Hi!

Thanks for being there to believe in me. I know a couple of you were worried I'd died for a second there. This will be the last of our reapings before the train rides! A different format to what some of you might be used to, but don't worry, all the characters will be covered at least twice before the games. Let's go!

Thanks to Sophia, Alecxias, LokiThisIsMadness, li'l fat necrosis and FireflyLlama (they're back and better than ever!) for reviewing, and for everyone's support on the story! We hit 100 reviews, so thanks so much for the support so far! :D

Also, thanks to the authors who sent in their characters: Shura (by FoalyWinsForever), Cleveland (by 20), Filla (by Littletimmy223), and Ashton (by writer12122121).

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

"Fate is fond of the fearless." ~James Russell Lowell

Shura Blackburn, Sixteen, District Eight Male

I throw a switchblade and catch it neatly.

Business seems slow today...if you could even call it business. From the shadows of this alleyway, I can see several guys my age taking down a wall. Call it "employment" if you will, but that's a very loose term. After all, they put up the same wall a few weeks ago. All the Capitol seems to want to do is to keep teenage boys busy instead of running around the streets.

Whoops. It's a little late for that.

I throw my switchblade again, catching it as I stand in the shadows.

Yeah, District Eight, like all Districts has its crime sector, usually where the homes are the dirtiest and people are the poorest. Stealing used to be all the rage a few years back, but drugs are the big thing now. Morphling especially. Yeah, believe it or not, Six isn't the only District that has it's drugged up people. Most of the other Districts have probably got the same thing going for them.

Morphling's great.

I tried it a few times, and it's fucking great. Seriously, it is. The other drugs are always fun to take too, but I keep myself in check. If I didn't have a family to help out with, then I'd be out here doing stupid (and amazing) shit every day. Don't even try me! I do crazy things and every time people look at me like I'm some kind of ninja.

I turn around, hearing the faint sounds of scuffling. My group of runners are here. There's a few groups around the slums that are like this, small crews of thieves that steal money, food, drugs, whatever they can get. Spotting them, I immediately sprint over to them, shouting at the top of my voice.

"Mah boys!"

There's a collective groan as the group assess me. Zull, the leader, immediately steps forward, muscular and with spiky brown hair.

"Shura! Why aren't you cleaning the stuff I left you, huh?" he grumbles.

I shrug.

"I've already done it," I announce cheerily. "I washed 'em up good, just like you said Zull!"

I'm part of the group, I know I am, even if I don't hang around them much without them poking fun or pushing me around. I know some of the guys give me a few odd looks, but hey, they're just jealous of my handsomeness. It's a shame these guys aren't proper friends. They're all together as a crew more for convenience more than anything else. I'd love to call them friends, but I'm pretty sure that they'll just ignore me. Being like this is better than being alone.

"Well go home then," Zull tells me. "I'll give you instructions later."

It sounds like an excuse for something, but I know better! I flash them all a thumbs up and bound away, jumping off of small objects and leaping from place to place. I'm not one for being so serious and simple. Life is to be enjoyed, right? So I'm gonna take that chance and live it on the edge.

Acting like the floor is lava is the best thing ever, especially when I can be creative with it. It might look childish, but all of this jumping around and whatnot really has its use. I'm a threat now, especially around these parts, just because I'm getting older. People are out for my life or my money, and I've gotta defend myself somehow. All this jumping around has got me out of a few situations and saved me from getting stabbed. That and my trusty switchblade. I've cut people up, but I haven't killed anyone yet.

Home is just a few streets away, a simple shack, but one I don't seem to really care about too much. It's just a house with great people! That's the way it goes.

My signature devious smile is on my face as I burst in through the door.

"Home!" I yell.

I've always been loud. Why be quiet when you can shout out everything?

"Shura!" a shriek replies, and my little sister Wix leaps through the doorway.

I pick her up into my arms and hold her close, cuddling her and making her giggle. Wix is only nine, and I guess you could say she looks and acts a lot like me. Bright red hair, so shocking that you'd blink twice if you saw it, owned by the both of us. She's skinny and pretty short, but she likes an adventure and loves to mess around, just like I do. Wix and I are pretty close. She's my little sis, who wouldn't be able to love her? She's adorable.

