District 1

Tribute: Midas Ambertide.

Age: 17 years

Gender: Male

Midas' finger throbbed. It'd only been a light cut, but it stung. The blood no longer visible anyways. It didn't go numb nor did it hurt like crazy, but it definitely stung. And that hurt. They'd pricked his finger, it was a way of identifying him, or so he was told. He couldn't trust the Capitol with anything. They took his bleeding cut and had stamped the red liquid onto a page laid out in front of him. He'd waited patiently in line while everyone got their fingers pricked, boys in one line, girls in the other. When they told him to go stand with the others after getting his finger pricked, he almost asked, 'who?' Before realizing he meant the other males his age.

He was standing among the sea of seventeen year olds. Some bigger and faster, older, others the minimum age, twelve, scrawny and weak. He mentally flinched when he caught the eye of a young boy, eyes-rimmed red and whimpering slightly. Midas was tall, so much so that he could see over the heads of most of the other children his age. He wasn't broad shouldered or particularly big, he was lean and slightly muscled. Kinda like a swimmer, he thought. Not everyone was done yet, in fact, it'd been by alphabetical last names. His was Ambertide, one of the first.

He was searching the crowd, maybe it was for Maya, if so he definitely would not admit to it. He wanted to see her face, maybe confirm that the malicious smiles and eyes that seemed to threaten him, were not part of his imagination. Created by his own paranoia and fear. He wished, at that moment, that his last name were later on in the alphabet. It was so boring, slightly nerve wracking, to just stand here waiting. He was just waiting around there. His head still hurt too, woken up on the wrong side of the street. Because brick walls were always the comfiest of pillows.

He felt hazel orbs roam his neck and he turned his head so swiftly he almost hit the boy in front of him. Who'd protested to the fact and called Midas somethings he'd rather not repeat. He knew he'd felt it. It was strange, he thought,how he just knew it was her, even without having to look. He just knew, this was the type of things star crossed lovers felt, soul mates felt. Two people with such a strong bond, they could sense one another. His bond with Maya though, was not one of love, but of hate. Him and her were nothing like those in fairy tales, with one clear good guy and one bad. They had both commited sins, Midas just liked to think he Had commited less. He loathed her; She'd striped him of his family and she hated him for the same reasons as everybody else. He was a rebel.

Maya Spencer.

There she was, once more. Her hair seemed to be styled today, she was wearing something nice. A thin white dress, that ruffled slightly near the bottom. It was elegant, yet childish at the same time. She looked beautiful in it no matter, he supposed. She flashed him a smile, full of spite and mischievousness. Gave him a mocking wave. He gritted his teeth and mouthed the words, 'Good luck.' His face full of malicious mockery. To any other these words most likely sounded like a message of goodwill, something said from one friend to another. To him though, they were something entirely different. It was like theory saying, if you wished good luck upon others only bad luck would befall them, something like that. Most of it had been lost to time anyways.

But he and Maya were not friends, they never would be. She had ruined his life, plain and simple. She smiled at him, her eyes full of malice, his own swimming with both bitterness and the sudden urge to want to strangle her. She trailed a finger down her face, mocking a tear. Then her expression changed, she flashed him a wicked grin and took that finger and tore it across her throat. He thought he saw her chuckle darkly to herself.

His fist balled, and he felt a vein at his temple pulsate. He wanted to go charging towards her. Hurt her, embarass her. Like he always did when ever his blue orbs would settled on her doll like features. Anything, if he could just do one Thing, but he knew he couldn't. Wait, Spencer, he thought. That was near the end of the alphabet wasn't it? He turned around to look where the line was, practically none existent. The reapings would soon commence.

He scowled, just another minute closer to doomsday. He was sure Maya had rigged the reapings. It would pull his name, he was sure of it. Why else the smiles, the strange words, messages. It was the only logical conclusion. Her father worked for the Capitol, was on speaking terms with the mayor. Many considered him one of themostpowetful men in the world. He could do anything, no one would even know it was rigged. No one would even care it was rigged. Not if it was his name being pulled.

The mayor just had to do one thing, say a name. Say his name, and he would be sentenced to death. And Mayay ould grin. Her stupid sadistic grin on her stupid perfect face. He growled lowly. His barely mind registered the boy next to him, gulping and shuffling a few feet away.

"Districts in chaos. War raging." A loud, masculine voice boomed from the front. Midas wanted to cover his ears but didn't, he saw a few others who did though. A video had started playing, Midas realized. He scowled and managed to tune most of it out. He focused instead on Maya, who, when she caught him looking had winked. That made him scowl harder. How he wanted to hurt her. He barely even registered when the video ended, it was going on about war and why the games had been created, blah blah blah. Pretty much everything they'd been told yesterday. The District was silent.

