Lucent Saccharyn POV:

The District Six Reaping was very exciting, but there are a few more minutes until we move on to District Ten. I also rigged the lottery for the male in this district. I'm fairly certain nobody will want to volunteer for him. He's a real nasty piece of work, a serial killer who bribed the Peacekeepers to let him go. The Department of Peacekeeping has been working on identifying the corrupt officers since the murders happened three years ago, but people do anything for a little money. If we haven't caught them yet they'll probably never be apprehended. As for the ones we have brought in, letting a murderer running free is a serious offense. They were executed promptly and discreetly. Most people in District Ten will be happy to be rid of him. And if he ends up winning the Hunger Games, we can just slip something into his drink and claim he died of alcohol poisoning or something. But my Gamemakers are very skilled people, and there's no way he'll be leaving the arena alive. I take a sip of my spritzer, smacking my tongue loudly at the tingle it leaves behind. It's time for the Reaping, and I'm certain about what's going to happen.

Emily Parker, 12-D10F:

"No matter what darling, I'll find you. And when I do, I'll give you a bad turn." The voice is an easy drawl, and it comes from the boy who had kidnapped me, blood flying off the knife he's brandishing from the top of the roof. "By that I mean I'll kill you, actually, and I'll do it in the worst way possible." I run, but he gives a superhuman leap off the roof and lands just behind me. "Hear that?!" he yells. "I'm coming for-"

"Wake up, pumpkin!" Mama leans over my bed, gently shaking me awake. "I know you're probably still tired but you've got to be up early for chores." I blink a few times before realizing it was just a nightmare and I wasn't actually back in the woods with the boy who had kidnapped me. I yawn loudly. As tedious as chores can be, they're very much preferable to rubbing elbows with murderers, whether in dreams or real life. I push the sheet off of me and sit up.

"Yes Mama," I mumble, voice still thick from sleep. I get out of bed, the old dusty floorboards creaking underneath my feet all the way to the kitchen. A platter of breakfast casserole sits on the table, made of leftover potatoes from last night, a few eggs, peppers, and some beef trimmings. Still in our pajamas, Mama, Papa, my brother Tyler and I all sit down and serve out portions of it with glasses of frothy milk from the market. We eat slowly, taking our time, talking about the weather and the sort of vegetables that are in season. Once I'm finished, I walk to the washbasin in back of the house. It rained late last night so the ground is sludgy. My toes make a satisfying squelching noise in the mud. I fill the wooden tub up with the pump. The water's a little on the cold side but the weather is nice enough to make up for it. I hurry, using a strip of cloth and some lye soap to wash myself all over. I smear some of the soap in my hair too, rinsing it out, drying it off, and pulling it back into long black pigtails. I put on my starched blue Reaping dress, my black work boots, and an oversized white smock to protect my outfit from the dirt. I mentally assemble a list of the chores for my morning. My father works at a butcher shop and we don't exactly have extra cash lying around. I wanted some spending money so our rich neighbor Mr. Harris agreed to hire me to help out on his property. I start off with my usual household tasks for my family: sweeping the floor, doing the breakfast dishes, and wiping down the counters before walking over to Mr. Harris's ranch. First I go to his chicken coops. I load up the fresh eggs in a basket, refill the feeder, and shovel out the old bedding. Then I take care of the cows and horses, mucking out the stalls and brushing their coats. The Reaping starts in fifteen minutes but I'm trying desperately not to think about it. The Hunger Games and the Capitol terrify me. Their whole purpose seems to be killing as many little kids as possible, not unlike Trey Copper. He's the boy from my nightmare. When I was nine, a bunch of my friends and I were goofing off, messing around like children do. Well, Trey Copper had a bone to pick with one girl because she referred to him as a "dumb big kid" or something like that. Trey kidnapped all six of us and locked us up in a little shack in the woods. He tortured us for weeks, and I was the only one who managed to get away before he could murder me. He was only fifteen at the time, and that plus a fat bundle of money was why he never was punished for his crimes. Being the sole survivor bought me a little popularity but it doesn't matter because my friends all died three years ago at his hands. I imagine the Careers to be a bit like him. Perhaps slightly less torturous, but certainly just as violent. I step into the Reaping square. A Peacekeeper pricks my finger. I desperately look around for my family. They're clustered near the fence at the edge of my section. I edge my way around a group of snotty, mean-looking girls from school until I'm wedged up against the divider. I talk with my parents and Tyler for a few minutes but then the escort takes the stage, clad in a loud red-checked waistcoat and matching hat. He forgets his speech and loses his train of thought multiple times, but then he finally reaches into the girls' bowl.

"Emily Parker!" I stand still, petrified, like how rabbits freeze when they spot a coyote. I finally know how they feel, hoping to become invisible. I burst into tears. I can already hear the other girls whispering about me. Tyler tries to put a hand on my shoulder over the barrier but a rich lady with an ugly hat (probably one of the rude girls' mothers) whacks it away with an iron-tipped umbrella, glaring daggers and muttering about people who don't know their place. She jabs the tip of her parasol between my shoulder blades and I start walking morosely, hopelessly, to the stage.

