One note: Demarcus' submitter was about to go on vacation, so he quickly put together a starter form so we could go ahead and wouldn't have to wait. That might explain his odd name.

It was actually Blaise

Blaise Wesley POV

My friends and I always used to talk about what would happen if one of us was Reaped. We decided Phil would make it pretty far, but probably get himself killed trying to pet a mutt. Will would piss off some Career and get killed pretty quick. Rob might win if he had some good allies, but of course he wouldn't have us. As for Jeff... Jeff would die in the Bloodbath.

When it came to me, the others thought I had a good chance. I measured the cloth out in the factory, so I knew how to use a cleaver. It would be easy to switch to an axe. I was always making jokes and I was the one who brought the gang together, so it would be easy for me to get allies and sponsors. I was young, but I wouldn't be the youngest in the Arena. My friends always said they'd send me all the weapons and food I needed, and if I didn't win they'd never speak to me again.

It was fun to think about, as long as it wasn't near Reaping time. When that came around, I didn't want to pretend anymore. I was glad staying at home and doing normal Eight things. As we all clustered at the Reaping center, I focused on my friends. We were all scared, especially Jeff. He was such a mouse.

"We get to see our new escort today. I bet he's better than Remus. A rock would be better than Remus," I said. Jeff laughed nervously, even though it wasn't that funny. I kept up a stream of asides and comments, hoping to distract us all from what was coming.

When our new escort came, I didn't have to worry anymore. A crazy thin, dark-skinned man walked on stage. Rather, he pranced onto the stage, carrying a microphone attached to a walking stick covered in jewels. He wore a skintight snakeskin onesie and his bleached hair was formed into a curlicue over his head, which was caked in makeup. Four men dressed similarly filed onstage after him and surrounded him in a semicircle.

"Aaaaaall right Paneeeeeeeeem!" he screeched in a squawky woman's voice. "Are you ready for the one, the only, Rhodius Tuck?"

I wasn't sure anyone was ready for Rhodius Tuck. He flicked his hand into the air like he was swatting a fly and hovered it over the jar.

"Let's get some names! Who's it gonna be? Who's the lucky Tribute to see all the Capitol has to offer?!" he asked, punctuating each few words with a dramatic burst. He picked a name from the boys' jar. Usually we were all petrified at this point, but it was so surreal we forgot. He held up the folded slip and started to open it. He slammed it back shut, then snapped it open. He looked out at us straight-faced, then threw his head and both arms back and tossed the slip onto the stage.

"Blaaaaaaze Wesley!" he crowed. I was filled with such a mix of fear, confusion, fascination, and bizarre amusement that none could find their way to the top. I walked onstage next to Rhodius and he grabbed my hand. He pulled me close and peered at me like I was a diamond he was examining to see if it was fake. Just as suddenly, he released me and turned back to the crowd.

"This fine young man needs a lovely lady!" he said. And if he'd reaped Galba herself, it couldn't have gotten any weirder.

Incense "Inky" Balboa POV

I loved being the mayor's cousin. We didn't get any of the money or prestige, but it gave my parents an entry-level clearance in Eight's library. What it meant for me was that I got to go in after hours and read some of the books that weren't permitted on the lending shelves. There was nothing too juicy at our level, but I got to see some of the stuff that was before the Dark Days. It was like seeing a whole different world. I counted the sentences and letters as I went, checking to make sure they all came out right.

There seems to be a vicious cycle here (eight words), making ours not just an economy but a culture of extreme inequality (twelve words, that makes twenty. Four fives). Almost no one benefits but the agents of repression themselves. (Eleven words. Not good)

I could see why the Capitol would let us read this book. Sometimes the old books talked about things they wouldn't like, like voting for presidents. This one talked about how unequal everything was when the government didn't take control. We all thought Panem was perfect back then, but they had problems too.

The candle shop is burning down. You left one of them burning.

I hated it when thoughts like that wouldn't leave me alone. I knew all the candles were out before I left. I checked five times. But still the thought kept coming back. No matter how many times I checked, I would still be nervous.

I couldn't stay at the library long. Sylvia, my parents and I had to go back to the candle shop and do our work. I locked the door as we left. I checked it five times, and I kept looking back over my shoulder as we walked away.

Take a last look. They won't let you back. You stole that book, remember? How could you forget? They'll take your family's clearance.

I focused on my work as I dipped forms into the soft tallow in our shop. It was a good business and it kept us all fed, but it wasn't for me. I wanted something more challenging, and something that would let me find out more things about the world. I dreamed about working at the library. I loved organizing the books by subject and alphabetically. When no one wanted to check something out, I could sit behind the desk and read all day long. With the candles, I was always afraid I'd miss a step or do something wrong. I didn't have to worry about that with books. I always felt at home at the library. It was the perfect place for me.