Chapter 4

~ District 4 ~

Denver Murray, 17

He always thought District Four to be incredibly beautiful. He loved to wake up to the salty morning breeze coming through his window, the sound of the waves crashing down the sand and the beautiful scenery of the glistening blue-green waters from his bedroom. Denver sighed with a small smile on his face, looking at peace. It was then when the fight erupted from the hallway.

Talora and his mother were at it again. Perhaps his sister was caught with a bottle of gin in her room again. He didn't really understand why his mother would be surprised to see it. She had ten more bottles stuffed under her mattress but Denver wasn't going to tell his mother that. She could find them herself. Right now, Denver was too busy appreciating nature to meddle in his family's problems.

Unfortunately as he tried sneaking out, his mother caught his arm and pulled him back in the house. Her eyes seethed with anger but Denver could tell that she was trying to calm herself down because she was talking to him.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked snippily. "You haven't eaten breakfast yet, sweetie. Take a seat and eat."

"I'm going out."

Aleah Murray took a deep breath as she tightened her hold on Denver's arm. "No. Denver, you haven't been home for days–"

"I want to go out," Denver cut her off although there was no malice in his tone. He simply looked his mother in the eye with the same smile on his face. He talked as calm as he did appreciating the view from his room. "If you don't let go of me, I will forcibly break your arm away."

He might as well have been asking for a loving hug from his mother because he hadn't sounded like he was threatening her at all. Looking rather frightened, Aleah shakily drew her hand back and Denver sweetly thanked her. He left her with her mouth agape in shock at his behavior. He got that a lot. It wasn't anything new. Not everyone thought he was entirely sane anyway. With an alcoholic sister confined for eight years for murder and an overly paranoid mother, it would surprising for any Murray to be in the right head.

In order to stay away from his house, Denver hiked all the way up to a cliff everyday with his sketchpad and pencil. Nobody bothered him up there. It was his place of peace and where he could do his art without distractions. He walked giddily and even whistled a tune. Yet despite his overly happy demeanor that actually made him rather approachable to strangers, anyone he passed would stop whatever they were doing and walk the opposite direction from him immediately. Each had a look of panic and fear at the sight of him and if possible, it made Denver even giddier.

By the time he reached the cliff, he was skipping. Although he stopped in his tracks when he realized that he wasn't alone in his sacred place.

"Fancy seeing you here, Morgance," Denver greeted the blonde girl who sat by the edge. His behavior hadn't changed although he was genuinely curious as to why she was here in the first place. "Would you like to draw with me?"

"I don't want to draw with you," she scoffed, spinning round to face him. Like Denver, she was smiling although if Denver's smile made people uneasy because it looked too genuine to actually be genuine, Morgance's smile was outwardly creepy and would give anyone chills with one look.

"But this is my drawing place," Denver said with a tilt of his head. "Why wouldn't you want to draw with me?"

"Have you ever actually appreciated this kind of view, Denver?" Morgance asked and ignored his last question, turning her attention back to the water down below.

"Everyday when I wake up," Denver replied in an instant. "I feel the wind, watch the waves and admire how the sun's light is reflected by the water making it look shiny and glittery."

"Like now?"

"I said in the morning. Not now. When I wake up, it's more beautiful."

Then she stood, her blue eyes glinting as she began to walk closer to Denver.

"Wouldn't it be nice to experience it, Denver? The water as you say is stunning, ravishing, undeniably entrancing."

"You're just giving synonyms of the word beautiful."

Morgance grimaced. "But you agree, do you not? How do you think it feels to feel that kind of water? Even together with the thrill of excitement."

Her smile stretched wider and took a step dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. Denver took a peak about a hundred meters down. The water crashed heavily against the rocky edge. It was dark blue mixed with white foam caused by the waves. Morgance closed her eyes and took a deep breath beside him.

"I know I'd like to feel that," she mumbled.

