/N: Update: Writing is hard. This has been a PSA. Btw, Blair's mom's folktale doesn't belong to me. It's from a website called Wisdom Commons. Also, I may or may not be sticking random Into The Woods lines in my writing. What can I say? It's a fantastic musical.

Crystaille Alexander, District 10 Female, 16 years old

"Go, Horse Girl!"

I burst into laughter atop my horse, Gingersnap. "Fighting the powers of evil with her noble steed, Ging-" "No, Lancelot! A true name fit for a knight's ride!" I cast a quick glance at Russen, who's doubled over and laughing his head off, a lone figure silhouetted against a peeling house. "First, I'm a superhero, then I'm a knight! Make up your mind!" I snap. He just goes into convulsions of laughter again. Oh dear.

I slide off the horse, jarring waves of pain slithering up my ankles as I hit the ground with an audible thump. "I've decided the superhero business isn't the right fit for me." I say grandly, throwing out my arms. "I have bigger… BETTER… plans." "Like what? Roping cattle?" Russen says skeptically. I nod solemnly. "An important life skill!" "Whatever you say.." says Russen with a goofy grin. "It's time for Horse Girl to go in, by the way. Grandma requires her baking skills." I frown and cross my arms over my chest. "I have no baking skills. Grandma's looking to shape me into a good housewife again, isn't she?"

Panem is supposed to be a modern society. Grandma hasn't realized that yet. Her head is lodged in the past, a past she hasn't even lived in, a past where all woman amounted to were eye candy, sex dispensers, and servants. I wasn't interested in being controlled, but Grandma didn't seem to realize that.

I sigh.

And march inside.

No point arguing with the most determined person on this planet.

Russen heads to tack up Gingersnap as I storm inside. Midway to the kitchen, I stop and rearrange my features. Cool it, me.

I'm usually a lighthearted person. But if anything can bring out a secret, pissed dominant side of me, it's Grandma. Nevertheless, I don't want to be seen as sulky. She'll never get the hint, anyways.

I'm not a happy-go-lucky sweetheart at heart. My every thought is not a pleasant one. But I act nice, because there's already enough hatred in a place like Panem. Why add more, if I'm capable of being nice?

I head into the kitchen, and greet my smiling Grandma with a twinge of guilt in my gut.

Mother said be good,

Father said be nice,

That was always their advice

So be nice, Cinderella,

Good, Cinderella,

Nice good good nice-

-What's the good in being good

If everyone is blind

Always leaving you behind?

Never mind, Cinderella,

Kind Cinderella,

Nice good nice kind good nice-

Blair Harcourt, District 10 Male, 16 years old

8 years previously…

I curled myself into the warm body of my mother, my small, sweaty hands gripping her soft skin as she breathed.

"Time for bed." She said calmly, her chest puffing out as she said it, curving my own body slightly further outwards. She shifted, preparing to move and dislodge me from her lap.

"Wait!" I protested. "Tell me a story, first."

She chuckled, causing my body to twitch lightly. "Okay, staller." She teased. "What'll it be tonight?"

I paused, undecided. "The Fruit of Heaven?"

"Good choice!" She said lightly, and began.

"There was once a woman who had heard of the Fruit of Heaven. She longed for it. She wanted nothing more to eat it, make merry with the seeds of the delightful fruit, and finally be enlightened about the ways of the world. So she searched for a god and found one, Sabar, in a cave far from her home. 'How can I find this fruit, so that I may know all there is to know and make merry?' She asked him. ''You would best be advised to study with me', said Sabar. 'But if you will not do so, you will have to travel resolutely and at times restlessly throughout the world.' She left him and sought another, Arif the Wise One, and then found Hakim, the Sage, then Majzup the Mad, then Alim the Scientist, and many more… … She passed thirty years in her search. Finally, after parting ways with Fenwick the Grand, she found the Tree of Heaven, and from its branches hung the lush Fruit of Heaven. Standing beside the Tree was Sabar, the god. 'Why did you not tell me when we first met that you were the Custodian of the Fruit of Heaven?' she asked him. "Because you would not then have believed me. Besides, the Tree produces fruit only once in thirty years and thirty days.' "

"If she found the tree so easily, why did she study for many years?" I asked softly.

"She needed to study so she would find the tree as easily as she did." Said my mother patiently.

I yawned. "Oh, okay." I whispered. She tickled the bottom of my chin, inciting a mewl of protest from me. "No more questions?" She asked playfully. "You're usually the curious one!" "I've heard this story before." I mumbled into the cotton of her shirt.

"Of course you have." She breathed into my hair, sending a tingle of peace and contentment running down my spine. "You're the story devourer. You swallow them up!" "No!" I cried in protest. "I'm a story COLLECTOR. I lock them away."

"Well said, story collector."

I just realized after writing this that this chapter flows terrrrrrrriblyyyyyyy. I hate it ugh. But I must.. finish.. reapings.. *dies*