"What did you do today?" she asks me.

"Well, I watched some idiots take down the wall they were building, bumped into a few friends, jumped everywhere and came back here."

"A slow day then?" a voice asks. "Jumping out of buildings used to be your forté!"

My Mom walks in, insanely happy as usual. With the three of us together we're a ball of insane enthusiasm, and much akin to a fireball if angry. My Mom's kind of weird with her moods, since they swing sometimes. I've seen her devastatingly upset, and so furious that I had to block a few punches that came my way. For the most part, though, she's pretty great. It's almost too easy to forget my Dad. He's probably the odd one out in our family, always hiding away and not being social. How boring! Still, I know I'll get through to him someday.

Rumour has it that I was a mistake child, and Dad still thinks about it. Even so, I wanna make it up to him somehow. Our family isn't too well off and we're not exactly great in life, but I'll do my best to prove myself to him if it means he'll be a bit happier.

"That was one time," I reply with a laugh. "Next time I'll knock down a building and see if I escape!"

It was one time. I fell out of the second-floor window once. I was lucky enough to get away with a few scrapes by landing on an old mattress. Crazy stuff, right? But it worth the thrill. Anything's worth the thrill if you know it's not dangerous. And if it's dangerous? Even better!

"Great idea!" Mom laughs. "Come on you rascal, go upstairs and get ready for the reapings."

"Alrighty!" I yell and leap up the stairs three at a time, Wix being hot on my trail.

I burst into my room, my narrow brown eyes searching for a mirror. I sped up those stairs in less than three seconds. I may be thin and wiry, but I'm speedy as well. I check myself in the mirror, messing my hair up even more than it was before, and doing the same with my clothes. People think I'm crazy...let 'em think it! It's fun to get a reaction out of people.

"Shura, Shura!" Wix shouts, grabbing my attention.

"Wassup, Wix?" I ask, lifting her up and spinning her around. "What! Is! Up!"

"This!" she cheers, smiling, in her hand outstretched, a plastic pink bracelet held out in front of her. I quickly recognise it as one of her favourite bracelets.

"What's this for?" I ask her.

"A present!" she chirps. "Mommy said that you might want a present if you get your name called today!"

I blink.

It's odd that Wix would be aware of the Games, but I guess she is old enough to begin to learn what they're all about. In no time, she'll soon be the one getting scared for them. It's the one thing I can't protect her from, but I'll stop her from taking out tesserae if I can help it. I guess Mom was worried about me. I'm touched by the offer of the pink bracelet. I take it gently from her hands, sliding it onto my skinny wrist. It only just gets round, but I'm glad it does.

"Aw...thanks Wix..." I tell her, ruffling her hair, to which she giggles in reply.

"Just beat up the meanies, Shura!" she chants. "Beat up the meanies!"

"I will!" I chuckle.

I let her leave the room to skip downstairs before me, grabbing lunch first. I guess life has gotten pretty wild but it's a wildness I enjoy, and one I don't want to leave behind. Ah, what's it's worth anyway? If I am reaped today, then I'll take it with a grain of salt. Nobody's gonna take me seriously anyway, so why bother worrying about it so much?

After all, I'm wild and crazy; I'm not a threat.

Not in their eyes, anyway.

Cleveland "Cleve" Garfield, Thirteen, District Eleven Male

There's only so much you can do to hide the bad in the world. These days, kids my age can be so naive, so numb to the reality of the world they're living in. All they know is their District, followed by their uncontrollable fear of the reapings. That's not to say that I'm not afraid of being picked to go and fight to the death, I am. It scares me more than a lot of things, but what can I do when life demands so much of me?

My nine brothers and sisters are all chattering around the house, causing trouble and wreaking havoc while Mom and Dad are out in the fields, working hard all day just to put food on the table. I'm the eldest, being thirteen, and the rest of the family is a wild clash of personality, and of course, a group of high energy.

