Hi!

Time for the reapings.

Thanks for any reviews, favourites, follows...all of that jazz. Each and every one is appreciated. Thank you, honestly. It gives my confidence a boost, and the feedback has been great for my writing. MetallicShadow10, MidnightRaven323, Jenna, xxbookwormmockingjayxx, Alec, and Nate...thanks a bunch for hanging around to review the last chapter.

Thank you to everyone who sent in their characters for this chapter: Adira (by LokiThisIsMadness), Landon (by Jalen Kun - yes, I saw the Dollhouse reference when I wrote him XD), Izzy (by BamItsTyler), and Leigha (by jakey121).

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Child abuse and neglect. Alcoholic parenting.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I've created.

"It's about being real. Being awake to everything. Feeling like nothing can hurt you if you can look it straight on." ~Krista Tippett

Adira Linett, Eighteen, District One Female

We meet under the old oak tree in the meadow.

We're alone, just Liana and I, enjoying the time before my final reaping.

I gently rip up a blade of grass from the lush green field beneath my body, twirling the green stalk between my fingers. It's odd really, how quiet the world is at this moment when in a couple of hours the District will be a hive of enthusiastic careers, rushing and punching their way to the front of the stage.

That's too bad.

I'm volunteering today. No glory for them this year.

I'm tense, which is to be expected considering the task ahead of me. I'm supposed to be going into the Hunger Games where I could very easily die. I'm powerful, strong, skilled, perhaps even a possible victor. But I know my weaknesses as well, and that's what puts me out from the rest. It's so easy to be overconfident in a game like this, but that will only get you killed.

I have bigger worries though, ones that hit closer to home. I'm anxious, unsettled, and so obviously worried as usual that I'm shaking like a leaf. Hell, I'm a plant blowing in the wind. I'm more unsettled than the raging oceans of District Four when a thunderstorm hits the shores. Even in this quiet and peaceful place, I feel like I'm about to be attacked. Then again, this is always how I feel. I always feel on the defensive, as if something is about to come out and stab me in the back when I'm not looking.

Thinking about it, it's a stupid thing to worry about, but that's the truth of the matter. I can't keep the possibilities of getting back-stabbed by someone out of my head. I'm constantly on edge. Even the soft calls of tweeting sparrows can't quell the emotional unrest that's inside of me.

"Adira, babe," Liana says, bringing my attention to her.

Her grey eyes are clouded in concern.

"It's okay. We're safe. I'm here."

Liana is my girlfriend, and if I was honest with anyone, then she would probably be the best thing that's ever happened to me. I've lived my life fighting to get what I want, and I suppose that my reward for getting by for so long was meeting her. Truthfully, I didn't fall for her straight away. She kind of crept up on me, like a beautiful stalking wolf that slowly drew me to her beauty. Her red curls are like scarlet wine, enough to make me feel drunk from her love. She is my everything, and I am hers.

But I'm not worthy.

I don't want to admit it, but I'm not. I'm not worthy of Liana's love. I don't feel like I deserve it until I've proved myself in some way to her. I know she'd tell me off if I ever told her that's the way I felt, but I just can't help but to feel that way. I guess that's part of the reason I'm volunteering for this year's games. I want to prove to people what I'm capable of. I want to be worthy of people's respect, and in Liana's case, her love.

Sighing, I lay on my back, my hand creating a shadow for my grey eyes, blocking out the brightness of the sun. A ticklish feeling moves it's way gently down my face; Liana is stroking my cheek lovingly. I try to relax, and I manage to somewhat. There's just too many emotions and thoughts inside of me, and that makes it hard to control.

"What are you thinking about?" Liana asks me, seemingly curious.

"You," I tell her. "Volunteering. Everything else."

Expressing my emotions is hard. I've always been the quiet girl of the family, the one people skip over. The one people forget. That's okay though. Everyone else in my family are pretty loud, so I guess I stand out in a way.

"You know you can do this," she tells me, confidence glittering in her eyes. "You don't win by not trying. You win because you've come so far, and you're only willing to go further. I know you can win. You're smart, strong, skilled...you'll be a formidable enemy in the Games, nobody can deny that."

"I'm not worried about my skills," I sigh, my hand brushing through my tangled, straw-like hair. "I'm worried that someone in the career pack will betray us."

"And if that happens," Liana replies. "Then you'll know who to kill first. You're alert enough to know if something's up. If you smell trouble, get out of there and hunt tributes on your own. Or maybe make an ally. Who knows?"

"Are you sure I'll be okay?" I pout, still feeling somewhat dispirited.

In response, Liana leans over and rests her nose on mine. I look into her eyes and lose myself in their gentle colour. She kisses me gently on the lips, a kiss that's deep and meaningful. After a second she pulls back, whispering to me.

"Absolutely. I have every confidence in you."