He heard footsteps, but chose to ignore them. Most children were watching one another, some even spoke I hushed voices. Then he heard someone tap amicrophone. "Ehem." As if rehearsed the whole sea of bodies turned to face the speaker. A woman, he squinted. Their mayor wasn't a woman. And their mayor certainly did not have bright orange hair and light green skin. She looked like a pumpkin, he would have laughed if not the situation. "Welcome," A wide smile was plastered onto her face as she spoke. Looking slightly too strained, too wide, showing too much teeth. She spoke in a funny accent too, Midas just couldn't pinpoint it.

Wait. Capitol. Of course.

"Welcome, to the very first annual Hunger Games. I am Lilith Teacup, the Capitol escort for District 1." She started Clapping, a few of the dignitaries behind her Clapped. No one else joined in. Never mind, a few did. Midas scowled, he'll give you three guesses as to who. "Okay, ehem. I'll start with the ladies then." She gracefully walked over to the bowl, containing the name of every single female of age In the District. Her Feet glided across the stage, it looked as if she were levitating. The strange shoes certainly didn't help either.

She smiled once towards a camera positioned somewhere in thecourtyard, Midas didn't even bother to look. He was fixed, the anticipation early eating him alive. He glanced at Maya, he wished he hadn't. But she drew him towards her, a invisible force. Not one of friendship or soul mates, like most stories spoke of, but of pure and genuine hatred. It was what he often referred it as.

He saw the Capitol lady, Lilith Teacup, reach into the bowl. Her fingers gracefully moved around, as if choosing the right slip of paper. With a jolt he realized, she was building the anticipation up. He could imagine everyone leaning forward in their chairs. Wanting to know, he took one sideways glance atMaya. She seemed to notice.

She winked and then, as if in slow motion, he saw her open her mouth. Horror then pleasure flashed onto his face. "I Volunteer, I volunteer as Tribute."

The world seemed to stop, she had just volunteered. The winks, the smiles. Not only was he going into the games, he'd going into them with Maya. He wasn't sure if this was a curse or blessing. She wanted to kill him, he wanted to kill her. This was, even though Maya wasn't aware, the perfect opportunity for both of them. He'd finally be able to get his revenge.

He watched calmly as Maya confidently made her way up the stage. She was graceful too, like a princess or fairy. The sea of children parted for her as she made sure all the attention was on her. He didin't think it was possible but he felt his hatred grow. She gave him a sharp smile on her way up making sure the cameras didn't catch it. He watched as the Capitol escort gleefully stood there, awaiting who he guessed was soon to become her new favourite tribute. The Capitol darling, he backed out a cold laugh that sounded more like a cough than anything. Probably why he had received an, "Are you sick?" From the boy adjacent to him.

Lilith started speaking as soon as Maya stepped onto the stage. "Well then, what's your name, dear?" She looked estatic, the woman that is. But now that he checked, so did Maya. Great. He also saw Maya's father angrily trying to hold back his fury. He looked mad enough to kill, Midas couldn't help but almost smile. Almost. "Maya Spencer." She flashed a wicked grin to the audience, he could just imagine the Capitol citizens swooning. "Why did you volunteer, dearie?" The woman asks. Face eargerly awaiting Maya's answer. "I have my reasons." She looked so oddly composed for someone of her age, like the calm before a storm.

She waves, not to him but to the camera. It made his scowl only deepen. Lilith clapped her hands together, "Well then, onto the boys." She cheerily made her way over to the boy's jar. He prepared himself for what was to come. Maya smiled at me again, he wished to throttle her. He watched as Lilith stuck her hand into the bowl, she drew out the moment once again, by seeming to carefully select a single slip of paper.

He saw a boy beside him start to whisper prayers quietly to himself. It's gonna be me, no need for prayers, idiot. He saw her perfectly manicured hands reached into the bowl and pullout a paper he could bet contained his name. "Midas Ambertide." There it was, the moment that sealed the deal.

He calmly strode up to the stage, watching as the crowd parted for him as it had with Maya. His body wasn't on Autopilot, he was so hyper aware of everything that it hurt. The faces of the citizens, some smiled. Some In relief and Other in grudges finally being fulfilled. Sick bastards. He lifted a foot onto the steps which led up to the stage. He refused the extended hand Maya had laid out for him. And stood tall, refusing to look at the girl who he hoped had just signed her own death sentence.

He heard the accented voice of their escort from beside him, it seemed amplified by a hundred. Her high pitched squeek now sounding morbid. "Shake hands, you two." He turned and faced the girl who had ruined him, hatred was seeping through his expression. His was an expression of hate. Hers full of Malice.

They shook, it was full of bitter grudges and spoke of the past the two shared. They were enemies, nemeses. He could read the unsaid message, they both could. I'm coming for you. Once these games start, I'm coming for you. They turned to face the audience, both of their faces glowering with hatred and venom. Their hands were raised above their head, a sign usually of allies or friends. This, though, was a show of dominance. They both thought that they would be the one to kill the other. As it turned out, perhaps only one of them would be right.