I guess you could say that my view of the world was more mature than most, but I've had to grow up a little bit. It's not easy keeping nine children in line, as well as keeping up a social life and an education. My parents treat me as an equal, and I appreciate that a lot. What irritates me the most is that the rest of the District don't realise this.

Outside of these four walls, all I am is a thirteen-year-old boy. Small, unsuspecting, and helpless.

That thought alone makes me sick to my stomach. I'm more than a little kid! I have a mind, and I can fight my own battles. I'm not a spare part, never to be used in a hypothetical toolbox; I'm teen that knows his stuff. But there's adults for you. They're too old to remember what they were like when they were younger. I can almost guarantee that some of them where exactly the same as myself all that time ago.

I'm smart enough to observe the world around me. Look around, learn, and then practice. It's a simple manoeuver that seems to work out well, so I make sure to evaluate my surroundings before I do anything. I guess you could say I observe people too, which can be equally as easy when all they can see is a little kid.

I'm sat with Skimmia, my youngest sibling. She's only two, still learning to walk properly and fluidly, often grabbing on to various objects to help her when she's unbalanced. It's often funny to watch her short legs move slowly across the room as she sways dangerously from side to side. Very often, she'll fall onto her butt, where I'll laugh gently along with her before helping her up.

Cedric is three, and he's hanging nearby as well. I'm reminded of his presence when he calls for me.

"Truck!" he demands, pointing to his small toy a few metres away. "Truck!"

"Please." I remind him, but as the stubborn kid he is, he doesn't answer.

He's a lot more childish than Skimmia. She seems to be so willing to explore, ready to go out and see what the world has to offer. Cedric is lazier, always pointing to things he wants. When he gets a bit older, I think everyone's just going to stop helping him out and he'll have to get used to walking around on his own.

Somehow, I don't think he'll like that.

"Cleve!" Sedum calls from downstairs. "Phlox is breaking things again, and I can't make him stop."

Sedum's twelve, a year younger than I am, although I secretly hope that he turns out a lot like myself. Life wasn't sugar-coated for me by Mom and Dad, but I think they got a little softer with each kid they had. As much as I'm not the biggest fan of the cold, hard reality we live in, I would've thought that Sedum at least thought in roughly the same way.

"Alright, come up here," I tell him. "I need you to watch over Skimmia and Cedric while I'm gone."

I walk swiftly from mine and Sedum's shared bedroom, meeting my sibling on the stairs.

"It's not too bad," Sedum tells me. "But he just won't stop throwing things around, and he's already smashed another picture frame."

"Again?" I sigh. "Okay, I'll make sure I keep him under control. Mom and Dad should be back any minute now since work ends early today."

Sedum's jaw tightens, a frightened look in his eyes as he remembers the reapings. I squeeze his shoulder in reassurance. It's his first year this year.

"I'm not going to sugar-coat this for you," I tell him. "You might get reaped. I might get reaped. But there's a good chance that both of us will be safe, especially you, since you've only got one slip in there. You'll be okay."

Sedum nods quietly, thinking for a short moment, before passing me and heading to our room. I hurry down the stairs, making my entrance known. As usual, I'm welcomed by a lot of noise. I find the source of Sedum's problem, with Phlox causing trouble as usual.

"Phlox!" I bark, and my brother jumps and stops what he's doing. "What did I say about throwing things around and causing trouble?"

Phlox looks guilty, hiding something behind his back.

"What are you hiding?" I demand. "Show me. Otherwise, Mom and Dad will know about it when they get home."

Looking rather guilty, he silently takes the smashed photo frame from behind his back and shows it to me. It's not actually that badly broken. The frame is intact, but the glass is cracked in several places. I'm sure Mom and Dad won't mind too much, but it doesn't mean that Phlox can trash the place.

"Bottom step, now," I tell him, and sulking, Phlox leaves the frame on the table and walks over to the bottom step, sitting down and looking very much like he wants to cry.

The rest of my siblings don't seem to be causing any trouble, just a lot of noise, which is the usual.

"Hey," I tell Phlox. "You're great, okay? Just...try not to get too wild. Mom and Dad will tell you off worse than I will."