Denver watched as she took big steps back. She opened her eyes and looked straight at him. After shooting him a wink, she ran at full speed and leapt from the cliff without hesitation. Her screams of utter exhilaration as she dove put a grin on Denver's face. He dropped his sketchpad and leapt from the edge before Morgance even reached the bottom.

As he cheered riotously on his way down, he understood what Morgance was trying to say to him all along. To experience something as beautiful as mornings in District Four, you couldn't just sit around in peace. It took a whole load of guts and balls to experience it. Quite literally, you needed to take a leap of faith.

Minet Reska, 15

Brute was already waiting for her inside. She was ten minutes late and she knew this. Her trainer absolutely loathed late students, but Minet didn't seem fazed when she stepped in the knife training room. In fact, she looked rather calm with a smile on her face as if she didn't actually do anything wrong. It made Brute even more furious than he already was.

"Get in place," he hissed.

Rolling her eyes, she stepped into the spot beside him. They stood side by side to watch a girl about Minet's age. Her hair was sandy blond and she was visibly shaking as she held three throwing knives in her right hand. Minet frowned, wondering why they were observing a girl who obviously lacked the skill Minet desired to learn.

"She's not good," Minet whispered snippily to her trainer. "I know her. Why are we watching her?"

"Cora will do just fine, Minet," Brute deadpanned.

"I need to learn how to improve my skills," Minet insisted, stomping her foot. "Cora isn't going to help. Nothing she'll do will make me any better!"

"It's time that you realize that what you do isn't exactly perfect, Minet," Brute said, crossing his arms.

Minet gave him a look of disbelief but she finally shut her mouth and followed what her trainer instructed.

"Go ahead, Cora."

Brute gave her the signal to start and Minet narrowed her eyes. She better be good or Minet just wasted her time in actually coming here. So Cora whipped her arm forward with the first knife and in lighting speed did the other two follow. In the target board, all three knives managed to sink in although no bullseye. The nearest was the third knife where it fell about two inches away from the middle.

Minet raised her eyebrows in surprise. Not bad.

"Cora, let me first explain to you that what I'm trying to do here with benefit you both," Brute said to the blonde.

Minet snorted. Brute shot her a dark look.

"Tell me, were you actually watching?"

"Yes," Minet said through gritted teeth.

"Then say loud and clear the faults you noticed."

That had changed everything. Minet's eyes brightened and a dangerous gleam appeared. A sly smile tugged on her lips as Cora waited patiently for her answer.

"She was hesitating," Minet started with her voice low. "She had the right stance when I came in, but when you told her to start, she shifted round a bit. Her posture was too tight. Her eyes were shifty."

"You're basically just telling me she was nervous," Brute snapped. "Look deeper, Minet. Is this a bad day for you?"

He was testing her, and it was working. Minet twitched in irritation when he interrupted. She could feel the anger bubbling in her stomach, but she tried not to let it show. Her attempts on looking calm didn't seem to work very well though because she could see Cora inch away in fear. She could feel Brute's eyes piercing through her head, but she focused on Cora, replaying her knife throwing in her head.

"Her hand," Minet managed to say under her breath. Brute listened closely. "She held the knives slightly wrong."

"Slightly wrong?" Brute repeated.

"Slightly wrong." She nodded. "Her fingers weren't aligned right. That, and her throws were too light. If she were throwing at a mannequin, the blade would barely sink in. She needs to throw harder, faster."

"Good," Brute complimented her. "Can you give me one difference between you and Cora?"

Minet knew where he was going with this. A series of possible answers began to spin through her head but she knew in the back of her head the right one. She didn't like the fact that she knew it was possibly the only difference between her and Cora when it came to their knife throwing.

"I have better aim," she mumbled.

"Correct!" Brute cheered. "I see you're catching up, Minet. Good for you."

"Tell me what your point is with this," Minet demanded.