"Your Tributes! District 1!"

District 2

Tribute: Artemis Neverending

Age: 18 years

Gender: Female

Artemis stood there, crowded in the area of adults. The eighteen year olds. She wondered if she looked at the male counterpart to this crowd, she might find Apollo. Her brother. Her twin. The boy who was suppose to always be there for her, yet had abandoned her the first chance he goT. She gritted her teeth. She hoped he would be picked.

She didn't care if that sounded heartless or cruel, the words of a monster. Because they were the truth, despite everything, truth was someone Artemis believed in, firmly. He had crushed her, broken her. Made her into a cruel child, someone forced to grow old before their time. If he was picked, she would have loved to seethe expression of his new sister. Her replacement. She would love to see the horrors, she would experience the same pain of losing a brother as she had. The same brother nonetheless.

Maybe it'd be better if both children went in, Apoloo and his new sister. If it came down toot,she wondered if Apollo could kill this new sister of his. She bet that he would. Then I her last moments of life, her replacement would see just how much of a monster her brother could be.

She wanted him to feel the blood on his hands and cry, cry and cry. Like she had all those years ago. She glanced at the children still waiting in one, faces of fear. Some were white, pale as the moon. Other looked on the verge of crying. She noticed a child who looked as if he had thrown up, his face pale and sweaty. A little bit of vomit stil, on his lips. She cocked her head to the side. Had she looked like that? She doubted it, she strangely remembered being calm. Scarily so, or the little girl in front of her had at least thought that.

She looked thirteen, with red-rimmed eyes and a snotty nose. How children amused her sometimes. Artemis wondered to herself, how her dear old brother had reacted. To these games. Was he scared, for him or his sister? Had he wanted to volunteer? Somehow she doubted the latter. Artemis herself, actually, was planning on volunteering. She was sick and tired of her home. Of life in general. She wanted a out, most of al she wanted freedom. And something to take her anger out on.

If she won, great. With the prize money she could finally escape that stupid orphanage. She would be known and feared. One day, if she won, she could confront Apollo. Tell him exactly what she thought of him. Rubin his face how, if he had just stayed with her, he could have some of the fortunes as well. If he had just stayed with her. She felt a familiar burning in her eyes. A familiar sound start to bubble in her throat. Crap. No way in Hell was she crying in front of all these people. She blinked furiously, trying to remove any trace at all that she'd been crying. Or about to anyways.

She looked around, out of everyone. She think only one had seen. A pitiful glance had been turned her way. Artemis felt like growling or punch no something. She didn't cry and if she did she most definitely did not want any pity for it. This was why she wanted out, nobody understood her. Nobody ever cared either. The one Person she'd ever truly loved had left her to die then laughed about it afterwards. Thrown her out as if she were Yesterday's trash.

Pity, she didn't wNt anybody's pity. She didn't want any soothing words or attempts to cheer her up. Meaningless words of, "I understand" and "I'm sorry." She didn't want any of that. This was her problem anyone who thought otherwise could go to Hell. She didn't need any moral supposed. She Artemis Neverending, dammit.

No, you couldn't understand what she felt. You never would. How would you know if the most important person in your life, the one person who was suppose to have stayed forever suddenly didn't. They treated you as if you had never even existed. You get hurt and instead of beings here to help you, or heal you, it was them who had hurt you in the first place. He didn't die, she saw him evyday at school. Yet he acted as she had. As if she was gone, as if she had never even meant anything to him. She growled this time, actually growled. And as she did she felt a tear sliding down her face. She furiously wiped at her face.

Her throat burned but she didn't care, nobody was seeing her cry like this. She saw people staring, she didn't care. She just wanted to hurt someone. She turned angrily, her head spinning around wildly. She was looking for someone, she knew she was. Everyone knew she was. Then she found him, amongst the other eighteen year olds. There he stood. Apollo.

He seemed frozen from fear, his eyes glued ahead of him firmly. He stared at the stage. She wanted To scream out to him. But knew she wouldn't, couldn't. His golden blonde hair was long. Reaching just below his ear and fell in small waves around his face. He was beautiful, the devil dressed as an angel. He was wearing a dark gray button up, black dress shoes and slacks. He had a hat on. It was black and seemed to for perfectly on his head. The sick of him, made her sick.

"Attention." The voice of their mayor took over the crowd. They turned to face him. "And now, a special video from the Capitol." He pointed to a large screen, lowering itself down. District in chaos. War raging. She tuned out after those words. Focusing instead on what she would say. "I volunteer." Maybe, though maybe she should add more. "I, Artemis Neverending, volunteer as tribute." Maybe. It would come to her, she thought, it would come naturally.