Phlox nods quietly, and he hugs me around the neck.

"Now, sit here and think about what you've done," I tell him.

"Sorry, Cleve..." Phlox whines, but his apology is interrupted by Mom and Dad's return.

Immediately, all of my sibling's rush around them to greet them, including Phlox, who squeezes past me as well. Dad picks each child up and hugs them tightly. He's a quiet man, but he loves us more than words can say. You can tell that he doesn't care about anyone else other than his wife and family. His face is tired and worn, but his eyes are alive with a twinkle that never seems to die.

"Alright, you lot!" Mom shouts. "What do you want for dinner?"

The children giggle, hugging her legs and trying to get her attention. Mom's pretty loud, but we love her for it. She's definitely the Queen of the household, and she knows what she wants. I guess she pretty much runs the family. My eyes move to her swollen stomach. Mom loves children, and she's already on her tenth. Maybe she'd had a few too many, but that's her decision to make.

"Hey, Mom," I call. "Can I go out for a bit?"

"Sure Cleve," she tells me, her voice loud but her tone warm. "Thanks for taking care of the kids again."

I nod my thanks and I manage to move my way through the small crowd of children to leave the house, nobody noticing that I leave the picture frame on the side. As soon as the front door closes behind me, the noise from the house is muffled. Finally, peace of mind. I love my siblings, but it's nice to have some time where it's quieter. I guess coming home never gets old for Mom and Dad, since they're out in the fields all day, working quietly with the occasional chat to friends.

As always, I can see my friends, playing and talking together at the end of my street. Ridge, Zinnia, Corcus and Florencia. They're all pretty great, and we've been friends for a while. I approach them, waving to them as I do.

"Hey Cleve!" they chorus as I walk over.

"Hey!" I smile. "What happening."

"I was just explaining to my dumbass brother why photosynthesis is important for plants," Zinnia explains, sounding somewhat exasperated.

"I know what it does and why it's important," Ridge replies, rolling his eyes. "I don't need your fancy-ass descriptions. You just want to look smart."

Zinnia swats at him, but Ridge dodges, laughing. They're siblings, but very much like chalk and cheese, being different in every way. Florencia laughs along with Ridge, holding his hand. Sickening jealousy wells up in my stomach. I've liked Florencia for quite a while. It's an oddly intense feeling, but I haven't said anything about it, because she's with Ridge. She's always so kind to me, but I haven't had the courage to talk to her about how I feel. I often wonder if I ever will.

Corcus nudges me, bringing my attention to him. We're best friends, but he's always willing to cheer me up whenever I seem sad. He's a prankster, but today he seems to be laying off of people...that is until I see a stone and a slingshot in his hand.

"Hey," he tells me. "Watch this!"

I'm not quite sure where he's aiming, as he lifts the slingshot, made out of blackened rags and swings it, sending the stone flying forwards. There's a grumpy woman at the end of our street, with a prized bell over the door of her house. People have tried to steal it countless times, but so far, they've been unlucky. The woman is an unpleasant one, always shouting at us to shut up and move along. So I guess it's some kind of payback when the stone connects with the bell, making a loud clanging sound.

Confused, the woman opens her door and looks out to see that nobody's there.

Sniggering, Corcus and I turn away, pretending to mind our own business. A smile on my face, I'm happy that I have my best friend here to try and cheer me up, even when my thoughts are occupied.

It's a bad world, the one we live in, but at least there are some happy memories to keep me smiling. I wish I could say something about how ridiculous it all is, the way our lives are, how harsh the Capitol is on us all.

But no, I must keep my mouth shut.

My inner voice, however, will continue to shout.

Filla Amirylis, Fourteen, District Twelve Female

Keep your head up.

That's something you have to do in a world like this. Don't give up on what you're doing. Even when the going gets tough, you can always get back up and start again. We have to keep on moving and keep on living our lives the best we can.