He smiled at her as if humoring her. "I think you already know. Your fingers aren't properly aligned either. You throw knives like they're cotton balls and not deadly weapons for killing, and I assure you when you're in the arena, there's no time for acting slow. You have to be quick to win. You're too confident with your aim that you don't think about anything else."

He dismissed Cora and they were soon alone in the room. Brute ran his hands through the weaponry that hung on the wall until he found three suitable throwing knives. Minet walked to where Cora stood and faced the target board with confidence. She was going to prove to him that wasn't anything like the amateur Cora.

"You focus too much on your strengths when I bring in people older than you but with the same amount of skill to observe," Brute continued. "Now I bring in someone your age who is somewhat mediocre, but look at those similarities! Focus on your weaknesses, Minet. There's no time for that when you're in the games because then you shouldn't have any."

Seething with anger, Minet swiftly picked the first knife and threw it with all her might. Brute smiled satisfyingly when the blade sunk in completely, bullseye.

~ District 9 ~

Dillon Shaw, 15

There was one main school in District Nine. As the district was rather small, it was as if it were simply an enlarged village where all the neighbors greeted each other with warmth and genuine words. Almost all the children of Nine went to the same school together and Dillon Shaw always appreciated this. He liked the company and he loved being surrounded by people he was on friendly terms with.

The boy he would consider his best friend was Chandler, a petite fifteen year-old who was always up for a good laugh. Dillon and Chandler hung around in the school's cafeteria during the break. They waited patiently for their other friends to join them as Dillon choked on his lunch at something Chandler had just said. He gulped down his entire bottle of water and warily focused his eyes on the blonde.

"You're kidding," Dillon deadpanned.

"Dude, she's looking right at you!" Chandler guffawed at his face. "How could I be kidding?"

Dillon nearly twisted around to look, but Chandler stopped him before he could fully turn.

"Are you insane?" he hissed. "You gotta play hard to get! You can't let her know that you know she's watching you."

"How the hell is anything going to start between us when I don't even acknowledge her?" Dillon demanded.

Chandler roared in laughter again. They were getting looks from the older kids from the nearby tables. Dillon was beginning to feel uneasy.

"Dillon, nothing going to happen between you and Noleen Wyatt," Chandler said once he's calmed down.

Dillon shot him a glare. "Something can totally happen! All I need to do is play things right."

"You can barely talk to chicks, man."

"Wha– I can so talk to chicks!"

Chandler chuckled, raising his hands up in mock surrender. "Ooh, touchy. I'm just saying, Dillon. You're not exactly a female magnet when it comes to your flirting. Oh, um, you like ballet dancing? Yeah, I'm totally into that!"

The shorter one growled in response, stabbing his pieces of meat aggressively with his fork. "I don't sound like that," he muttered.

But deep down, Dillon knew Chandler was exactly right. He could barely even talk to girls right so what made him think he could make something happen with Noleen Wyatt?

"It's okay." Chandler shook his head fondly at his friend. "We can't all be women experts."

Dillon snorted, dropping his fork with a clang on his plate. "Oh, please. The only girl you've properly flirted with is our grammar teacher and she's like forty."

"Thirty-five," Chandler bitterly spat. "Everyone flirts with her. She's hot."

"And older than your own mother, but who cares right?"

He flicked a spoon of mashed potatoes in Dillon's direction but it landed short by the edge of the table instead.

"Whatever, Dillon. Even if you do attempt to go for Noleen Wyatt, you're going to have to deal with Little Miss Sunshine."

Dillon grimaced, twisting around to catch another glimpse of the table of Noleen and her friends.

"I can tell you're kidding, because Taegan Harper is nowhere near as bright as the goddamn sun. If anything, it's like she buries all our good vibes under the grain fields," Dillon said with a snort after turning back.

Chandler took a peek of his own over his friend's shoulder.

"Come on, she's not that bad. She's only been glaring for– I don't know, half an hour since she got here."