I wish I could tell my family about Liana, and how amazing she is. They often wonder why I'm away so often, spending time with her. They think I have a secret boyfriend. Well, I have a secret girlfriend, but I don't know what they'd say about something like that. Considering the fact I sleep around Liana's house, they'd definitely disapprove. My confidence will be stronger if I survive the Games though. I can come back home to my family and introduce them to Liana, whether or not they accept me for who I am.

I've had crushes on guys in the past, but Liana's the one for me. Being bisexual isn't usually frowned upon unless you consider what some families think. It's mostly accepting, except for maybe the more traditional homes. I would consider my parents one of the more "traditional" families.

Mom's not so bad. I know she doubts herself, but she cares about all of us. My older brother Tanner is easily her favourite, being the future man of the family. For the most part, Becca, Sasha and I just do our own thing, although my sisters are usually loud. As kids, they all used to compete for attention except me. I just kept my mouth shut, my head down, and worked towards what I wanted.

"You should go, babe," Liana whispers. "You need to get ready."

I don't want to leave her behind. I reach over and grab her hand, squeezing it gently.

"You'll come and visit me in the Justice Building, right?" I ask her. "After the reapings?"

Smiling, Liana nods.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Being two years older than me, Liana doesn't have to worry about the reapings because she's outgrown them. In some ways, I would consider myself lucky, but in others, I see the Games as an opportunity. I have to show the world what I'm made of. I'm not just a quiet girl blending into the background, I'm Adira Linett, and I'm ready to fight.

Somehow, the idea doesn't fit well into my head.

I can't help but doubt the image of my victory, especially when I'm aware that I risk losing everything I have. Is that worth it? Is it worth me leaving everything behind just to prove myself? Is it worth me surrendering my life here in District One when I could die at any point during the Games?

I've had this conversation a hundred times before, and the answer has always been yes.

It's definitely worth it.

"I'll catch you later," I tell Liana, smiling nervously.

Getting up, I brush myself down and check myself for green stripes against my jeans. Grass-stains are the least I have to deal with, but they're still annoying. Liana gives me a hopeful smile and a wave, leaving me to return home alone. I've rolled my jeans up enough to expose my ankles to the warm sun. The grass tickles my exposed skin and I move swiftly to the other side of the field, thousands upon thousands of green tendrils beneath my feet, reaching up into the sky. I jump over the fence with ease, feeling the rough wood beneath my fingers. Years later, and this fence still needs a paint job. I make my way along the cobbled path leading to the main part of the District. It's a lengthy walk, but mostly because I take my time. I might as well spend it how I want it, considering I might never have time to myself like this for a while.

My house is a usual haven of silence when I finally return. My Mom is probably in one of the jewellery stores, making sure things are running smoothly as usual. Mom and I have never really been the closest, especially because my Mom prefers to focus on my older brother, Tanner. He's enough of a show-off to get most of the attention since he's the charming one of our family, the one who knows his way around words and people. Then there's Sasha, Becca and me. The three girls left to one side to be forgotten. Dad's probably working hard as well. Dad and I get along, in the rare moments when we are alone together. He's always working hard on all of our jewellery businesses and running them in an efficient way, but that means we don't seem him very often. As the two quietest members of the family, Dad and I understand each other, even when our moments are filled with silence and looks of understanding. It's a shame those moments are rare.

Both Sasha and Becca are waiting for me outside the house. Honestly, my two sisters are two of the closest people in my life. I tell them everything and vice versa. Sasha's more naive, only sixteen and quite sweet, still somewhat airy and childish in her mannerisms. She's growing up fast, but she'll always be my little sister. Becca is louder, but she gets me. She understands how unsure I feel of other people, how unstable I can get when my emotions fight over each other. It's not as serious as it sounds, but it's bad enough to affect my life more than it needs to.

"How's Liana?" Becca asks me as soon as I'm within earshot.

Sasha and Becca are the only one's who know about Liana. Maybe if I win the Games, then they won't be the only ones to know.

"She was good, yeah," I tell them shortly, my nerves clearly on my mind. "I'll say goodbye properly in the Justice Building after the reapings. I know she'll want to come. Are you two coming too?"

"Duh!" Sasha smiles. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Adira."

I crack a smile. It's a rare appearance, especially with my nerves so high strung, but I'm happy for it.

"Come here," I ask them opening my arms wide. "I'm gonna need a moment..."

Without question, both of my sisters come to me, allowing me to embrace them. I take in everything about them; their warmth, their scent, their beating hearts that hold unconditional love for me. What would I do without these people? They've helped to keep me sane for so long so that I don't scream the house down. Even if my family isn't perfect, then at least these two have made it worlds better.

"We should get you ready," Becca decides finally, taking my hand. "Come on Adira! We have to make you look badass enough to make the outliers shit themselves."

"Yeah!" Sasha pipes up. "I have look I want to try out. I've been planning this for months."

Laughing, I follow them into the house, letting them drag me upstairs and into our shared room. We're so close that it's normal for all of us to share the same room. We don't have secrets, and we're there for each other when we can be. It just works better that way.

As I stand in front of the mirror on the wall, my smile begins to die, even though the joy still resides in my heart.