It's a shame that other people don't see the world in this way. They cry, mope or tire under the Capitol's regime, but some of us have to be the ones who can see the light, the good in everything. Even when everyone else is so negative, I choose to be more positive. There's a lighter side and a darker side to everything you see, and often it really just depends on your perspective. There's more than one side to every story, and sometimes, you just have to look at things in a different way to understand that it's not all bad.

"Come on, Filla!"

Tyene calls me from the other side of the marketplace in District Twelve, the ashy stones beneath her feet a sign of the ever-present smell of coal dust. The market is bright and colourful, but like any other day, the air is heavy with the ever-present feeling of hopelessness and depression. Unlike most, I don't feel its touch against my skin.

I'm almost impervious to sadness.

"I'm coming!" I cry, awkwardly hurrying after her, my long brown hair flying behind me, getting more and more entangled by the wind.

We've been hanging out all day, just relaxing in the oncoming wake of the reapings. I meet Tyene on the other side of the market, her ginger hair a bright contrast against the cloudy day. Her bright blue eyes are glittering with a sense of danger and enthusiasm. Uh-oh. Whenever Tyene gives me that look, it usually means she's up to something. She pulls me into an alley, before revealing two apples.

"Tyene!" I gasp. "That's stealing!"

"You have to steal if you want to live," Tyene shrugged, throwing one to me and biting into the other. "C'mon, it's a risk, like a fun game! I love doing stuff like this because there's the thrill of getting caught."

"There's also a'pain of twenty lashes too," I tell her politely. "I'm not really up for that. Plus, why bother stealing when you can just think positively?"

"Because I'm not as happy as you, Filla," Tyene tells me simply.

She bites into her apple again, the red skin giving away to the delicious white fruit beneath. I bite into my own apple. They're surprisingly good, a sweet and succulent taste. She must have stolen the best apples in town.

"I just like to challenge myself," Tyene continues. "Plus, a little bit of stealing never hurt anyone."

"I always think of new things to do," I shrug, waving my apple around in front of me. "Sometimes it's mo'fun to try something new rather than just steal all the time."

I mean it. I've always been a fan of collecting things, like mushrooms and bottle caps. I collected cats once, feeding them all the best I could. Shame though, my little cat shelter got shut down after noise complaints. The Peacekeepers found them and shot them all dead. There's plenty of cats around here as it is, but it still made me sad. But I have a solution to sadness. I visualise my sadness, figure out what's making me sad by saying it out loud, and then let it go. Simple!

Sadness is almost like my speech. I sometimes combine my words or interject new ones in there whenever I'm nervous. But I don't feel upset or bad about them, because it doesn't matter when I'm not thinking about it. And if I am thinking about it? I move past it, let it go.

Tyene checks the time and sighs.

"I should head off," she tells me. "I want to brush up before the reapings, and there's not much time left."

She's right. Even the market looks to be packing up right about now, making way for the crowd of children who will soon be making their way to the town square. I wave goodbye to Tyene and make my way out of the alley, my own green eyes looking around for my parents. I'd spotted them both, shopping at the market, and I thought it would be a perfect way to say goodbye before I have to go. They'll be there, but they have more time before people ask them to get moving.

I hurry over to my Mom and Dad, my lanky figure leaving me to tower over her. Mom and Dad have always supported me and my weird mannerisms, and they've always told me that it's okay to be different if I want to be.

"Hey, Mom and Dad!" I cheer. "Did'joo buy much?"

Mom shows me her empty basket, slung over one arm.

"Not today, Filla," she sighs. "I don't feel like there was anything here that we actually need."

I shrug at that. The market doesn't always have what people are looking for.

"Have you come to say goodbye?" Dad asks me warmly, although he seems worried, as all parents are when it comes to the reapings.

"Yep!" I confirm, jumping forward and giving the two an awkward hug. "I love you, and I'll be back for tea. Don't worry about it, I'll be fine as always."

"Take care, sweetie," my Mom says lovingly, and Dad kisses the top of my head in agreement. "We'll be there in a few minutes."

I give them a wave as they head back home. I turn around and head towards the town square. What I'm wearing always seems decent enough for the reapings, and so there's not really a need for me to bother changing.

