Train Rides Part I: Dog Days Are Over
Dog Days Are Over by Florence + The Machine
Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your love and your longing behind
You can't carry it with you if you want to survive…
District 12 Train
Carella Bray (18) Past D12 Female of the 90th Games
All of this. Could it be true, or is it fantasy? To the newly born skin kissed upon my broken body, to the grey eyes that shine dully against the glass furniture. My mind has been racing with so many things, probably just as fast as this train as I lie in bed. I had not been able to sleep that night, the reality of the situation not fully comprehending as images and past experiences in my life slowly saturate into my mind and fill every cell of my brain. So is it really true, or is it all a dream?
My eyes are closed, the soft golden lighting alerting me of the sun rising, the first time in a long time. The soft clinking of pots and pans in the kitchen steadily registers my hunger and thirst as my stomach begins to growl tenderly in my slim abdomen. Fluttering my eyelids, I welcome the pastel colored room. The walls painted a warm beige and the glass furniture reflects rays of clear light, turning them into iridescent beams that paint the entire room of rainbows.
I never thought I would see such beauty again, not after the plague of mirages that haunt my thoughts those supposed ten years ago. The blood and the evil seeping deep that I did not think it would ever leave me. Even now, it stays. My death shatters me; slicing the knife parallel to my veins, letting the crimson bleed around me in a silhouette of the darkness that had taken control of my heart. The edges of my vision tinging black and the soft, ethereal white sprouting from my irises. The contrast of the dark and the light enveloped me and carried me into a new path, an unknown future.
Oh, the colors.
Nevertheless, I am here. Awakened and the reminder of my first Games blatantly etched into my arms; the jagged, scarred lacerations bringing memories of the 90th Games. The District 2 female tracking me as the final battle ensued, the final outer district tribute left remaining, the Careers long disbanded. I remember her blonde hair in curls ending at her shoulder blades and her bright, blue eyes at the interviews. She had not been a typical Career, but rather bubbly and affable. Her giggles chiming faintly as opposed to the haughty laughs of her fellow allies. It had puzzled me, the enigmatic problem surrounding her was questioned by everyone. Her name was….. Damn, I can't remember. Anyhow, I prayed that she would win, for her kindness underneath the trained killer shined bright in my mind. I do not blame her for my death, for I was the one to end it.
Interrupting my thoughts is the creaking of the door opening slowly, the figure behind it coming into view. "Carella…" It is Calloway, his husky voice rings deeply in the large space. The door swings open and he walks in, hands in his pockets and dark eyes focused on the window beside the king sized bed.
I hear the dragging of the chair at the desk and note its close proximity to me, his breathing steady and slight. "Breakfast is ready. Orion and Bram are already there." I hear him stand and the sound of his footsteps as he exits the room, slight hesitation as the door comes to a halt and shuts with a small click.
Selene, my beautiful baby girl. Her golden locks and grey eyes, the scars dotting her slender arms and legs. Her slightly upturned smile as we reunited, our bodies finding each other's once more. The tears shed between us could never replace those lost years. She is now a young woman of thirteen, her womanly curves coming into place and her innocent features hardening with the wisdom of the world around her.
I'm sorry I left you. I'm coming home, this time stronger.
I throw my legs over the bed, the rush of blood making me dazed for several seconds as the room hazes. My eyesight glistens and everything surrounding me crystalizes in a dark beauty. Standing near the window, I tentatively place my hand on the cold surface and gaze out into the wilderness as it gradually brightens as Twelve disappears, no trace of the ruins District left to remember by…
District 11 Train
Valiant Yates (18) Past D11 Male Tribute of the 63rd Games
"Breakfast," a loud voice calls from the ajar door. The hiss of steam slices the air along with the clinking of silverware. The muffled conversations can be heard ever so softly in my bedroom, the room's acoustics amplifying the sounds from the kitchen. I sit upright and feel the rush of blood travel throughout my body, everything becoming blurred as my eyes adjust to the bright light.
Everything is gone; my parents, my friends, Poppy… all is lost. The moment I died, my final breath spent, I was supposed to stay dead. Not this. Not 'reawakened' to this altered state. I can't even walk at normal speed, I'm slow and I fucking hate it. My mind is all hazy and clouded and… and… damn.
