LAST REAPING CHAPTER! THE CLOUDS PART! I CAN SEE THE SUN AGAIN! Ouch, these tributes though. Y'all aren't going to like this. Also, the district 12 male form mysteriously disappeared. I have no idea what happened to it, so his POV won't cover much of him- just a head's up. Can his submitter resend the form, please?

Alicia Marleen, District 12 Female, 13 years old

I want to see the sun.

It's been so long since the sooty clouds parted, since I couldn't play my ribs like a xylophone, since we ate every day. It's been so long since I've really and truly seen cornflower-blue skies. So long since I've seen the sun.

I want to see the sun. I want to feel warmth on my face. I want to raise my trembling hands to its glowing rays and become discorporate. I want to burn.

Why can't I just burn?

I stumble off my ragged mat, dust and spit swirling on my tongue. I lap up the moisture greedily, desperate for anything to fill my stomach. My steps are slow, and each one sends a bolt of pain racing up my spine. But I welcome it, bright and electric as it is. It's a break from my throbbing, mortal hunger.

"Alicia."

A soft, gentle hand, covered in dust and soot like everything else in this godforsaken district, tracing a calming pattern on my cheek.

"Garfield." I mumble happily through the pain and dizziness plaguing me.

"Do.. we.. have food today?" He breathes, his tiny face alight with excitement. I pause. Of course we don't. We'll need to choke down a mix of bark and liquor like we do almost every day, and wake up the next day with a creaking stomach and a raging hangover. But I can't tell him this sad fact the way I think it in my head- with savage fury.

"Let me check." I mutter, tottering drunkenly into a ruined excuse for a kitchen. Of course, every cabinet is bone dry, except for one holding a dusty bottle of liquor.

"Sorry, kiddo." I mumble unhappily. "Just Special Juice today." "Oh!" He chirps, though his eyes darken with sadness. "I like Special Juice!"

Jesus Christ, is my eight-year-old brother turning into a drunkard?

Just then, a glorious idea lights up my mind.

The leftovers!

"I'll be right back, Garfield!" I gasp happily, newfound energy flooding through me as I hazard a jog to a crumbling bathroom.

There they are.

Two leftover bottles, painful reminders of a different life.

Our mom, Nancy, left Garfield and I two years ago, and with her she took our source of food and care. Our father doesn't give a damn about us. He spoils his money on white wine and lives mostly in a shack far, far away from this crumbling household streaked with ash. I can't blame him for wanting to escape… but I can blame him for going through with it.

Our parents are forgetful people. Our father forgets liquor at the house sometimes, so we have that to fill our bellies. And our mother forgot a bottle of cough syrup and peach lotion.

I grab the bottles and hoist them triumphantly over my head, staggering happily towards Garfield.

"Food!" I exclaim.

Garfield cheers as I open the bottle of the cough syrup and dramatically lower it to my lips. A single droplet falls down my throat and a glorious, sickly sweet flavor burns through me. It takes all of my willpower to hand the bottle over to Garfield, who stares at it as if it's a gift from God himself.

"Drink!" I urge him. Garfield blinks owlishly, astonished, but takes a tentative sip. An expression of rapture spreads across his pale face.

We could worry about food tomorrow. We would feast like kings today… on peach lotion and cough syrup.

Henry Wade, District 12 Male, 12 years old

"The world is your oyster."

I've been collecting quotes, and this one intrigues me a bit. I don't know what an oyster is, but it sounds exotic- and it must be something cool if it embodies the world.

I know there's stuff beyond Panem. I just don't know what it is. I can dream of gigantic mountains, of amber waves of grain, of twisting, churning rivers and of gilded castles, but I can't know for sure what's there until I get there.

And I will get there.

I have plans, so many of them. I don't now how exactly I'm going to escape District 12, but I'll find a way. I'm already good at reading- I'll probably be good at writing too. I've never actually tried, though… but maybe!

And then I'll be able to sell my books and escape.

First to the Capitol, of course. I've heard the streets are paved with gold there, and they hand out sweets on the street! Not those brittle, flat, cotton-tasting candies that the Mayor's daughter gives out at Christmas, but brightly colored balls that melt in your mouth, sugar mice that really squeak, dazzling lollipops with a swirl of candyfloss-bright pastel in the center..

I'll stay there for a while- eat good food, maybe get a few tattoos, even. Perhaps a pickaxe, to remind me of home. Or a lonely road, to signify that I'm willing to travel long and far.

And then I'll head on a train and move... out. Into the world. Melt into the bright colors of the landscape and become one with nature. Travel like a hick from the sticks, with a piece of wheat between my teeth and a battered old hat, all rough leather and worn creases. I'll sleep under the stars every night.

I can't wait for my journey to begin.

But before it can, I'll have to suffer through 8 years of Reapings.

I shuffle into the twelve males section, clutching my worn book to my chest like a rabbit ready to spook away. I'm not brave enough to wander into the woods, but I've seen pictures of rabbit's in my storybook- all white and fluffy with twitching noses and a tendency to scamper away, chirruping at your back.

Poisonous fear lances through me. It's my first year. I've only two slips in there- one for me, and one for tesserae- but the chance is there. It's always there.

I watch, trembling with fear, as the dark days video plays onscreen. Shots of bleeding soldiers, screaming children, and worn-torn towns flash onscreen as I shrink closer and closer into myself. Finally, it's over. I feel a note of relief before I realize what comes next.

The speech is read. The slips are pulled. A girl's name.

"Alicia Marleen!"

A tiny girl from the thirteen-year-olds section stumbles out, scarecrow-skinny, so obviously pained by every step. She faints before she can reach the stage, and peacekeepers swarm her fragile frame like bees, carrying her up to the stage and dropping her there with a plop. I shiver.

"And now for the male.."

…

please.

please.

to anyone out there

to anyone listening

please.

no bribes

no trades or promises

just

please.

"Henry Wade!"

I can't die. I haven't lived yet.