The pair of friends burst into howls of laughter. This was what Dillon lived for. He always yearned for a good laugh with his best friends and life couldn't seem more perfect for him. A sarcastic remark would usually do them good then they'd be able to keep the good mood for the whole day. Although making the fifteen year-old angry was just as easy as giving him good vibes, which was why Chandler says his words carefully because sometimes just a friendly banter with Dillon may possibly lead to something more drastic.

Chandler swung his legs over the bench and hopped on both feet. He addressed Dillon with a twinkle of mockery in his eye.

"Come on, Dillon. Let's go sulk together."

Snickering to himself, Dillon abandoned his lunch and joined his friend.

Taegan Harper, 15

Taegan sat awkwardly in Ailbe's room. Ailbe was her friend for quite a while now, but she never got used to going to her house. The four surrounding walls of her room were painted white without a single speck of dust. Her floor was carpeted red. Her door and the rest of her wooden furniture were varnished mahogany. The queen-sized bed was as soft as a feather pillow, decorated with various types of stuffed toys.

Ailbe always said her house was nothing and people around the area had better, but Taegan didn't care about the other people around the area. Ailbe's house was a mansion compared to Taegan's, but she didn't mind. Taegan wasn't necessarily poor, but they only lived in a modest cottage by the fields wherein Taegan had to share her room with both of her sisters. They didn't have fancy furniture and red carpets but her house was home. Although it reminded her of bad memories that she would rather forget most of the time, she felt content with their bungalow.

"So Noleen and Foster might come over later," Ailbe said as soon as she walked back inside her bedroom.

Taegan scrunched her face. "I'll be gone by the time they're here."

Her friend sighed, taking a seat on the office chair by her study table.

"Noleen and Foster aren't that bad," she said, rolling her eyes at Taegan. "Honestly, I don't see why you hate them so much."

Immediately the taller of the two began to get defensive.

"I don't hate them!" Taegan said with a huff, crossing her arms against her chest.

Taegan actually meant it. She never hated Ailbe's friends, but there were just some things about them that irked her to no end. She wished they'd leave her alone more but it was like they were set to annoy the crap out of her until she died. They had their good days when they would barely speak and Noleen would actually be pretty bearable, but most of the time Taegan wanted them to shut up.

Ailbe raised her eyebrows at her friend.

"Really?" she said disbelievingly. "What did you just say about Noleen yesterday?"

Taegan silkily smiled. "That she could be as intelligent as Albert Einstein if she tried?"

"And you said it in such a condescending way that you made her tear up, Taegan!" Ailbe said exasperatedly. "Not everyone appreciates your sarcasm!"

"Ailbe," Taegan snapped, "Noleen's brain should be an insult to your intelligence. I don't understand why you put up with her!"

Sighing, Ailbe shook her head at her friend.

"You really should stop being so judgmental, Taeg. Accept people for who they are. That's why they're my friends."

Taegan took a deep breath and decided not to reply. Ailbe always got so defensive when it came to her other friends. Taegan was her closest, but she seemed to like being in the company of a crowd which explains the load of other morons that she's forced to hang out with. Sure, they're not all that bad. Taegan just didn't see the point in sticking around with them.

If Ailbe were to hear what Taegan was thinking, she'd make a snarky remark about how Taegan never actually saw the real point in things.

"I'm going home," the brunette announced, springing up to her feet.

The other sighed.

"Are you sure you don't want to wait for Noleen and Foster?" she asked uncertainly. "They'll be here soon. You guys can bond and stuff."

"I'll bond with them when they stop talking to me."

"That doesn't even make any sense!" Ailbe exclaimed.

Taegan trudged past Ailbe and out of the room. The latter followed soon after, catching up to her before she could reach the front door. There must have been a reason why Taegan was being more snotty than usual, and it just occurred to Ailbe exactly why.

"You're seeing your father, aren't you?" Ailbe cried out before Taegan could take a step out of her house.