The square is mostly empty, but it's beginning to fill up, so I quickly file in. I wince as the needle pricks my skin, a sharp but short moment of pain before it's all over for another year. The square is windy, blowing around black coal dust making the area look so sinister that it's ironic. Nonetheless, I make my way slowly to the fourteen-year-old section, eventually standing in the middle of the mostly deserted box.

Here is where I often drift off into my own thoughts, thinking about what new challenges I should give myself this week. Every new week I try to break the stereotypes that society gives us. It's no fun to stick into a mould that people want you to be. If it means that I can be happy, then I'll be different every day of the week, no matter who gets upset about it.

As the escort steps onto the stage and begins her long speech, I tune out, oddly wondering if this week's challenge would be for me to win The Hunger Games. It would be bleak, but there's nothing much I can do about it, really. I have to go through life living in a bubble of happiness. I refuse to let the Capitol take away my happiness if I can help it.

I live in order to be happy.

Nobody's changing that anytime soon.

Ashton Metz, Sixteen, District Seven Male

My fate rests on a glass bowl and a slip of paper.

I'm not ready for this. I never was, and I've never wanted to be. My family haven't ever done anything wrong, and yet here I stand, waiting to see if my name is going to be called.

It's not fair.

It isn't! Why can't we just try to live our lives in peace instead of one of our own being taken away each year to fight to the death? Last year's tributes ended up together, and even though both of them died, they weren't well known. One of them was a girl from the slums, and the other was an outcast. Other years, we haven't been so lucky. I've recognised some of the kids that have been picked in the past years, and all I could do was feel sorry for them.

I wish I could help them all somehow, but they're dead and gone, and there's not much I can do about it now. I just try to live life one day at a time, getting things done as efficiently as I can. You'd be surprised how much I've earned from people, fixing showers, unplugging sinks, looking after children...I'm saving up to buy my sister something special.

I guess you could say that Juniper's the most important person in my life. After my Mom and Dad split up, I hated everyone and everything. I hated the change more than anything else since change is so uncomfortable. I hate the lack of predictability you can have when things change. You can never know how things are going to end up. Even the thought of it sends shivers down my spine. But Juniper was there for me, helping me to get through the change and how upset I was over it. I'm closer to Dad now compared to before, but Juniper's done a lot for me. We're not exactly rich, so I've been saving up to get her something nice for quite a while.

"Nova Lupin!"

The escort, much like last year is in a bear suit. I heard she almost got fired after swearing on stage, but here she is again, back with her usual sassy demeanour, obviously trying to be hip and relatable for the tributes.

Nova, the girl who was called, is an absolute mess. She sobs to herself, wailing loudly as she staggers up to the stage. She's wearing a navy blouse, paired with a black skirt, and her hair is put up in a ponytail, almost as if she intended to look somewhat intimidating. But now? The sobbing heap on the stage certainly doesn't look like a competitor, unless this tough-looking girl is faking it. Either that or she acts tough and she's just lost it.

My throat is dry as the escort walks over the boy's reapings bowl, giving Nova a rather harsh side-eye, her mouth downturned in obvious disgust.

"Now for the boys!" she announces, as she plunges her hand right into the bowl.

Her grasp for a slip is very quick; she obviously doesn't waste any time building up drama or tension. She swirls her hand once or twice around the bowl and grabs a slip from the very middle, opening it rather quickly. From the sixteen-year-old section, I can barely see what's written on the piece of paper, but I squint anyway, hoping to guess.

I don't need to.

The escort tells me.

"Ashton Metz!"

My name? Really? Is this some kind of joke? No, no, I can't let this happen. I don't deserve to be thrown in a game like this, especially after all I've done for the District other people!

"Fuck you!" I shout from the crowd, pointing at the escort in anger. "Get to shit you plastic bitch!"

Angrily, I dart out from under the ropes of my section, and I start running, heading towards the exit of the square. Within seconds, Peacekeepers block my escape, pushing me back roughly and surrounding me, all of them clad from head to toe in white armour. I try to break through them, but they push me back, their hands clamping onto my arms and dragging me to the stage. I try and fight against their grip, but since four of them have me in their grasp, there's not much I can do.