Tears begin to well and sting as I throw the blanket off my body, letting out a shaky sigh as I begin the long journey towards the room's entrance. My limbs are stiff; my thoughts slowed and appear so frustratingly underdeveloped that I just might go crazy before we even enter the Capitol.
My eyes widen as the grand view of the dining room comes to view with its dark colors splashed around the luxuriously large room. A chandelier hangs just above the oak table that displays a myriad of delectable foods, the scene making my heart skip a beat. I see that Beck, Lilac, and Yarrow are all seated with finished plates and empty glasses. I make my way towards the vacant seat, trying my best to seem smooth and fluid as possible but I know I must be as zombie like as ever, their eyes darting down the second the girls catch my gaze. Beck sits and observes as I pull the chair back and take my seat, his eyes glazed.
"Um, so, I don't know if you guys are acquainted with each other yet…" Beck clears his throat. "Girls, this is Valiant." He gestures toward me smiling.
I wave and smile, hoping that it doesn't seem at all creepy. Lilac smiles and Yarrow nods lightly, their eyes soft.
"Valiant, the girl to your left is Ms. Lilac Fields." The small, petite girl waves and flashes a smile, her expression confident. I smile back and await for Yarrow's introduction. "And to your right is Ms. Yarrow Ashby." She looks down and nods, a pensive expression across her caramel skin.
"Well girls, I'll talk to you each individually in a bit about strategy and review your strengths and weaknesses." The girls silently exit their seats and head their separate ways, Lilac turning right and Yarrow heading left down the corridor.
I turn to Beck to see him staring at me, either in curiosity or remorse. He sighs and relaxes into his seat, tears beginning to well in his eyes. "You have a lot of charm, Valiant."
He murmurs again, this time under his breath and I can't decipher his breathy tone. He gives me a pensive smile and lowers his head. "I know- … Listen, your sister Poppy." He stops himself there and looks up at me, his face turning red. "She married a white man and lived on the outskirts of District Eleven… She had a son and a daughter…" Tears are falling from his eyes and settling onto the scruff of his beard. "About ten years ago, a Peacekeeper attacked the family and… I happened to be there when I went to visit my father's grave… only the son survived…"
Poppy…
"I took your nephew in after the attack…" He inhales sharply, his eyes glistening.
I don't miss a beat. "Is he in Eleven?"
He cries out, softly as the roar of the train drowns out his sorrow. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sobs, his face contorted in agony and despair. "He was reaped last year…" His head drops to the floor. "I… I- He didn't make it."
Dread covers me in a dark film of misery as his head drops and he sobs loudly, screaming profanities as I sit in horror and anger as the man before me falls apart. The seams of his good natured and respectable nature fray with every passing moment as he unleashes the misery and ache in his heart. Not knowing what to do I put my head down and wait, not wanting to witness his moment of weakness. Hours seem to pass as he sobs soften and the room fills with a heavy silence. Curiosity takes its toll on me as I find myself blurting the question.
"What was his name?"
His head rises, his face no longer contorted but tense. His bloodshot eyes glare into mine, his irises dark, emotionless. "Merit." He clears his throat, his eyes shining for only a moment. "Merit Valiant Phoenix."
Such a nice name… Poppy…
District 10 Train
Elmay "El" Risque (15) D10 Female of the 87th Games
I'm sitting in the lounge, the air around me stuffy as the blistering heat seems to penetrate through the thin glass windows of the train. You see, the air conditioning broke after Tanner and the boys were horsing around the unit and the heat has made everyone on edge. Both Eli and Coy are in the game room, most likely playing pool or darts for all I care. I would have accompanied them, but I have a meeting with Tanner who didn't want to discuss the topics in my room for some strange reason considering his less than subtle outfit choices and his aura.
"Hey." I turn my head to see Tanner leaning against the entrance to the room with his hands in his pockets and a sly smile. His jean jacket is unbuttoned revealing a sculpted upper body that narrows down to his six pack and his 'v'. Heat rushes to my cheeks and I feel myself at a loss of words before finally snapping my head forward, cursing under my breath.
"Damn, sorry." He strides over to the couch opposite of mine and buttons up his jacket, his slender fingers working the buttons with ease. "So, El. Do you mind telling me about your life before the eighty-seventh Games?
I nod. "Well I was born-"
"Just brief history. Then your reaping and so forth."