"The Hunger games, a stroke of genius. Designed for the sole purpose of a show of power. A revenge plot against those who rebelled." The video spoke. Images of war and death taking over the screen. She looked over at Apollo his face would have been unreadable to most. But Artemis was his twin, she knew that expression. That was one he would use during class, the one that looked as if he were pay attention but wasn't. Instead his mind was elsewhere.

She squinted her eyes at him, what was he thinking about. Most of the children's eyes were glued to the screen. But quite a few had donewhat Artemis had, glancing at others, watching their reactions. The video then faded to black, the words havinggone throug one year and out the other.

She watched as a slightly pudgy lady walked across the stage. Her hair a bright flamboyant pink, definitely not from around here, Artemis thought. Nobody sane would ever do that to themselves here. She Tapped the mircrophone twice before a wide, and forced, smiled plastered itself onto her face. "Welcome, children, to the first annual Hunger Games." She clapped, Some children joined in with her. Mostly out of fear, Artemis was not one of these children. Nor was Apollo. "I am Sisabelle Malek, District 2's Capitol escort." That explained the accent, Artemis thought distantly.

"Fantastic. Ladies first then." She watched as the woman hobbled along the stage towards the glass bowl which sat eargerly awaiting a name to be pulled. The woman is wearing heels, which are few inches too long if you ask Artemis. The woman then stuck her pudgy hand into the bowl, she ruffled her hand around the names, trying to pick the right one apparently. Artemis growled, she was growing impatient.

It was a spur of the moment thing, really it was. She head a vice oierce through the silence, it took her a moment to realize it was her own. "Hurry up woman, so I can fucking volunteer!" Immediately she clamped her mouth shut. Crap. She watched the woman turn to face her. "Well, um, then come on up, dearie." Her voice was timid and shocked. Artemis tried not to look sheepish, instead she plastered on a confident smirk. A cold and calculating smile. And a mischievous glint to her eyes.

The crowd of children parted for her. She glared at one girl who smirked at her. Her eyes seeming to say, Congrats, you just killed yourself. She backed down soon enough. Artemis walked calmly and confidently, making her way to the escort, who looked at little terrified herself actually. Artemis grinned, it was wicked and malicious. She must have looked savage. She'd watch the tapes later on anyways.

She made her way up the stairs, and stood tall next. A good foot taller than her escort, she wanted to laugh, but didn't find the circumstances quite matched. She smiled, she was finally getting her way out. She was finally getting her freedom. "So darling, what's your name?" She looked at the woman besides her. She was frail, weak. Artemis shot her a wicked grin. "Artemis Neverending." She looked at the crowd, hoping to see a glint of blonde.

"Why'd you volunteer, hon?" The pet names were definitely starting to annoy Artemis, she didn't let it show though. "None of your goddamn business." That shut her up, Artemis grinned. Her tongue still as sharp as silver. She looked at the crowd, barely registering the woman call out the fact that she was going to go and pick the male. Artemis was looking for Apollo.

She saw a flicker of gold and a hunt of black. Found you. She watched his expression, it was full of something. For once, Artemis found that she couldn't read him. She made sure her expression was unreadable as well. She looked calm and collected. Mature way beyond her years. She was sure of it, his face, as well as hers, was set in stone. The twins simply stared and she felt disgusted by him. She wanted to throttle him, really she did. A amen was called but she paid no attention to it. Barely anyways.

"I volunteer!"

Was heard, but not registered in Artemis' mind. She just kept staring at her twin. Hate seeping through her features. He left her, he abandoned her. He drove her to the point of practically suicide. Self criticism. Was she not good enough? Is that why he left her? Was she not smart enough? Pretty enough? Charismatic enough? He had broken her and fractured her. Made her doubt herself in ways she'd never thought imaginable.

"Asher Valentine."

Vaguely mentioned, her gaze never wavered. She must have looked possessed, staring unblinking into the sea of faces. But she could only see one. She briefly saw the cameras zooming in on the boy beside her, she didn't care. She couldn't care.

"Amd why'd you volunteers?"

He was staring at her, not smiling, he seemed void of emotion. She snarled quietly to herself. Here was the boy who'd hurt her, physically altered her. Emotionally changed her. Here he was, he looked at her as if she were a stranger. As if she were nothing more to him then the broken relationship the two now shared.

"I knew him."

He wasn't even crying for her. Or looking in the least bit worried. That bastard. For her whole life, he'd been all she could rely on. The single force that was constantly there. Then he was gone, he treated her like scum and left. He didn't talk to her, didn't even look at her if he didn't have to.

"Care to elaborate."

Despite everything, if it had been him being sent off to these death games, she'd have at least looked slightly worried. At least partially. She would have shown emotions, whether good or bad, she would have shown them. He was like stone and she hated him for it.