Even if I'm dying in these Games, then at least I can know that I tried. I was strong enough to make a stand, to prove myself where others couldn't believe in me to do so. I've been the forgotten child for so long now, and I feel like it's finally time for me to show everyone that I'm not to be underestimated. I'll prove myself worthy of Liana's love. I'll show her the girlfriend she truly deserves.

With these thoughts and the giggling of my sisters next to me, I can believe in myself.

The sound of their laughter...

It's a memory I'll treasure forever.

Landon Caruso, Eighteen, District Two Male

My house is quiet, empty, and cold.

Its walls scream emptiness, a void that threatens to shake its foundations to its very core. A single sound here is amplified by a thousand times, residual echos that repeat themselves, over and over and over again. The mirror before me is a pristine model, my empty expression reflected in the spotless surface. It's almost as if I'm looking into another world, just as empty and cold as my own. It's almost as if the noise around it is sucked inside, dissolving into deep, dark silence...

But it's fake.

Almost as fake as my fucking family.

My family is a proud one, fueled by arrogance and thought to be perfect. We can walk around in our suits and dresses, playing dress-up and pretending to be something we're not. That's what the Caruso's are known for. We're a collective group of pristine pieces, a family that strives for perfection over anything else. My friends are friends that my father chose for me. My life is spent inside the house most of the time, with the exception of brief contact with the outside world. This is what we must look like, pure and perfect, a lot like a porcelain doll...so pretty, yet so fragile. I'm a caged bird, locked behind glass and brick with no way of escape.

A part of me wishes to escape.

I could run outside, down to the meadow or out with some of the other members of the District. We could laugh together, joke around and have a good time. But no, the Caruso's are not like that. I have to do what my family expects of me, rather than doing what I want. That means suits, champagne and politeness rather than the appealing relaxation that commoner life could bring me. I can't say a word against Father, and there's nobody else that will help me, beside the servants of course, who would probably get fired if they ever tried to help me out.

The mirror in front of me tells me enough. I'm dressed in a smart suit, perfectly clean and matching, ready for the reapings.

Today, I'm going to volunteer.

I don't want to volunteer, not at all. It's my Father's wishes that have put me in this position. Of course, his perfect little boy needs to go out there and be a victor, doesn't he? He has to show the District that the Caruso family are more than just rich; they breed victors too. Even the thought of words coming from my Father's mouth repulses me, vomit boiling in my stomach. Not a word will escape my lips, at least not yet. As soon as I'm in that arena, all of the secrets about my family with come out, slowly at first, and then all at once. I would pay all the money in the world to see my Father's expression when that happens. My face breaks into a smile at that thought. I can imagine his face paling and draining of all colour. Next, plates will smash and words will echo off these empty walls. He'll be angry, and I'll love it.

Beforehand, Father's anger would always scare me. If I ever disobeyed him, he'd lock me up in a closet, leaving me in the suffocating darkness for hours on end with no way to escape. Even now, I shift uncomfortably at the memories of the countless times he's locked me in there. He's done it ever since I was a child. If I stepped a toe out of line or didn't present myself perfectly, then into the closet I would go. I would spend hours in there, coughing violently as I breathed in the musty air, dust clogging up my throat and choking me slowly. The wooden walls of my prison were rough, rife with splinters that stung my fingers. I remember struggling in the tight and constrictive space. It was always dark in there, a never-ending darkness that lost me within itself. The ominous blackness swallowed me up, leaving me to cry in a ball for hours, begging for my release.

They are memories that haunt me even to this day.

As much as I would love to change and be more like my true self, I can't. Maybe I can relax more in the arena, say what I want. But until then, every day is a training day. I was training this morning in preparation for the Games. Ever since I was six, I've been forced to go down into the basement and fight over and over and over again. I've watched every Hunger Games from start to finish. I've trained with almost every weapon there is to train with. Despite it all, I was never perfect enough for Father. I was pushed relentlessly until I achieved something. I hate training. I really do. It's a meaningless task that gives me no joy, and yet no words of protest must come from my lips, not if I want to end up in that closet again. Being older, the tight space would be even tighter and twice as uncomfortable.

I'm done here.

The stairs don't creak at all as I walk downstairs, and my quiet footsteps are barely audible as I move silently into the kitchen to greet my Mother. I figured that I might as well be the doll that Father wants me to be, the mannequin everyone asks for. My Mother is often drunk in here, sipping from bottles of old wine. She drinks to forget, but she always remembers. I can't pinpoint why she's drunk. I'm not close to her when she's sober. I'm not close to her at all. Maybe it's the women my Father brings home so often, his dirty secret that is locked behind my lips. It's a secret that must stay in my head, caged a lot like myself. I learnt of Father's secret, and I know that Mother knows as well. She can sit there, dressed up and pretty, looking vain and trying to be the perfect wife. The reality is broken, shattered in the wake of her drunken slurring.