"Okay. So I live- … lived with my parents in Ten my whole life, had a generally normal childhood and stuff…" I look up and sigh, watching as his eyebrows furrow in concentration. "I was reaped along with a twelve year old who didn't make it past the bloodbath. Umm… I-I just remember the sword th-that pierced me… and the blood." Images of the hot crimson take hold as my old self lied in a pool of pain and misery as death overcame my motionless corpse.
"What is the one thing… the thing you held dearest to you?"
I open my mouth and quickly shut it as the question begins to burn into my mind. Should I say the abstract, or the concrete? Hope or knife? "… Hope. Hope that I would return to my family… to my District…"
His eyes are glazed as he looks down, grimacing slightly. "Hope… isn't something you can rely on in the Arena. Especially this time… Listen." He clasps his hands around mine and locks eyes with me. "I understand what you mean… I tried that at first and… it destroyed me." The pain and darkness in his voice sends shivers up my spine, never expecting this side from him. "I… I'm going to get you out of there… I believe you have a better chance than the other two."
I nod and look down, my hands shaking. "I-I don't think-"
"You're getting out of there, okay? I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure you live." His voice is rising, his words becoming more and more staccato. "Fam-" He stands and heads to the doorway, the corners of his mouth twitching.
"Your strengths are the inner strength you possess, flexibility, and small weaponry. I suggest you take up a medium sized weapon to broaden your horizons. According to Capitol files, your weaknesses are your stature, strength, and… optimism?" He furrows his eyebrows as his eyes squint at the pages in front of him. "Optimism…? That's weird…"
I bow my head and recall the immense feeling of hope that stayed with me that week in the Arena, the undeniable truth of my death but held so strongly to the hope that the horrors awaiting me were traumatizing to the point of avoiding it all together. Ultimately leading me to run far, far away until I crossed paths with a Career, my demise imminent. Hope is what has guided me, every day carrying me to the next until those last days. My mind blocking the darkness, the inevitable… the truth.
"Anyhow… keep that hope, just don't lose track of what's around you…" He trails off and leaves the room, the stillness in the now empty room deafening. I watch as his shadow disappears behind his bedroom door and hear the small click as it closes.
Bringing my gaze to the T.V. and it is with raised eyebrows that I catch a small disk protruding from the side of the large screen. I walk over to it and with my index finger; I trace the disk's edge softly and carefully as the object is as thin as ice. My mind begins to dance around the idea that what this DVD holds could be the ticket to winning, finding an idea or concept that could potentially save my life. Maybe something I had missed or did not think of.
I lightly tap the edge of the disc and it enters the disk holder, falling into the dark space in between its grasp. Taking a seat at the couch, my eyes take shape to a pitch-black screen that then slowly fades to a forest and with large black letters reads…
Elmay Risque
The 87th Games
District 9 Train
Fenella Wren (16) Past D9 Female of the 81st Games
The screen fades to blue, the rich color of the sky as the screen relives the vivid images of the 81st Games. Twenty-four contestants all standing on pedestals as the countdown begins, eyes darting back and forth from allies to enemies, to supplies and weapons. It all feels like a dream, even though I see myself plainly as beads of sweat drip from my hairline. My long hair kept tame in a ponytail that sways violently as the coastal winds rage. I am there, and here. Alive, dead, alive, but always afraid…
The sea surrounds us, ready to devour those who cannot swim. The mysterious unknowns of what the Arena's ocean held in store were beyond any of our imaginations. From tsunamis to deep sea creatures, the Arena that year were a District Four tribute's paradise, being taught their whole lives how to encounter such things. Odds were highly in their favor as outer District tributes drowned before reaching the Cornucopia. By the time the bloodbath ended, only ten remained. Miniature islands were spread throughout the area, tributes having to make the risk of swimming from lands for supplies. I teamed up with the District Eleven male, Beck, who happened to be quite an asset for his natural talent for swords. Cutting through shrubbery, we made it to the final round where I was killed by the District Four pair.
My body lies in a heap, blood pooling around me as Beck's face contorts, my life slipping away as one last heave is spent.
BOOM
"AAAAGGGGHHHH!"