The brunette immediately stopped. She froze in place with the front door wide open, and her hand gripped the silver knob with more force than necessary. She tilted her head before finally walking out and slamming the door shut behind her, leaving Ailbe's question unanswered.

~ District 11 ~

Harris Tweed, 12

Harris walked a steady pace on his way home from school. Beside him, his half-brother skipped with an easy smile on his face and slightly glazed eyes. It was routine for both boys to walk home together. As soon as they'd step in their house, they would check in on Mack to see if he was doing all right.

Their mother never actually had time to look after him. None of their other siblings even bothered either. Harris always wondered how there were already nine of them, and only two out of that nine actually bothered to look after the younger ones. It pissed him off, but Bransen always tried to get his other siblings on his good side.

Two of the girls were already working with stable jobs. Bransen would call them brilliant for it. Harris would simply say they got lucky. The fact that Bransen even praised them for it would irritate Harris to the core. They weren't intelligent. They weren't even hardworking. By the end of this week, they'd probably get fired. Harris already knew.

Bransen didn't though. He was ignorant. He was naïve. Harris didn't dare break the innocence his younger brother had. He couldn't tell him that his two eldest half-sisters were currently working their fifth job because they were sacked from the past four. Bransen wouldn't understand, so Harris had to keep his mouth shut. It's what big brothers do.

As they slowly reached their narrow bungalow, Bransen continued to skip, but Harris slowed his pace. His eye caught the bright red roof of the house a few blocks away, and he knew he needed to visit before going home. Once he steps into his own door, he wouldn't be able to come out until the next day. Mack would take all of his time.

"Hey, I'll catch up with you later," Harris announced, changing his footing to a new direction.

"What?" Bransen questioned with a start. "We promised Mack we'd play with him after school today."

He had a pout on his face, and Harris rolled his eyes at him.

"You can warm him up yourself or something," Harris replied hastily, waving him off. "I wont be long."

"Where are you going anyway?" Bransen pressed further, cocking an eyebrow suspiciously. "You're not going to see Mrs. MacGrage, are you?"

"If you tell mom–"

"I'm not gonna tell mom," the eight year-old snapped. "I don't tattle."

"Then just stay out of my way then," Harris irately mumbled, turning back to the direction of Mrs. MacGrage's house. "Keep your mouth shut."

"Mom doesn't like it when you go there, Harris!" Bransen called at his back as he walked away. "It's not going to be nice if she finds out! Just be back before sundown!"

Harris often felt guilty with the way he treated Bransen at times. He loved the little guy with all of his heart and would never let anything happen to him, but his visits to Thaliana MacGrage's home was something he often got defensive over. Bransen tried to stop him from going over there so often because it upset his mother, but he honestly didn't care what his mother thought of his decisions. Bransen shouldn't care either, but he was eight. He didn't understand yet.

But Harris was twelve. He wasn't very much older than Bransen. How come he understood? Or did he really? Sometimes he just liked to think that he understood everything. It was easier that way instead of succumbing to ignorance. He didn't like the feeling of being twelve. Everybody belittled him. He didn't want to be treated that way.

Mrs. MacGrage never treated him that way. She treated him like he was an equal. She didn't baby him. She didn't talk to him like he was stupid. She even asked him logical questions sometimes that really made him think. He liked to think. It was one of his favorite things to do. Mrs. MacGrage let him think and use his head. She taught him most of the things he knew. She was a bright old woman, and Harris only ever felt like himself when she was around.

She acted more like a mother than his actual mom ever did. Sometimes he even thought of bringing Bransen and Mack with him, but he couldn't. He couldn't help but be selfish and keep Mrs. MacGrage to himself.

After knocking thrice on her polished wooden front door, the elderly woman opened it. A light caring smile lit her face as soon as she saw who stood on the front porch. Harris blurted out the one thought that was haunting him for the entire day. He needed someone to comfort him. He needed someone to assure him that everything was going to be okay.