The District thinks we're perfect. We're far from it. But of course, everyone else thinks differently. The Caruso family are faultless, are they not? The reputation of our perfection is widespread and well-known. It's what draws people to us rather than what drives them away. Many girls have expressed their attraction to my green eyes and brown curls. I suppose I'm attractive to them, although Father will probably want me to marry someone of his choice.

That's if I live that long.

"Greetings, Mother," I say politely, looking at my Mother's half-open eyes and loud belching.

There are four empty wine bottles next to her, and she's halfway through her fifth. She's far gone for sure, but in a way, I doubt she cares about herself. I don't care about her either. I don't care about anyone in this family, but I digress. After all, I have to be the perfect prince everyone wants me to be. Thoughts like these will only make me want to talk about them, and talking about them lands me back in that closet.

"Whadoyuuwant?" she slurs, looking at me with a sense of disdain.

"I was wondering what you thought of this suit," I tell her politely, hiding my distaste with ease. "Father wants me to wear it for when I volunteer today. For the Hunger Games. Do you think it's suitable?"

My tone is cool and calm, almost borderline clinical. As always, it holds no emotion. I'll speak to people like myself when they accept me for being myself. I can't do that here, and so I must obey the rules. I say it softly, gently, almost submissively. I have to play my part after all; the meek boy from District Two with an unknown sense of strength. The cold and empty kid, the one who can kill without mercy.

"Getdafuckouto'here..." she slurs again.

You get the fuck out of here.

"As you wish, Mother."

Bowing, I leave the kitchen, searching for my Father. It's not long until we have to go to the reapings, an experience I'm sure will be amazing. Think again. It's an experience I can't stand to endure. I'll cope with it for now. I'll do anything to escape my asshole of a father. He's just looking to profit from me as usual.

My sister appears to me, gently fading into existence as if she's some kind of ghost.

"Hello Brother." she greets me.

"Are you here for a reason?" I reply, the politeness dropping from my tone. "I didn't think you would be one to come and say goodbye."

She smiles, an empty face with no happiness behind it. I don't care for my sister, and I don't think she cares for me. It's a mutual emptiness, an emptiness I've long grown used to. I used to believe that she cared, but these days I feel like she doesn't. She hasn't made any indication to suggest otherwise.

"Well, I thought it prudent to bid farewell to you, dear Brother," she tells me. "The Victor of the 81st Hunger Games stands before me, does he not? I must look upon you in awe and wonder about the incredible feats you'll commit in the arena."

She sounds sarcastic, sickly sweet and fake, much like her appearance. She's too much like Mother; too perfect, to artificial, too curated into something she's not. Her words irritate me slightly. If I was a victor, I would do all I could to never to come back. If I won, I would have to return here, where my life is nothing but a mask, a shell of what I could be. Maybe volunteering for my death is something I wish for, just to spite my Father. I could die in the arena and escape from everything that's held me back for the past eighteen years. I could win too, tell my family to fuck off and claim my prize. But my future is uncertain. My Father controls my every move, and he could do it again. Even moving to a different place might not take me away from his domineering grasp.

"Britney," I say, my features like stone but my insides like fire.

"Landon," she replies, looking at me carefully.

"Farewell," I tell her. "May you pray for my safe return."

I almost gag on the forced politeness of my words, but I remain composed.

"I will, dear Brother," she replies, just as my Father rounds the corner.

As soon as she's finished with me, my sister walks away again, almost as if my existence means nothing to her. It probably doesn't.

"Right Landon," my Father tells me sternly. "You know the rules. Volunteer. Get yourself to the stage. Win the Hunger Games."

"Yes, Father," I tell him, my body motionless.

I'm facing the door, but I feel his hand dig into my shoulder and he begins to push me forward to collect my coat.

"We've been training you for years now," he continues. "You're not perfect, but you're ready. You're ready to win."

I nod at his words, a simple confirmation I do when I'm already zoning out, closing myself off from his constant spew of bullshit.

Yes, Father. Of course, Father. Anything for you, Father.

Fuck my Father. Fuck my family. Fuck my reputation.

All I wanted was to escape. Is that too much to ask? Am I hoping for something that will never happen?

All I wanted was to get away. I live in an empty place, paint a smile on my face and hope to be as perfect as they want me to be. No, we won't let them look through the curtains of our painted windows or hear the slurs of my Mother as she forgets my Father's infidelity. We'll pretend to be perfect, before melting into our own sins and secrets, only to harden into shiny, smooth plastic as soon as someone comes along. We're not scandalous, oh no. We're not fake, never!

We're the Caruso family, happily living in our perfect little dollhouse.

Isabella "Izzy" Moire, Sixteen, District Five Female

My day ends early, and my peace of mind leaves me.

Working among the machines in the factory where I work, is probably the only place where I can find a moment of solace from my fragmented mind. Honestly, my head is a hive filled with buzzing bees. It's not my fault I'm slightly out of place, a little bit eccentric, a little "weird", but other people certainly care about it more than I do.