Beck screams and raises the sword, charging at the pair as he swipes the sword below the female's knees. His speed surprises her even more than me as the blade cleanly cuts her lower legs as her body falls. Her District partner stands frozen as the girl releases primal yells, her eyes rolling back into her head often. She bleeds profusely where her legs were chopped off, the meat and bone exposing itself as dark crimson stains the sand beneath us.
"FIONA…!" The District Four male's face changes, what was then scared and saddened transformed into pure craze and chilling blood lust. His eyes widen, pupils dilating at an unbelievable speed.
"Let's settle this like real men," Beck yells as he raises his hands, dropping the sword. His expression hardens as Four drops his sword, a look of haughtiness across his handsome features. The corner of Beck's lips twitch, his hand falling to the waistband of his shorts. He quickly places his other hand at his waist as if trying to seem sassy, or cover up something he did…
BOOM
The remaining two tributes…
Winston Coyne of District 4…
Beckett Holloway of District 11…
The voice echoes throughout the beach, the District Four female sprawled out as her skin reflects a ghosty pale, the dark crimson hardening on her skin. Winston charges first, his hands outstretched as Beck immediately finds himself underneath Winston. Four's fists begin to connect with Beck's temples, the blows landing on his eyes, cheeks, and forehead. I'm screaming on the inside for him to get the upper hand, to somehow overcome this. Beck's eyes close and he goes limp, Winston smiling at his work as he turns his head to the right to locate his sword.
It all happened too fast.
The corners of Beck's lips turn up in a smirk and the hand that first found itself on his waistband now holds a dagger. The dagger's blade slices Four's throat, his jugular taking the most damage as a lot of blood begins to soak his neck and armor. Winston falls back and writhes, making ugly choking noises as he drowns in his own blood. Beck stands, his face swollen and with his left eye shut stands over Winston, a look of anger and sadness across his face.
"GGGLLLGGHH!…..hhhhew…hhh" Beck raises his dagger, tears swelling in his eyes as the blade plummets in between Winston's eyes.
BOOM
He screen fades to black as Beck collapses in the sand, his eyes closing once again and the announcement sounds loudly, brass instruments trumpeting his Victory.
Congratulations to our Victor of the 81st Hunger Games, Beckett Holloway!
The screen fades to black as credits roll.
Beckett "Beck" Holloway resides in the Victor's Village in District Eleven.
He will be mentoring for District Eleven for the 4th Quarter Quell.
A picture fills the screen and shows a much older Beck with a woman and a small boy whose smile lights the entire screen. He doesn't look at all like Beck or the woman, so maybe adopted? Anyhow, the small family portrait is taken in front of the Victor's Village and reflects the wealth and happiness a Victor's life usually brings. Beck's eyes however look distant, sad.
"Fen." I turn around to see Chord beckoning me to the hallway, her eyes lit. I grab the remote and press the power button, the T.V. closing down with a chime. "Berk told me we have to go to Barrik's room for some video." I nod and follow her to his room. His slightly ajar and rustling of sorts can be heard from the bedroom. Chord puts a finger to her lips and crouches down, letting me see above her to see inside.
Barrik sits on the floor, leaning against the bedframe with heavy eyes as loud screams emanate from his T.V.'s speakers. Looking up at the screen reveals Barrik who is pinned down by a rather pretty girl with long, slender limbs. She brandishes a knife and occasionally runs the blade across his sunken cheeks, beads of blood blossoming from the knife's path.
"Aren't you gonna run, Nine?"
I look over at Barrik and watch as tears stream down his face, hazel eyes bloodshot. The Barrik on screen looks tired, defeated as the girl brings the knife to his eye and plunges it deep into his eye socket. Blood pours and drains the life from his face as inhuman, primal screams make its way from the back of his throat. The girl laughs and pulls the blade out and thrusts it in over and over until Barrik's eyeball turns to mush, soup-like in consistency. He whimpers and cries, still fully conscious as she begins with the next one, his vision now gone. I pray for him to fall unconscious, for him to fall into oblivion. Unfortunately, it never comes, and even after the girl leaves, you can see him writhing and groaning. The blood is immense, streams of it gushing from his shredded, torn eyes. His body spasms and falls limp.
BOOM
The Barrik sitting in front of us sobs and lowers his head, the scars around his eyes turning a deep scarlet as his face reddens. His blonde hair sticks to his forehead, the sweat beading around his forehead. I run in despite Chord's urges, and face him. Throwing my arms around him, I embrace his trembling body and comfort him in his time of mourning. This is the best way I can heal someone, in this situation at least. So while comforting him I envision my first Games and death, letting the tears fall with his.