"I'm scared," Harris said, voice cracking as he stared down at his chipped fingernails. "Help me, Mrs. MacGrage. My first reaping is tomorrow."

Charisma "Charlie" Matthews, 18

Charlie patiently sat on the carpeted floor of her mansion. Before her was a red-orange crackling fire; the flames flickering yellow in her sunken blank eyes. Her legs were tucked under her bottom, and her hands rested softly on her thighs. Her breathing was slow and even, following the steady pattern of her pulse.

She was seated in the same position for the past hour, just thinking. She's been doing it a lot more lately. She didn't want to lose herself, and the only way she could stay Charlie was when she stayed calm and relaxed. The dark thoughts needed to be pushed to the back of her head, forgotten for at least those few moments.

Suddenly she heard a pair of hesitant footsteps behind her. Charlie twisted her neck back, losing her collected composure for a second.

"Ms. Matthews, you must get ready."

It was her butler, Sage. Charlie let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding in. The risen panic within her began to subside, and she attempted to steady her heartbeat.

Breathe, Charlie, she mentally whispered to herself. In and out. In and out. It's Sage. He's not going to hurt you.

Sage was faintly frowning at her. His eyebrows were ever so slightly scrunched, and his eyes flashed with worry as if he knew how Charlie was feeling.

He didn't. No one could possibly know how Charlie was feeling. She was alone in her own little world because nobody would understand. Charlie knew how much Sage wished he could understand her, but he couldn't. Charlie's lost enough people already. Everything was entirely her fault, and she couldn't pull Sage in in any more of her problems. It was for his safety, and her own.

"Could you give me five minutes?" Charlie asked politely, turning her gaze back to the fire.

"But you should hurry," Sage insisted. "Most of the people are going to the square."

"They're not going to come here and drag me out," Charlie said with a snort. "Do you really think Mayor Rueben will go out of his way just to get me out of here? That guy can't even get through a single speech without stuttering. What makes you think he'll be able to convince me to leave?"

Sage sighed exasperatedly. "Get ready, Charlie. Nobody should hear you talk like that about Mayor Rueben."

Her insides began to burn annoyance at the current topic. Her eyes flashed at her butler. "Frankly, I wouldn't give a shit! If he did his job well enough, maybe I'd think about listening to his before-Reaping bullshit that he spits out in front of everybody."

Breathing heavily, Charlie pushed herself up to her feet and stormed out of the room. How dare he tell her off about Mayor Rueben? It wasn't like he helped her in a single way in the past. Why should she give him any amount of respect when he obviously didn't even give a damn about the citizens of his district?

Once she locked herself in her room, she began to feel the guilt. A splitting headache was threatening to crack her skull and she fell on her knees by her bedroom door.

"No, no, no, no!" she hissed furiously to herself, attempting to calm herself down. "Stop it! Not now!"

She slowly breathed in and out, trying to ignore the cackles of laughter in her head. She tried to remember anything that provided her the feeling of serenity. She tried to remember her mother and her grandfather before they both disappeared. She remembered how her grandfather inspired the lives of so many people in District Eleven with his confident speeches and advice. She remembered when he was still mayor and his daughter, Charlie's mother, would be by his side.

Those were the good old days. They were better days and Charlie would give anything to get them back.

Charlie felt the anger subside, the fury replaced by utter sorrow. Breathing deeply, Charlie leant on her bedroom wall with tears streaming freely down her hollow cheeks. She vaguely heard her door creak open and close. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"All right?" Sage awkwardly asked, taking a few steps closer.

"All right," Charlie responded shakily, offering him a soft watery smile.

Sage exhaled in relief and dropped himself beside her on the floor. It was an ordinary occurrence. At many points, Charlie would lose it. Sage was the only one she allowed to see her in such a fragile state. Especially during days like Reaping Day, Charlie's mental state worsened.