I've been facing the door of the factory for a couple of minutes, waiting for Zapp to come out with me. We've ended early for the reapings, and despite being only fourteen, Zapp seems to be set on earning every penny he can possibly earn. I'm a little young to be working in a factory myself, but we both have our reasons. Finally, the scraping tired feet belonging to my friend alerts me to his arrival.

"Zapp!" I cheer in greeting, jumping on him and giving him a hug. "We've got an hour to kill!"

Zapp buckles slightly under me, despite expecting the added weight of me jumping on him. He gives me a groan and an annoyed glare, but the glare has no weight. I know under that mildly annoyed exterior that he cares about me. That's why he's my friend. My only friend. See, everyone else in the District thinks I'm a little bit crazy, or a little too wild. I think it's complete rubbish; I like to smile and have fun! I like to be a little bit eccentric and express who I am, even if it is a little on the hyper side. Unfortunately, everyone else doesn't see me like that. They think I'm insane, a lunatic who should be holed up somewhere, never to be in contact with society ever again.

That's why when a girl barges past me as she does every day, I do nothing but send a glare at her retreating back.

"Out of the way, freak!" she hisses. "Lost your medication again?"

I roll my eyes and ignore her. I'm so used to getting comments like these from people my own age that I've just gotten used to it.

Returning to my sunny persona, I grab Zapp's hand, pulling me along with me.

"C'mon!" I shout, trying to hurry forward. "We need to get going! We don't have long to get ready."

"Izzy..." Zapp sighs. "Just chill out, okay? We all have to get there at some point, I'm sure they won't punish us if we're a little bit late."

I turn back to him.

"We should be there on time," I tell him, my tone less happy-go-lucky, and more serious. "You know Peacekeepers; they'll give any reason to give us hell for being late. I'll meet you when we sign in, okay?"

I might come across as the crazy, happy, over-the-top girl, but I'm not stupid. I find it funny that people can look at me in that way and think I'm some kind of an airhead, but that's okay...I'll surprise them when they least expect it! I'm smart enough to know who's a liar and who's not, who plays the games and how they win them; not to mention how some people lose them as well. Being able to tell if someone is genuine or not is a skill that few possess and many wish for. I'm lucky enough to smell a fake personality from a mile away. I don't know how I do it, but I guess it's just this vibe that rubs me the wrong way. It's this feeling I get when I talk to someone that feels like something's blocking me. It's almost as if some people think I can be fooled by what facade they decide to hide behind.

Trust me, it's like a superpower. Except not. Or maybe it is?

Who even knows anymore?

Zapp is already gone by the time I've made it home. We live near each other, but I think today's getting to me a little bit. After all, this is the day I could be sent off to fight for my life! Crazy stuff, right? It's begun to rain now, the sky darkening before me. The clouds are dark grey, like the ash from charcoal. Down comes the rain, dampening my brown curls. Squinting my brown eyes at the sky, I lift my face to the heavens, enjoying the feeling of the rain on my skin. Thunder soon joins the fray, a warped roar from up above. Smiling, I stand there for a few minutes. I love thunder, and when the rain comes, it's always a reminder that some thunder might come with it. It's my favourite weather in a way because I feel strangely at home in it.

Maybe that has something to with the time I got shocked by an electric pole. It was thundering then as well, although there wasn't lightning, so I can't have been shocked that way. I've long put it down to an electric malfunction in one of the factories, but even now I can remember the weather that made me this way. I've always been a little different, a little "unhinged" per se, but not in a bad way at all! I like to be happy and spread my cheer around; people either laugh at me, ignore me, or think I'm an idiot.

To hell am I an idiot.

I must be funny. Or boring. Or both.

Or maybe even none of them.

"Hey loser," someone calls. "Getting your daily drinking water?"

The spiteful voice is followed by a deep chorus of laughter. Some boys are laughing at me. I feel a sharp and sudden pain in my leg, and I look down to my foot, where a stone sits beside it. Are they throwing stones at me now? Angry, but not wanting to do something stupid, I rush inside the house, hiding within its four walls. I'm soaking wet from standing outside in the thunderstorm, but other than the stone-throwing, I feel pretty happy. Thunderstorms call me. I know that sounds insane, but my heart leaps in happiness whenever I hear or experience them. All the chaos of the sky is strangely comforting.

"Izzy?" my Mom calls, coming in the hall to see me standing there, soaking wet. "Oh, Izzy, you've been caught in the storm dear!"

"But I love the storms!" I tell her honestly. "They make me feel happy. It's something about all of that energy located in one place. I wonder if you could harness it or something."

"Well...that's lovely dear..." Mom tells me, smiling.

Liar.

She's faking a smile once again, but at least she's nicer than my Dad. My parents and I are kinda rocky. Mom's focused on the rest of my siblings because she doesn't know what to do with me. Just because I'm different, it doesn't mean I'm useless. Sadly though, it's painfully obvious that she feels that way. Dad just hates my "craziness". He thinks I'm kind of a nutcase, and he's pretty much given up hope. At least my Mom doesn't make that painfully obvious.