Trey Copper, 18-D10M:

I make sure to open the door slowly and cringe silently when it creaks. Peeking around the side, I pad silently into the room, checking to make sure my parents are still asleep. They are, which is fortunate because I need to go out for a bit. My family has the day off work, but I don't, so I decided to head to the woods for some peace and quiet. I'm hoping to avoid hearing the overrated little banshees, my parents' other children, for at least another hour or two. I hate them even more than other children their age, which is really saying a lot, considering the incidents that occured a few years ago with the police and that stupid, flippant little girl who escaped. Luckily, I have a cottage near the electrified border fence where they won't be able to find me. The only person in my so-called family I can actually stand to be near is my older sister Amanda. She usually gets stuck with babysitting duty because our parents are incapable of doing any actual parenting. She's also already up, dusting off the banisters in the house and lugging around a bucket of soapy water to mop the floor with. Our parents are rich but she still has to clean. They hate her more than me but they ignore us equally. All the attention goes to the little kids, because they squeal and cry and throw fits when they don't get what they want. But when we have better things to do? Oh, suddenly we're "neglectful" and "cruel". I call bullshit. Amanda beckons me over. "Tired?"

"Yeah." She puts down the mop and I sit down next to her.

"Me too. Lacy and Carol wouldn't go to bed last night." Slumping over, she reaches for my hand. "I've gotten almost no sleep, plus I have to go to the Reaping."

"No you don't. You're twenty. Take a break, have a nap."

"It's your last year eligible. I should be there." At least somebody will be. I don't consider the Reaping very frightening, but it's still nice to have her there. The Hunger Games are sort of entertaining, actually. Seeing the younger kids die is always fun. Amanda gives me a side-hug. "And I will be." I tell her I have to go, and she doesn't question it. She's too busy playing resident mommy-maid for the gremlins. I walk all the way to the little hut in the woods. At one point a group of little boys laughs at me. I pick up a rock and throw it at them. The group scatters. Good. I finally reach my little house. It used to be a laborer's shack but I've fixed it up pretty nice. There's a well with warm water right near it too, so the first thing I do is take a bath. I have a nice little wardrobe too, considering how much I hide out here. I select a nice pair of jeans and a pitch black button-up shirt for my outfit. I scarf down a quick breakfast of bread and cheese, then descend into the root cellar. There's a heap of human bones at the back corner. They used to belong to a regrettably antagonistic group of children but I took care of them a few years ago. All except one little girl who escaped. The thought briefly crosses my mind that it would be simply delightful if she were to appear in the Hunger Games one of these years. As much as I'd love to take matters into my own hands, I probably won't be able to bribe my way out of another conviction. I select a switchblade from a rack of knives and tuck it into my pocket. It's my very favorite, and I like to think it's good luck. Hopefully it'll ensure the tributes are on the younger side. I slowly walk back to the more populated area of the district, all the way to the square. I check in early, shooting the breeze with one of my parents' friends for a couple minutes. People slowly filter into the pens around me. Eventually, the escort gets to his feet. His outfit truly is horrendous. The Dark Days video plays a montage of pain and suffering. A young girl cries as a piece of shrapnel tears into her arm. I smile unwittingly. The escort makes a short speech and digs his hand into the girls' bowl. He withdraws a slip, opens it slowly.

"Emily Parker!" I'm sorry, did I hear that right? Emily Parker as in the girl who got away? Good! The little bitch is finally getting her comeuppance! I can spot her black pigtails through the sea of people. She's frozen in disbelief and shock. I'm thinking I'll get to see a real spectacle, with lots of yelling and protests and Where is she's. She suddenly starts crying hysterically. What a pathetic girl. A nearby woman goads her into moving by poking her with a stick of some sort; very sensible of her, I'd do the same thing. She's still sobbing when the escort draws the male slip. I can see Amanda anxiously waiting in the crowd, nibbling on her fingernails, and I hope it's another young kid.

"Trey Copper!" Oh gosh. This is what I call luck, people. Getting another chance to kill Emily is like a dream come true. Amanda looks horrified, but the faces of people around her melt into relieved smiles. They all know what I've done and they'd much rather I become a tribute than any of their children. I walk menacingly up to the stage and give everyone a sinister smile. I fully plan on getting rid of Emily first and foremost. I know I'll make it out of the arena alive if I have to kill every last kid in the arena-actually, I'll enjoy it very much.

Lucent Saccharyn POV:

That Reaping couldn't have gone any better. I'm excited to see what happens when Trey gets into the arena. I know the girl, Emily, must be terrified. She was the only one of Trey's victims that escaped, and I'm sorry she suffered at his hands, but I don't really feel bad that she was picked as a tribute. I didn't rig the girls' Reaping one for one person in particular, it was just bad luck. The odds weren't in her favor. Whatever the case, Trey will be an interesting catalyst in the arena. I was originally planning on targeting him but now I'm not so sure. He's too appealing to the viewers to get rid of. A controversial case involving corrupt Peacekeepers? Oh, please. People eat that stuff up. They probably won't like a murderer but a serial killer? That conjures up images of crime dramas, things that don't happen in real life, where the motive is completely justified and the victim was a moron anyway. If Trey plays his cards right, he could be a serious contender in these games. He's too sensational to hate. But Emily is almost certainly doomed.


Hey y'all! I hope you like this chapter. As much as I like reviews, I need something else: TRIBUTES! I still have only seven, and we've Reaped four of them. I can only do one more chapter before I hit a dead end. I'm excited and I love writing this stuff, so please send some in and make my day!

~LC