Panting slightly, I'm pushed onto the stage. I see the escort give me an unimpressed look, and I return her glare, infuriated that I've been chosen. All I've ever wanted to do was help people in my District, and this is the repayment I get? This is what reward people give me for working hard and doing good? It's unacceptable.

"District Seven, I give you Nova Lupin and Ashton Metz!"

I have no other choice but to turn to Nova, my District partner, and shake her hand. She's still sobbing, but I shake her hand roughly, and I'm ushered into the Justice Building in the middle of the square. Extra Peacekeepers flank my sides as they force me to move quickly to my room, obviously not wanting me to try and run again.

A minute or two and a door slam later, I'm left on my own. There's this tiredness that comes with anger, especially when it's leaving you, and instead, I'm left with a sense of desperation that I can't get over. The tears start falling before I can do anything about it, and I punch the wall, once, twice, three times...anything to get me out of having to go into the Hunger Games. Why did it have to be me? Why did I have to be chosen to do this?

I wipe away my tears, cradling my hand as it throbs with pain. That probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but right now, being in a smart frame of mind is the last thing I want to think about. I hate my emotions, especially since they're all over the place. I know it's bad to keep them bottled up, but that's what I do. I'll keep them inside of me before they erupt into painful words or punching fists. I don't like to be seen as emotional, so I don't bother focusing on myself. Instead, I'll focus on other people's problems so that I can ignore my own. That way, I can try to remain calm, collected, and most importantly, happy. Helping people with simple jobs while Juniper and Dad are working is a great thing to do. Helping others genuinely makes me happy, but in a game where that could be life or death, it means that I'm going to have to act carefully.

I'm not sure how I'm going to make allies, especially when it's so hard to meet people without me getting nervous. I get people-shy sometimes, and that's a bad thing if you're looking to make friends. I like to laugh and joke around, but meeting people in the first place is a difficult thing to do, especially when you don't know what they're like and how they might see you.

The door to my room opens and I sniffle in reply. Juniper and Dad enter the room, both of them immediately coming over to me and giving me a hug.

"You can do this son," Dad tells me. "Just work hard, and be good, and you'll get through this."

I nod at Dad's advice, his words reminding me of the times he's countlessly told me these words before. I was raised to work hard and to do good. If I work hard on my weaknesses, then I can use them to do what I want. Doing good in the Hunger Games is a harder concept to grasp, especially when you're the one who's trying to survive, but I'll see what I can do. If I make any allies, then I guess I'll do my best to help them if I can.

Juniper runs her hands gently through my light brown hair, trying to comfort me since she can see I'm distressed.

"Don't be scared," she tells me. "There's no need to worry about the past. You have to deal with what you have now, and we both know you can win."

"I'm not sure about this June..." I mutter. "I don't feel like I can do this and win."

"You can't do this on your own," she admits. "And as much as you might hate it, you're going to need allies. Just work hard in training and see what friends you might make. You never know how things will turn out."

It's a change. It's a horrible change in my life that could either end it or scar me forever. I'm not comfortable with that idea, but I'm going to have to be, especially if I want things to get better. The look in Juniper's eyes is enough to confirm that. I close my own green eyes and try to focus on what's in front of me. I have to try, even if I'm not sure if I can do this.

I thought I deserved better than a cruel game of death.

It's a change I never saw coming.

And there we have it! The reapings are done. All aboard the trains, we're off to the Capitol.

So, drop me a chart! Which tributes did you love/like/were neutral to/dislike? What do you think about Shura and his wild self? He's certainly wild! And Cleve and his maturity...what do you think of his life? Filla seems pretty chipper. How do you feel about her outlook on life? Do you think Ashton can balance his emotions with his hard-working nature?

I'm telling you, a cup of tea and a thunderstorm does wonders for deep thought and creative writing. I haven't had a moment like that for a while, but I've been in that mood recently, which helps me write. Choppy word counts in this chapter, but I tried to keep them all *mostly* the same length.

Over and out!

~Mental