It's the same with everyone here in District Five. Everyone seems to hate me for no reason. All I am is a little bit odd, like a jigsaw piece that's slightly out of place. Just because I'm a little less normal, it doesn't mean that I have to be treated as an abomination. People beat me up, call me names, look at me with such disdain; I wonder what it's all for. Why are they doing this to me? What have I ever done to deserve this? Should I face what treatment they give me, the names they label me with?

Freak. Loser. Crazy bitch. Dumbass.

The list could go on forever. The names they've called me could become a dictionary of terms, something else that hates me just as much as the rest of the world appears to. Often, I feel lonely. I mean, I have Zapp, but he's the only person who really has my back. It often feels like everyone just doesn't really care anymore. It's almost as if I'm stuck in a room with no door, in a ditch with no ladder, or wrapped in chains with no ends. It's an infinite cycle of hate, bullets that fly towards me and hit my heart every single time. It hurts, but I've gotten used to it.

Standards don't matter, not when you're me. I have to show myself to be strong, so I fight back if I can. I shake my fist, glare at others and give them back what they deserve. It's not nearly so bad as what abuse they all give me, but at least that's something.

I don't answer Mom, moving upstairs and into my room. It's a vibrant purple, which is my favourite colour. I've always liked the darkness it held, among the vibrancy of it. It's a comforting colour to me, it's almost like a galaxy in a way, and that's always been cool. I skip past my maths textbook from school, smiling at it. I've always enjoyed maths and reading things, so the combination of both has been a joy to involve myself in. I've read the book so many times that I can probably recite it, but the odd thing is that it never seems to get old. That's why the world is so diverse and interesting to me. It's constantly changing. There's always something new to see or explore.

Changing clothes is fairly standard, and I make sure to wash myself as well, the old purple sponge gliding over my freckled brown skin. I guess I'd be confident in myself enough to say that I'm pretty, but I've probably scared all the boys away. I wouldn't know what to do with one anyway. What would I say? What would I do? What would he think of me? I wave off that notion. I doubt anything like that is happening any time soon, so why should I worry?

I dry myself, dress, and make sure I hug my Mom on the way out. She knows how I do things. Get them done and move along. I'm not too fussy, plus I can tell when I'm not wanted.

Zapp greets me, waiting at the end of the reaping line, waiting to sign in. Several others file behind me, keeping their distance with dirty looks and whispers hidden behind their hands. I roll my eyes, ignoring them and focusing on my friend.

"You feeling good?" I chirp, hoping to make my friend happier.

"Yeah...if it wasn't for the fact that I might be reaped..." Zapp tells me with mock annoyance.

"Well, I'm not going to sugarcoat it," I shrug. "You could be reaped. But you're smart! You could win."

Zapp regards me gently.

"Thanks, Izzy," he says, his voice soft and genuine. "That actually means a lot."

"That's what I'm here for!" I announce.

The queue becomes small enough for Zapp to sign in.

I soon follow him, twitching a little bit as my finger is pricked. I'm usually quite twitchy in general since it's just who I am. I can feel a muscle in my arm twitching now, although my attention isn't really gravitated towards it. I guess the fact that I twitch sometimes makes me seem like more of a crazy looking character, but again, people's assumptions are often wrong. I guess that's fine though.

Zapp hugs me before we go our own separate ways.

"Good luck," he whispers.

"You too!" I tell him.

I walk down and move into the sixteen-year-old female section, the rough rope scraping against my hands as I lightly skim my palm across it. Several girls that stand next to me start whispering as soon as I come near them, giving me space and keeping their distance. I've long grown used to it now; all the snide remarks and the laughing behind my back. They know I can hear it, but I won't let them enjoy my reaction. There's no point in fighting back.

As the rain falls from the sky, I close my eyes, finding my inner peace.

Whatever happens after the reaping, I have to remain strong, to fight for what I believe in. I'll take a stand against the entire District if I have to.

It's a crazy idea, to fight against the world when it's against you.

I guess I'll do it anyway.

Leigha Tullson, Eighteen, District Six Female

Trying to remain positive in this situation is hopeless.

I'm trying my best to keep it together, standing next to all the other girls my age. It's my last reaping, and the only thing I'm asking for right now is just not get reaped. There's a thousand situations going through my head, and none of them are good. Getting reaped, having to train, fighting for my life...yeah, I'd rather not thanks. I'd always have to look behind me and making sure nobody's creeping up on me. I do that enough times here in Six, and nobody's trying to kill me.

I look down at my hands, trying to stop my anxiety from controlling me. This situation always puts my nerves on edge. I'm sure everyone else is feeling the strain, but I can't help but to focus on myself right now. The stone beneath my feet grounds me a little bit, and I look back up. The mentor for District Six, Mona, is on the stage. She looks like she can barely contain her boredom, but I've always got a different vibe from her. She's not as uncaring as some people think - it's a defence mechanism, just like anyone else's. She's trying to hide where her feelings can't be hurt.