"No thank you, Ms."

God, she wished for a second that it wasn't her going to these games. That it was his new sister, maybe if only for the reason that she wanted to see him cry. See his voice crack when he shouted her name. When his face lost all colour when the pink haired escort picked her skip of paper. She wanted that to happen.

"Well aren't you precious."

"Shake hands, sweethearts." Artemis turned and shook. The boy was much larger than her, with broad shoulders and toned arms. He would be competition, she was sure. But too compassionate. Too sweet, she observed by the way he held her hand. Gently, if not a little careful.

"Two volunteers, my, my. District 2, your tributes!"

District 3

Tribute: Zelda Knightly

Age: 16 years

Gender: Female

Zelda's finger brought back memories. It wasn't the good, nor was it the pain or scaring. It as the idea of being told what to do, constantly ordered around and being too helpless to stop it. That was her, that was her.

She vaguely remembered hearing Words of orders, telling her to do. Telling her exactly what to do. They spoke to her in an irritates voice, the peacekeepers pricking her finger. They had after she'd stared at them confused. The man had grown impatient, he'd forced her to put her hand to the paper. Forced her, she'd been helpless to stop him.

She was much too weak, he was much too big. She was much too scared. She wished she had a book on her, something to calm herself. Anything to clam herself. She wondered if she'd been born smart at computers like her mother, if she wouldn't be in this mess. Maybe she'd have been able to escape, God knows the only reason her mother hadn't was because of Zelda. Which, although made her feel guilty, she also took great pleasure in hearing the fact. It was nice to know that someone other than Dominick cared.

Zelda thought that, if she were reaped no one would care. No one. Maybe her mother and Dominick to an extent, but what was two people in a District of thousands? Maybe it'd be better off her, better off her be chosen. She wouldn't cause as big of a fuss if she were reaped. Her being chosen would prevent so many more from being hurt. Maybe she should just volunteer and end her life, like the words had been telling her to do for months.

Oh the Words. They ran her life for her didn't they? It would be the Words volunteing for death, not her, if they decided they wanted to be brave. Or cowardly, depending on your views. She would be brave, to sacrifice herself for hundreds of potentially sad others. But ending ones life was the cowards' way out, she knew that. It was a sins, and no matter what words told her, she would not commit said sin anytime soon.

She would regret it, she knew she would.

Standing in the crowd, Zelda was slightly claustrophobic. The sweat and clothes of the others were all dangerously close to herself. She tried squishing inwards, not to touch anyone. At al costs. She wasn't germs phobic, she wasn't obsessed with being clean, but these were the children who had torturdered her. Tormented her as she grew. She wished she didin't sound so cruel when she said she wouldn't mind if any of them got reaped. Then she would shrink back in guilt, or at least she wished she did.

She didn't, instead she would smile. The Words they'd told her over the years flashing through her mind. Replaying all that they'd said, done to her. With every Word, she could feel herself grow more butt, more secluded and cruel. She could feel them twisting her inside out until their meaning were burned into her mind. She wished to see them be punched, kicked, hurt. Like they had done to her. She wanted her pain to be felt, this was a feeling of cold hard revenge. She wanted revenge. Zelda was a timid girl, someone who couldn't stand her own in a fight even it was her who had inniciated it. But her thoughts, her visions were anything but, her thoughts were cruel. But only to her tormentors, only to her tormentors.

All these thoughts, were those of someone not mentally stable. Of someone far past the gone, she didn't realize it then, but these thoughts would certainly come back to haunt her. She became disgusted with herself, or would become disgusted. These were the thoughts her assailants had, not her, but she couldn't help them. They just kept streaming through.

One could never control one's own thoughts, we keep what we want under control private. Because if not, power over others would be lost, trust would be erased, and war would rage. In one's own mind, none of these applied, there were no prying eyes. These thoughts were private, always will be. She couldn't control them, her thoughts, her voices in her mind yearned for freedom. Her mind was somewhere where they could have the freedom they desired. And so, the sadisstic thoughts streamed through. Zelda becoming paler by the minute, more disgusted and inhuman with herself than ever.

She looked to the stage, a man with dukes violet hair was sitting in one of the chairs, talking quietly to the woman besides him. Zelda watched as he made her laugh, cocking her head to the side. Zelda was not smart in computers, nor in the likes of mathematics or science. But she was a genius in human communication, reading and writing. She could read men and woman like an open book, was creative and intelligent in things opposite of graphs and symmetrical lines. She was messy doodles and bright colours. Dulled by her own insanity.

A video started, but Zelda kept her eyes focused on the man with the purple hair. His skin was a dark brown, with purple eyeliner and most of his clothes seemed tailored to match. He was watching the video, Zelda barely registered the world it spoke.