District 8 Train
Mercy Jade (13) Past D8 Female of the 96th Games
"President Echo wants all the tributes to watch these series of clips." Thread states as he inserts the disc into the DVD player. His shaggy blonde hair falls into his almond shaped eyes, his lips tight. "It features a Gamemaker announcement, President Echo's address, and the promo for the Quarter Quell." He turns to face us. "Did you all see your Games?"
We all nod, our faces apathetic and straight. We hadn't won, we knew, but the fact we were forced to relive our deaths is what anger us, well me at least. Thread nods and heads toward the door, turning around and waving his goodbye.
"Well, we might as well get this over with," Mira breathes, rolling her eyes. She grabs the remote and presses the play button. Static appears on the screen for a moment then brightens as a table full of people appear with a young woman sitting at the head. Her blue eyes are dark, mysterious as she makes contact with the lens. The corners of her lips turn up devilishly.
Hello tributes. I'm Head Gamemaker Icelynne Winterrose for the 4th Quarter Quell. All thirty-six of you were selected from a large pool of past tributes using the Capitol's recent scientific breakthrough.
She points to a large screen that displays a large white question mark contrasting with the black backdrop.
The Arena… or should I say Arenas this year will be a surprise for everyone until the actual Games. I'll tell you all right now that twelve tributes, six males and six females, will be placed in each Arena. All of you will progress through the specialized areas until one remains, securing your spot for the final battle. Arena placings will be announced at the Tribute Parade and further details of the regulations set for this Quarter Quell will be presented to you during Training.
May the odds be ever in your favor…
The screen goes black and static appears. For a second it looks as the screen will flash to life but instead a fiery hue fills the room and zooms out to feature a splendid, ornate dining area complete with tableware and dark linen. Mouth-watering delicacies fill silver platters and porcelain plates as the screen displays President Echo herself.
Hello. I am the President of Panem for the 4th Quarter Quell, Seraphina Echo. Thirty-six teenagers from past Games were randomly selected from a large pool of tributes and were resurrected to compete in the 100th Annual Hunger Games. Now I know some of you come from earlier Games, and that most of your family members are dead. Well, for you all, I have a special gift for a tribute whose family is long deceased… once a tribute is crowned Victor, they have the choice to bring back one family member of their choosing. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I certainly don't want anyone giving up so easily due to their current situation.
She smirks and brings a pale hand to her cheek, her green eyes glisten and sharpen as she follows the camera's view.
I expect great things this year, tributes. May the odds be ever in your favor…
The screen once again darkens and the speakers emmit trumpeting battle music. The screen shows vivid blues, greens, and browns as text begins to slowly fade in and out on the screen.
The 4th Quarter Quell
"To show our generosity to the Districts of Panem and to the rebels that the dead cannot influence their determination to take down the Capitol's overwhelming power, thirty-six tributes from past Hunger Games will be brought back to life and will be given a second opportunity to be declared Victor."
President Seraphina Echo
The music crescendos with every second as body profiles of the tributes and several scenes of their Games are displayed, from reapings to deaths. My own face appears and images of my interview and the bloodbath are shown. Wetness coats my cheek and a sob chokes me. I can feel Messiah and Mira stare at me for a second before averting their eyes to the screen to unveil themselves.
As my breathing relaxes, I briskly bring my fingertips over my forearm. The touch sends electricity to my chest as I register the reality of our situation. We are here. Alive. We had died, our hopes and dreams dimished. But now, we breathe and live. Even if for some of us it's just for awhile, we can make a difference this time. We have the advantage for all other tributes, we have experience whether it may be from survial to killing. We have a chance. I don't intend on wasting it, not after the deaths of my sisters and the pact suicide of my parents.
Hell no.
District 7 Train
Ember Oakland (15) D7 Female of the 87th Games
I am not a saint.
