your dress, dear," he said before departing. "Don't let them put you in anything tacky in the Capitol, you hear me?"

"I do," I said, nodding. He waved at me and blew a kiss before disappearing.

My only other visitors were my father, Dimitry, and Checkers. They stood there silently for a while before I finally spoke.

"Can I hold him?" I asked. Dimitry handed him to me wordlessly. His eyes were open again, and he wrapped his small hand around my finger. I held back tears as I talked.

"I'll see you soon, okay, Check?" I told him. He stared back at me like he always did.

My father cleared his throat. "Time for us to be going, then."

I looked back at him. "Really?"

"I'm sorry this happened," he said. "This is your mother's literal worst nightmare. But there's nothing we can do about it."

"I'm going to fight, Dad," I said. "I'm going to come back."

He raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't reply to that.

"I will," I insisted.

"Then I'll see you when you get back," he said. "We can finally move back into your mother's house."

I glanced at Dimitry, who rolled her eyes at that.

"Goodbye, Levi," he said. He left.

It was just me and Dimitry now.

"I'll take him back," she said, stepping toward me and Checkers.

"I'll miss you," I said abruptly, searching her face for any reaction, for any hint of my old best friend.

She looked away.

"I already do," I said quietly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"I miss the old you," I said. "Back when we were little. Before I walked in on you and my father fucking in a sex swing."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "I'm still the same person."

"No, you're not, and you know that."

She stared at me, her jaw set.

"I want him back now."

"Dimitry-"

"I want him back, now," she repeated, her eyes hard. She took Checkers from my arms, and he immediately started crying.

"Great," she muttered. Without looking at me again, she too left the room.

How did I get into this mess?

*And that concludes our first Reapings! How did you like Ianto and Levi? Big thanks to TheWatcherofTheVoid and ladyqueerfoot for sending them my way. I hope I did them justice.

Next up is District 1. There are still a few open slots if you're interested in submitting!

-r-b*