"Children die, their parents dead. They are murderred by those who fight for what they believe is freedom, when all they have done is restrict it more." The voice interest Zelda, it is loud and calm, despite the matte it speaks of. Images of a lone boy flashes across the screen, sounds of bloodlust and screams echoing faintly in the background. Zelda looks away, the Words of the video replaying themselves in her mind.

The video, according to Zelda, is about three minutes long. She wonders if anyone else can feel the tension throughout the courtyard. She sees sweat stat to pool on the foreheads of some. A girl is hitting her lip nervously, the girl besides her biting her nails to the wicks.

She sees many tear-stained faces, red rimmed eyes and puffy noses. Zelda touches her face gently, no stickiness. None, just her cold pale skin, she trails her fingers along her cheek. Gently tracing the outline on which a tear, if any had fallen, would have followed. Wondering if she was hated for being heartless, if not, then after tonight it would certainly be added to the list.

She feels disturbed by her own lack of emotion. She squints her eyes and tries to make a tear fall, even if just to look normal. Zelda was far from normal, even now she k ew that. It was more to convince herself than anybody else. She heard footsteps, strangely hollow against the wooden planks of the stage. The District dead quiet, the only sound were those of the strange man. Who Zelda guessed was from the Capitol.

"Good day, ladies and gents. Today is the very first reaping of the annual Hunger Games!" His performance was lovely, with wild hand gestures and goofy faces, she heard a few giggles escape some mouths. It was to lighten the mood, she could see it on his face. He felt bad, he was trying To make us feel better.

The laugh was strained though, more as of the children laughing were trying to get one last shard of happiness, one last memory of the feeling. The laugh was a desperate grab for happiness, he knew, she realized, he knew. She squinted at him, but his reasons still seemed genuinene.

"I am Zamboyang, but you can call me Zambo, Carzicoiski." Zelda winced at the name, and there had been a time when she thought the kids a school would have a hard time porunouncing Zelda. "I gues I'll be starting with the ladies then." He walked briskly over to the bowl, sparing not eve another second before he pulled out a slip of paper. Zelda blinked, that was fast. She'd assumed he would have noted to take it slower, built up the suspense maybe. She guessed she'd assumed wrong.

"Ehem, let's see who the lucky winner of today is." Zelda visibly flinched with those words, whoever was chosen was most certainly not a winner. They were a loser, someone sentenced to death. This wasn't just some third grade football match you lost and then continued on with your day. No, the penalty for losing in this game, just one false move, was death. He fingered the paper, gently thumbing over writing.

"Zelda Knightly." Time froze, she's shocked, scared. She saw the crowd move to let her through, but she didn't. Her two feet stayed planted firmly to the ground. No, no, no. This wasn't happenings. Tell her it wa all just some bad dream. Then she heard it again. "Zelda Knightly, is there a Zelda Knightly here?" Zelda quickly snapped out of her face and quickly stumbled to the stage, she tripped once on her feet but managed to recover. She pretended not to hear the word, 'Freak' mumbled under someone's breath. Nor the quiet snickers everyone seemed to be producing.

She clambered up the stairs to the stage. "Hello, Zelda." She nodded in response. Well, she thought bitterly, at least now my District's finally gotten rid of me. "What a lovely name that is." She nodded again. He smiled at her, it seemed genuine to her, but she couldd never quite tell with those of the Capitol.

"Well then, onto our dashing gents." He strode over quickly, like he'd done with girls, and picked one just as fast, as he'd done With the girls. "Derek Findlay." The crowd seemed silent once more. Then she watched in small horror as the small cluster of twelve year olds parted. A small boy lefties standing in the centre. He looked around confused, he then got up on his tiptoes and did some hand gestures to the seventeen year old section. Sign language, she realized.

"No. I volunteer to take his place as the male tribute of District 3." The boy who'd spoken didn't wait for a response as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd and pulled himself up into the stage. He was good looking, Zelda'd give him that. Zambo looked at him, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "And what might your name be?" He gulped before gazing over the crowd. "Velkan Findlay."

"Was that your brother?" Velkan's Adam Apple bobbed up and down as he rubbed the back of his neck. He looked nervous, Zelda didn't blame him. He'd pretty much just sentenced himself to death. "Um, cousin." Zelda couldn't help but feel a small pity for the boy. "Well aren't you two precious. Shake hands." So they turned, he was taller than Zelda by a bit, she had to crane her neck slightly to look him in the eye. They shook and turned, raising their fists high into the air.

"District 3! May I present to you, your tributes." Zelda, still in shock, smiled. The situation feeling like a bad dream, she'd just have to wait another few hours to wake up. How wrong she'd been, how truly wrong she had been.