The escort for District Six comes up to the front of the stage. She appears to be dressed up like a traffic light, completely oblivious to the ridiculousness of her appearance. I don't recognise her from before, so maybe the Capitol has switched around a few escorts this year. It's a brief distraction, but a welcomed one.

It keeps my negative thoughts at bay.

I'll be honest, I want to be a positive person. I've always tried to be. But I feel like there's just something that holds me back. I always feel like something bad is going to happen, or if someone is going to change something that will affect my life. I guess I'm the type of person to expect the worst, even when I don't particularly want to. Thankfully, it's only an internal struggle. My face is like a blank slate; unreadable. I do that a lot. I keep things to myself and outwardly portray someone who's calm and composed. It's easier to do, and I've built it up over the years. It doesn't attract any worry either, so I don't have to be afraid of socialising with people about problems they neither need nor have time for.

"Welcome to the 81st Hunger Games!" the woman calls from the front. "Before we reap our tributes for this year, we'll be showing you our film depicting the reason why we're here!"

She claps her hands together excitedly. She doesn't look like she's smart enough to know what "depicting" means, but again, I keep this to myself. I'm disgusted at her peppiness as well. How can someone be so happy after seeing children die once every year? I get that it's some kind of sick sport, but even now it baffles me that people can have such an interest in the Games. I'm hoping I won't get reaped to go there this year, especially when it's my last reaping, but of course, I'm likely to have bad luck.

The film begins on a screen in front of us, and I stare blankly at one corner. I've seen this film six times before, so why do I need to bother watching it through again? Finally, the film ends and spares me the torture. I'm tired of having to listen to the empty victories that the Capitol continue to promise us. I wouldn't be surprised if one day they just executed all of us, just to watch and laugh as we'd scramble to survive.

The oddly colourful escort waits for the film to end before walking over to the girls reaping bowl.

"Ladies first, as usual!" she giggles, the sound almost like a hiccup.

She dips her hand in and makes a big deal of rifling her hand around the bowl, finding a slip. I really wish she wasn't doing this. It doesn't make me feel any better about the possibility of getting reaped.

Don't be ridiculous. I try to convince myself. There are so many other names in that bowl. It can't be-

"Leigha Tullson!"

My name is like a gunshot, a sharp and sudden announcement that runs through the crowd. Almost in slow motion, all of the girls in my section move and turn to me, their eyes lingering on my face. It's tense, too tense. I feel like some kind of class act; being watched and judged by everyone who looks at me.

I have to keep it together.

There are so many thoughts and feelings running through my mind right now, and I haven't got any idea as to how I can cope with them. My own name hits me like a freight train. If I'm honest, I've never realised how much impact a name could have on me, not until now. With my own name, my world comes crashing down in front of me. Everything just...shatters. My body is rigid, almost frozen like ice. On the outside, I'm an empty husk, blinking several times to try and process the fact that it's me and that I was chosen, out of everyone else.

With this realisation, chaos erupts inside of me.

I focus on my feet, trying to compose myself. My vision blurs with tears, and I desperately blink them away, focusing on my shoes. My own feet move me forward, a quick yet regretful pace. I don't want to go up to the stage and face the truth, but I know that if I don't, the Peacekeepers will only do it for me. My knees are shaking, bumping together with every step I take. Already, I can tell that I look as if I'm about to collapse, and I feel that way. My mind is filled with the negative possibilities that I've always been a slave to. Back then, those were hypothetical.

Now they're real.

I try to keep myself composed, even though it's obvious that I've already failed to keep my cool. The escort walks slowly over to the boys reaping bowl, performing the same process before picking out another slip of paper. This person will be destined to die if I am to live.

"Geoni Proctor!"

At first, I don't see my District partner, but soon a short, geeky-looking boy moves out from the thirteen-year-old section. He stiffly walks to the stage, holding in his emotions much better than I did. A woman screams, and I realise that the sound is coming from the right of me. It's the mayor of our District, begging the escort for her son not to be taken from her.

"Please, please!" she sobs. "He doesn't deserve this! Choose someone else, please!"

Other members of the District look pitifully at both Geoni and his Mother, but they know that there's nothing they can do. Geoni runs up to his Mom, trying to hug her, only to be pulled away by a Peacekeeper, where he's shoved to the other side of the escort. It's a much more dramatic scene than my own reaping, but I'm glad for it. I don't want people to focus on my failed composure, although my brain immediately reminds me that they probably will.

Come on, think positively.

Telling myself to try and be positive is about as useful as pretending to be happy, but it's a start. Instead of being stuck in a pessimistic rut, I should aim to be more hopeful. Sure, my situation is bleak, and it's possible that I won't get out alive. But maybe I have a chance, even if it's barely there. A chance is still a chance, right?

"District Six, I give you Leigha Tullson and Geoni Proctor!"