They exchanged a silent apology. Scooting closer to the twenty-year old, she laid her head on his shoulder, embracing the tranquility Sage offered with his presence alone. She resumed her breathing to a slow pace, matching her steady pulse, just thinking.

~ District 12 ~

Everett Carson, 17

Everett lay on his back on the grass, just behind the last house of the Seam. His hands were tucked behind his head as he followed the clouds with his dark thoughtful eyes. Beside him, two of his best friends were on their feet in a full-on argument.

"You can't just do that, Rylie!" the petite brunette snapped irately at the fair-haired boy who towered over her.

"I don't see the big deal here, Averie, really!" Rylie exasperatedly said, rolling his eyes at his friend. "They didn't even see me!"

"And what if they did?" Averie hissed, poking a finger hard at his chest. "What if they saw you looking through the girls' bathroom of Town girls? Do you have any idea what they can do to you, a boy from the Seam, for that?"

Rylie snorted. "They can't do anything to me. Seriously, you overestimate Townies. What are they going to do? Paper cut me with their money?"

Averie growled. Everett listened in amusement.

"I don't understand why you sound so surprised, Averie," Everett chuckled, eyes still glued to the blue sky. "You're supposed to expect that from someone like Rylie."

"You know what?" Averie spat. "When you both end up in jail, consider me the happiest person in this district."

Rylie shrugged nonchalantly, taking a seat beside Everett and ruffling his hair a bit. "You weren't very happy when this guy almost ended up in jail."

"Don't touch my hair, Storm," Everett mumbled threateningly under his breath.

Rylie drew his arm back in slight alarm. Averie rolled her eyes at the two.

"Everett learned his lesson," she said confidently, taking a seat on Everett's other side. "Didn't you, Everett?"

The lazy seventeen year-old turned his head to meet eyes with Averie. She gazed menacingly back. Everett smirked at her.

"Whatever you say, Av," he replied with a slight chortle, looking back up. "Just know that I'd gladly attempt to punch that teacher again if he insults my family one more time."

Rylie let out a loud laugh, patting Everett fondly by the stomach. "That's the Everett we love! All strong, blunt and violent!"

"Boys and your violence and your perverted yearnings," Averie muttered bitterly, getting up on both feet.

Rylie raised his head to look questioningly at her. "Where're you going?"

"To look for Tylan," she declared with her chin up high. "He's the most decent to speak to out of the three of you anyway."

As she walked away from the clearing, Rylie shouted at her back. "We take offense to that!"

A moment of silence passed between the two teenagers. Everett continued to follow the clouds with his eyes, feeling rather disappointed that Averie had left to find his best friend. Tylan was probably at home, already getting ready for the Reaping that's suppose to happen in a few hours. He'd never actually admit it, but he was the most terrified of the Games in their little group of friends.

Averie was too levelheaded and strong-willed to show her fear of the Games, Rylie simply didn't care, and Everett was possibly even more afraid than Tylan. Ever since he finally found the right group of friends and gotten close with his little sister, he knew there were just too many people to leave behind if he were reaped. He was past the one phase of his life wherein he'd express his anger and frustration through his fists. Averie, especially, helped him get through that.

Truthfully, Everett was more frightened of Averie getting picked than him.

Rylie stirred a bit beside him. Everett tilted his head to his friend. There was a mischievous grin on his face, and an uncanny glint in his eye.

"Wanna spot some chicks by the showers?"

Everett chuckled lowly, pushing Rylie strong enough for him to fall on the grass on his side.

"Get a life, Storm," Everett grunted humorously, resuming his cloud watching.

Anicla Dovimen, 14

She was running through the tunnel with a couple more miners who were desperate to get out. She lost her father a little while back, and she was terrified. She could feel the tears as she ran, and the ache in her legs was keeping her from going any faster. The grown men around her pushed and shoved for her to get out of their way. She wanted her father.