District 4

Tribute: Oliver Seadowns

Age: 14

Gender: Male

Oliver bit down onto his bottom lip in worry. He was nervous, that was for sure. He wondered whether he should be grateful for not prying into what his parents had been talking about, he now knew this to be the Hunger Games, or not. Because he hadn't pushed until they spilled, in fact he'd tried to forget about it altogether, he'd been able to spend his last few days in peace, contentment. He'd played cards games with Casimir and Ursula, winning of course. Oliver wasn't sure how many more days like that he'd receive. How many more days he wouldn't have to worry about death being a constant threat over his head, at least, until he turned nineteen.

If he had asked though, maybe he could have prevented it, somehow. He wasn't sure. Maybe they could've tried hiding, gone riding and never looked back. They would've found him sometime though, he was sure the consequence for that would be much worse than anything the Hunger Games had to offer. He meant it too. Maybe he could've just a little more prepared when they'd shouted out the announcements. Told everyone of their plan, he'd wished he's been just slightly more prepared for that kind of shock. Because he hadn't bee, he'd remembered Ursula saying something, but his mind was in shock.

What? What had they just said, his mind had frozen over, eyes glazed, and then spots forming around the edges of his eyelids. He'd almost fallen back, almost fainted, he'd seen himself in slow motion, slowly falling backwards, then, as of magic, he'd jolted back to reality. Just managing to scrape his hand trying to steady his landing. A little blood and that'd been it, he remembered Casiimir rushing forward, asking him if he was Ok, he'd just stared ahead. The face of their mayor had seemed pale as snow as he continued on with the explanation. Oliver thought he might barf, the mayor looked on the verge of it as well.

He hadn't slept that night, insomnia taking over his self. He was too scared to sleep, to scared to let himself over to the darkness where nightmares were formed. He remembered his sister's ragged breathing and little brother's quiet sobs. He hadn't made a sound, had looked up at the wooden planks of the ship and refused to fall asleep. He regretted that decision now.

His eyelids felt heavy against his skill,his hands hung uselessly by his sides. He yawned and out of the corner of his eye, thought he someone else do so as well. His finger bleeding was what had shocked uk just enough to keep going, the needle entering his flesh had jolted him awake. But that'd been a few minutes ago, he felt tired once again. Casimir was by his side, seeming to refuse to look at him. He felt a nudge on his side and looked next to himself at Casimir, he hissed at a the boy who seemed to show no reaction.

"What?" He growled out lowly, albeit a bit fast. He was getting slightly annoyed at his long time friend. He squeezed his fist in hope that it's stop the blood from trickling out any further. He felt a light punch on his shoulder and rolled his eyes, but turned nonetheless to see what the boy was getting at. Not without an overly dramatic sigh to accompany it.

He saw Casimir point towards the stage, "Look at him, he's got blonde, like really blonde hair." This was Casimir speaking, with his mouth pulled into a tight line, almost as if he were slightly terrified of this blond man's hair. Oliver wasn't that interested, so he's got blond hair. Lots of people have blond hair. He had blond hair, it was just slightly dirtied, sandy blond. "Like super blond, I don't think that's natural. Oh yeah, also, he's got gold skin." That got Oliver's attention, his eyes snapped over to where are the important people sat. Those who had all the power. And sure enough, there he was the 'blond' haired 'golden' skinned man.

He didn't really have gold skin, just an array of golden tattoos circling up and down his back. They were plants, but they were also animals, they were faces that told stories, they were everything imaginable. Oliver felt himself getting fixed, if I'd been born in the Capitol, I'd get that. He looked just over twenty three, he's quite young. Oliver thought in confusion, why so young? The blonde hair, sorry, the really blond hair, was just a platinum colour. It looked quite nice, but Oliver preferred his own muted blond hair.

He'd always thought Caoitol people would look more alien, with big lips, eyes, tiny noses, strange skin, and weird hair. This man seemed pretty normal compared to what he'd had in mind. He could be mistaken for just some albino, heavily tattooed adult male from District four. If you ignored the way his eyes seemed without the sadness behind them, his cheeks full and not sunken, the lack of a constant air of sadness around him. These were the things that gave him away. Their mayor, sat slumped into his seat, even though he was the man with the most power in their District. His eyes had the sadness of loss and pain, buried deep beneath them, this is what a man of District four should look like.

He felt someone cough loudly into a microphone before he heard it, the vibrations it sent through the courtyard startling. "Please turn your attention the screen." Their mayor, a wide man of small stature, was pointing as he spoke to a big piece of paper. Which then lit up in images. Of bombs and blood, people screaming and children dying. "Districts in chaos. War raging." The video spoke in a loud intimidating voice, but it was so loud, most of the children had covered their ears. Even the mayor and dignitaries winced as the voice spoke. Evidently, almost no one had heard what the video' said, they'd just stood there for three minutes with their hands over their ears and eyes closed.