I have sinned, whether it may be from the boys that have crossed my path or the blood I had shed in the Arena. I've made mistakes and have my flaws, I am no super hero or role model. I am imperfect, and proud. For I am human; my heart beats, my lungs breathe in the rich, clear oxygen around me. I lived an honest life, left at the steps of an orphanage, I spent numbered days with peers who cried or vented their misfortune in sadness or anger. I never hated it there, but rather embraced the small friendships and close knit bonds I had developed in that society-shamed place. I was proud for the misfortune I had, because it made me strong against the horrors of the world. I watched children starve to death there, teens fighting to death over stupid things. The supervisors there were never watching us; they feigned ignorance of the corruption in District Seven's 'best childcare program'.
I had planned with friends, for when we attended our last reaping, we would pack our bags and leave District Seven for a new life. Whether it was District Four or District Nine, we would live together and provide the care and protection to one another that we so desperately longed for. Unbeknownst to us, I was reaped at the tender age of fifteen, leaving my friends helpless as I ascended into chaos.
I am no savior.
"Ember?" Chance's voice is soft, concerned. He sits across from me, several feet away as his face hardens with concern.
My eyes fall to the floor, the tears stinging and welling. My hands clasp together, my nails digging into my skin. "… Yes?" My chest fills with a heaviness I cannot describe, the pressure almost intolerable.
"I… I didn't know where you were. I didn't know what had happened to you when that gong sounded…" He exhales shakily, the corners of his chapped lips quivering slightly. "I tried searching for you… you must've been so scared, alone. I broke our promise."
In truth, I was the one who broke it off the moment our pedestals rose above the damned Earth. My instincts becoming primitive and no longer guided with reason, only emotion served as my moral compass. The Arena had turned me into the thing I had feared, treading through a fabricated game without a second glance of the sorrow and death surrounding me. I was the one in the wrong and I should have been honest from the moment the countdown reached zero.
The silence is heavy as his breathing slows and returns to normal, his erratic movements of anxiety gone as he takes a swig of some brandy and meets my eyes. The atmosphere of the room grows softer as a small smile returns to his face, a smile that lit up the moment we shook hands at the reaping. That charm, that smile… is what saved him.
"Look, I think the only thing you need is a wider range of weapons you can use to your disposal. Luckily, this year, the mentors will be able to observe all the tributes this year. I can give you more insightful advice when I see who the competitors are." He scratches the back of his head, his eyebrows furrowed.
"I-I…" My voice trails off and I can't form the words to express how I feel. I bite my lip, the iron filling my mouth.
BEEP
The loud sound makes me jump as he whips out a small pager, his eyes scanning the string of letters that look like a code.
"I've gotta go. I'll talk to you later tomorrow, okay?" He stands, brushing off the front of his pants and promptly leaves, never looking back.
The room falls silent again and those long distant memories begin to resurface. Bubbling around me, boiling hot. I begin to feel drowsy, my eyes drooping and body falling into the soft plush of the couch. Curling my body, a warm fuzz envelopes me. Drifting farther and farther into a past, a past filled with so much blood and pain that escaping is impossible.
My body screams, not only to escape this dream but to escape the depths of the water. The plants on the seafloor trapping me in their grasp. The vines twisting around my legs trap me, struggling against time. The vegetation knots around me with every flail of my limbs, my death set. My destiny ending here in this murky pond.
As the last of bubbles rise to the surface, my lungs expand and I begin to swallow dirty lake water and my eyes swell. I fall limp and can only imagine the District One girl standing over the edge of the cliff with big brown eyes as my last bit of air rises to the water's surface. Her dirt smeared face probably wretched in horror, her long brown hair swaying violently around her as my cannon sounded.
Carmini.
A/N: Sorry this took so long to post! I recently got a subscription for Netflix and well… you can imagine what had happened to me then… and I was also contemplating what I was going to do with my life considering I started the dreaded and stressful college application process :/ Anyway, here is the first part of the Train Rides (in reverse order ;p). Next chapter will have the rest of the remaining Districts. Tributes who do not receive a POV from the Train Rides will be featured during the Chariots or Training Days.
Notice: So going back and reading past forms from both SYOTs I've had, I noticed that some were… well… Mary Sue/Gary Stu type characters. One form in particular that I received for this SYOT was the final straw. So pretty much for my next SYOT, I will be waymore strict with tributes I accept and will be doing the 'open submission' thingy. Okay, enough of the rant.
Fun Poll: Most Original Name. (Voting ends _)
Whose POV stood out to you?
Which tributes POVs do you anticipate reading from Districts 1-6?
Love Always, Domi