Where was he?

Suddenly there was a boom. Everything was black. There was a gasp.

Anicla found herself sitting upright on her on bed. Her hands flew around her body, checking if everything was still intact. Her entire body was coated in sweat, and her breathing was uneven. Still slightly panicked, she buried her head in her hands, trying to forget the dream.

The nightmares were a usual occurrence for Anicla, but her reactions to them never varied. She wasn't much of a screamer, but she always woke up sweaty and cold. Her heartbeat was fast and heavy against her chest. Her lips were dry and chapped, and she was white as sheet.

"Get yourself together, Anicla," she whispered to herself. "Get over it."

Once she calmed down, she threw herself out of bed and left her room. She was hoping she'd find her father waiting for her. He wasn't, but it was expected. She couldn't help but feel the disappointment in her chest. He was always at work. He'd tell her each day that he was doing it for her, but she didn't want him to do it. After the accident, it was enough to convince her that her father's work was more dangerous than she had originally thought.

Every night she would painfully wait for him to return. Every time he'd walk through the door, she'd praise God for each day he gives her father to continue living. Nobody ever knew when the mines would blow up again. Anicla wished there was some way that she'd be able to know.

Without eating breakfast, Anicla made herself presentable and left her house. There was something about that day that she was forgetting. The aura of District Twelve definitely felt a lot more different. It was as if somebody placed a blanket of depression over the district.

Standing by the sidewalk, Anicla observed her surroundings. A few elderly folk were working by their houses, and she decided to approach one of them. Timidly, she tapped the elder woman by the shoulder and she turned with a kind smile.

"Excuse me," Anicla shakily began. "But… is it Reaping Day today?"

"Of course, dear," the woman replied kindheartedly. "How could you possibly forget?"

It was then when everything hit her. The fear of getting reaped fell heavily on her shoulders and her throat began to clog up. Anicla liked to leave things unattended until confrontation was absolutely needed. She hadn't thought of the reaping in ages. It was a topic banned between her and her father. Ever since Anicla's life was on the line two years ago, her father couldn't even think about her being in the same situation again.

"Get back inside, dear," the elder woman advised. "It won't help to your sanity to stay out here before the reaping. Everything's awfully more depressing than usual."

After thanking the woman for her time, Anicla turned and walked away. She needed her father. She needed to talk to him about this. She was tired of ignoring one of the most feared topics in their district. She needed his guidance at least. He should be by her bedside, comforting her about her dream and assuring her that it won't happen again. He should be promising her that the odds will be in her favor again this year.

Instead, he was at the mines. He was in the one place that Anicla would never step into again, and he insisted on returning every single day.

Slamming her front door shut behind her, Anicla stormed into her house, wondering for what seemed to be the millionth time in two years if her father was even going to return at all.

Author's Note:

Hello, finally! Okay, so if you haven't been visiting my profile for updates on this story then you wouldn't know the full reason why I haven't been updating. To cut it short, real life fanfiction. My other priorities got in the way of my writing which kinda sucked but yeah. Really sorry!

This is the last chapter of the introductory chapters and the next will be the reapings (probably in the point of view of Franco and Zelda). I'm not going to promise anything about my next update, but you and I both are hoping it'll be MUCH quicker than this chapter. It's the start of my summer now so I'm mostly free, except for one more commitment which is my sport (I have summer practice).

Do I have anything to say about this chapter? Er, I think the word count lessens as you go down from D4 to D12 (terribly sorry about that, I wanted to put this up as soon as I could). I suppose that's it.

Chapter Question! (this is new hehe)

Early favorites now that you've read a small section for each of the tributes?

Reviews help loads. Thanks to those who still stuck around even if I didn't get to update in a while. :)

~jess

PS- Another message for that anon who reviewed about a month ago. A big F U because I have everything planned out already (including the victor) so yeah, I'm finishing this story. Sorry, but it's only the truth... ;)