When the video finally came to a close, it was the relief that poured through his veins that alerted him it was. The sighs of contentment the other children made. It was definitely safe to say that the first annual District 4 reapings, had started out extremely badly. Extremely badly. He saw the light pink on their mayor's cheeks, and couldn't help but grin slightly.

"Um.. Thank you for your attention, now, may I welcome, Regale Casopalvo." He clapped, and a scattered clapping filled the courtyard. The children competing out of sync and tone With one another. He wasn't a music lover so he simply snickered quickly to himself. "What's so funny, Seadowns?" He flashed a wicked grin a Casimir, "Nothing to concern yourself with, Cass-Cass." It was safe to say his childhood nickname shut him up.

The man stood briskly up and strutted across the stage, not artisan toy, but calming lay. Oliver liked this Capitol man, for some reason he did. "Welcome, children, to the first annual Hunger Games! The reapings for Distorct 4!" He raised single fist in the air, and the children clapped below him. "Like, your dear mayor mentioned, I am Regale Casopalvo, the Capitol escort for D4!" More scattered clapping.

"Ok then, let's start with the ladies, shall we?" The twenty-something year old seemed reluctant as he walked across the stage. Oliver cocked his head, how exactly did they choose the escorts? How did you qualify, exactly? He seemed guilt as he reached into the bowl and seemed to stare in fear at one of the many cameras scattered around the yard. Oliver's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. The escorts, they had to be somewhat willing to do this, right? He watched as Regale's thin fingers finally grasped a name, he pulled it out slowly. Muttering somethin under his breath, he looked at Casimir to see if he'd caught any of it. He appeared not To have as his eye remained fixed greedily on the bowl filled names.

Regales cleared his throat. Sweat starting to form on his forehead as he read the name. "Legala-" "I volunteer!" A shrill high pitched request echoed through the courtyard, he saw a young girl of about seventeen push her way to the front of the crowd and scramble up the stage. Not waiting for the group to do it for her. "What might your name be?" Regular asked with minor confusion. "Marrisa Zale." She smiled, black hair glinting in the sun. "Why'd you decided to volunteer, Marrisa?" She bit the inside of her cheek, see I to decided whether or not to tell him. "Personal reasons." He nodded at this, not prying any further, strange.

"Onto the men now." He walked towa rds the bowl as Marrisa seemed to scan the sea of bodies, maybe looking for someone, maybe just for something to do.

He walked towards the glass container that contained his name, somewhere. His fingers stretched inside, and time seemed to slow. He waited, wanting him to get it over with as soon as he could. Please just pick one. As reading his mind, Regales picked a paper. His eyes skimmed over the name once, Oliver imagined hIm trying it out once in his head before saying it out loud. Why had the girls reaping seemed so much shorter?

"Oliver Seadowns."

Disbelief edged it's way into his face. No way, no way. That was his name, wasn't it. That was him, he was the one-

he was going to-

Casimir and Ursula they-

And then he saw the crowd part for him, unlike Marrisa he hadn't rushed forward at the chance of dying. He felt like outing, he felt a cold hand touch his shoulder as he looked into the pale face of his best friend. "Cas-" his best friend looked sickly, he looked about ready to die as he leaned in and whispered, "Go, Oliver." Into Oliver's ears, that made him feel sickly too. He space Csaimir a small smile, Cas' face looked fearstriken, he saw tears moisten his eyes. Oliver felt a hard sob lodged itself into his throat and the start it ears burning behind his eyelids.

He walked slowly to the stage and climbed up. "Hello there, Oliver." He heard sympathy in the escorts' voice, but was too shocked to saw anything, too sad to say anything, too ready to die to say anything. Out the fear it'd be something he'd regret. Instead his eyes searched the crowd for Ursula, when he couldn't find her he deflated. Forcing his eyes back onto his best friend. His eyes were red-time do and he was crying, he saw the tears glisten off of his cheeks as he furiously wiped them away with his shirt, and soon a Oliver felt like crying to, but he couldn't. He couldn't imagine what kind of effect that'd give the Capitol. He escort seemed sad for him, so he just whispered low enough for only the cameras, Oliver and Marrisa to hear, "Shake hands."

They did and Oliver wondered why she'd volunteered, but her eyes spoke of sadness and he decided not to pry. He'd blue eyes weren't red-rimmed or full of doubt, they were full of confidence and strength. This was what Victors were made of, confidence and strength. Oliver didn't realize it at the time, but the arrogance was practically entirely forced, and maybe Oliver still needed to realize just how many of his own smiles were fake. The quiet, sad, voice of their escort came through. No louder than a man speaking to his children.

"Your tributes, District 4."

I just realized I gave Midas both the Reactions chapter and the Reapings. Uh, oops. It'd meant to do Maya's, I swear. Well, I guess Maya'll just get the next two Povs for D1. So yeah, here are the reapings.