I turn to the small boy before me, who seems slightly repulsed to shake my dirty hand, but does so anyway. I stare him in the eye, not giving anything away. Just because he's young, it doesn't mean that he won't be the one to kill me. The doors to the Justice Building open up behind us, and we're led through, almost in complete silence, since the crowd behind us doesn't seem to have much faith in our survival. I agree with them. I don't have much faith either.

I'm grabbed roughly by a Peacekeeper, and half dragged away from Geoni and our escort. The halls of the Justice Building are nice; plush red carpet, posh-looking pictures on the walls, complete with circular lights on the ceiling. It appears to be grand, grander than any other building I've properly explored. I'm shoved into a room, the door slamming shut behind me.

This is the part I hate.

I sit beside a window, looking out over the District, trying to soak it up one last time. I can see the crowd at the reapings dispersing, slowly returning to their homes to celebrate the safety of their children. I gently stroke the velvet cushion beside me, hoping to gain some kind of confidence about my situation, but it escapes me. I can tell that I'm still a little shocked and somewhat lost within myself. I wasn't prepared for this, no matter how many times my mind had made me fear the worst. Now the worst is actually happening, and I'll have to say goodbye to my family one last time. And then I'll die. I could live, but I'll have to wait and see what the competition is. My biggest worry is the careers, but I don't want to start thinking about how strong or smart they might be in comparison to myself. It's a future of uncertainty, and I feel strangely calmer than I thought I would be. I'm taken over by a sense of resignation. I have to do this now. I have no other choice.

The creak of a door saves me from my own thoughts, and Ty is pushed into the room.

For a moment, we just look at each other. It's a moment where both of us assess the situation, knowing that my options are limited. I feel my eyes begin to well up again as I rush towards him, hugging him tightly. Ty has probably been the most constant friend in my life. I've made others, but he's always been there, unmoving and unyielding. He's like the big brother I never had.

"It was me..." I tell him. "It was me, Ty. Why did it have to be me?"

"Because it was," he says simply. "But it doesn't matter now. You just have to focus on getting home, okay? Train, listen to your mentor, find allies. You know how it goes."

I nod at his words, taking them in and committing them to memory. I have to fight, and now is not the time to be a bumbling crybaby, as much as my own mind is begging me to hide away.

"I'm just worried about putting my trust in someone," I tell him. "I don't want them backstabbing me."

"You're smart, Leigha," Ty tells me firmly. "You'll know who to go to when the time comes. There's got to be some decent tributes out there, especially a couple you can trust."

He holds me tightly, and I hug him back with the same intensity, feeling his heart beating against mine. I know that he'll be hoping that I come home, no matter what it takes, no matter how messed up I might end up becoming. He squeezes my hand once more before the Peacekeeper opens the door and ushers him out.

He's quickly replaced by my parents.

I'm an only child, and life has always been just the three of us. It's been a struggle to stay alive, to put food on the table, but we've managed somehow. We've survived long enough to stay alive. Mom and Dad are better than me. They're so calm, but I can tell that they don't suffer from their own minds, struggling to be positive. It's hard to keep composed, but they care about me and vice versa. We're strong together, a family that never gives up.

"My child..." Mom mutters, walking forward to hug me. "Stand up. I can tell that you're afraid, Leigha, but don't let others see that. Stand strong, and don't be afraid to give it all you got, okay?"

"I-I will..." I mutter in reply.

Mom's always been strong, maybe a little snappy when she's annoyed, but she takes no shit. You do something and get over it, and that's how I was brought up. My situation isn't a good one, but I know I'm going to have to cope with it somehow. That's how my Mom would see this.

"We believe in you Leigha," my Dad nods. "There's something about you that's not like the others. You've got heart. I know you have it in you to come back home."

He rests his palm against my cheek as if to remember my face before I leave. I know the both of them want me to return so badly, but can I do it? I hug them both, remembering their love and confidence in me. I know I can do this if only I can keep the negativity out of my head and move forward. If I can believe in myself and work hard, then I can only achieve success. But of course, I know my negative thoughts are there. They're something I need to conquer, but I'm not sure how to.

And here, hugging my parents for what may be the last time, is where I hide away, lost in my own mind.

You can do this if you put your mind to it, Leigha.

...Can I?

Enjoy the old A/N as always!

Here we are. Me uploading a chapter and you reading it. Everyone's starting to upload again, so I figured I'd do the same. I'm jumping on a bandwagon and I'm not even ashamed lol

So, drop me a chart. Which tributes in this chapter did you love/like/were neutral to/dislike? How do you feel about Adira? Do you think she'll prove herself worthy or not? As for Landon, what do you think of his life and his family? Do you think he'll go far? What about Izzy? Do you think she's insane or more misunderstood? How about Leigha? Do you think she'll get over her negative way of thinking? Tell me how far you think these tributes will go, and give me any feedback for what mistakes I might have made in this chapter :)

I hope you're all okay! I'm pretty sure most of you have vanished, but to those of you who are still here...say hi :D

*radio crackles*

Over and out!
~Mental