Mayson Wells

Just one more page. Mayson had been repeating this mantra all night and into the morning hours, his eager eyes devouring one of his favorite and most worn-out novels, Atonement. He was mid-way though the heroic and devastating war portion of the tale, perhaps subconsciously hoping for inspiration and courage for the upcoming day, but really Mayson was simply entirely wrapped up emotionally and mentally in the words springing forth from the time-tanned pages. When the sun fell in bright slants across the pages of his book, Mayson snapped out of his much-loved literature induced trance, realizing what time it was, and shortly after, unfortunately remembering what day it was. Mayson rubbed his eyes with the coarse heels of his muscular hands, trying to rejuvenate his eyes, not regretting for a moment that he had traded a night's sleep for his beloved books. After all, there would be no work today, Mayson could sleep later. He gently returned the novel to a cram-packed box of books he kept safely under his bed, a priceless gift of literature he had received during his childhood from a kind old woman, a rare survivor of the Games-inducing war. Mayson grabbed his khaki work pants from the floor, hoping they wouldn't look too wrinkled from where he had let them lay all night, and pulled them on, making sure his small tattoo of the number 7 (a rite of passage among his friends) on his calf stayed hidden from his parents. He then chose a navy blue tunic that was traditional for men of his District, pulling it on over his well-built frame.

After using a sleeve to wipe away a thin layer of sawdust, Mayson took a moment to inspect his week-old beard in the small mirror in his room. He ran a hand over the scruff, stopping for a moment to run a finger over the small scar under his chin where the hair wouldn't grow in; hoping another good week of growth would lead to a full beard. Not that Mayson needed any help appearing older than he was. Four years of hard labor in the logging mill had taken a toll on Mayson. People often mistook the 17 year old Mayson for a man of at least 30, his weathered skin having been exposed to so much sawdust and sweat. His father and two older brothers were the same way, aged beyond their years by the product of their District. A family of old men, Mayson often thought, cynically. As thoughts of Robbie crossing a war-torn Europe, pining for Cecelia, swam in his thoughts, Mayson sat at the kitchen table with his mother. His father and brothers, although excused from working today, were outside chopping trees near their home to try and bring in some extra money for the family. Mayson was staring out the window, wondering if he would ever fight in a war with the courage and determination of Robbie, when he heard his mother say expectantly, "Well?" Clearly he had missed something that she had said to him, not an unusual occurrence in Mayson's social interactions.

"What?" Mayson answered quietly.

"Do you want me to walk with you?," she repeated.

"No thanks Mom. I'm going to meet my friends," Mayson replied politely.

Her gray eyes, the color that Mayson had inherited, seemed to show a flash of sadness, but Mayson was already rising to leave. "I'll see you there," he said, walking out the door.

Mayson's friends were waiting for him half-way to the square, standing at a street corner in a large cluster, laughing and talking over each other.

"Mace!," one particularly large boy called to him, "Let's go!"

Mayson smiled and joined the group of boys as they continued their walk. He hung towards the back, nodding and laughing at appropriate junctures, enjoying his friends' liveliness, but finding very little interesting or relatable about them. When they reached the square, most of them stayed together and went to join the other 17 year olds, and a few wandered reluctantly away to the 16 and 18 year old sections. As Mayson stood, waiting for this to be over so he could get back home to his room, either to sleep or read, it was always a tough choice, he put his hands absent-mindedly in his pockets. The fingers of his left hand, to his surprise, met with the feel of wrinkled paper in his pocket. He extracted a page with typewritten text all over it, and it took Mayson a moment to recognize it as one of his favorite scenes from the novel, The Book Thief. On it, over the artfully crafted and long ago printed words of the author, was his mother's handwriting, scrawled in dark ink. Never stop reading, son. It is your escape from this place. The words brought a sad smile to Mayson's lips, and he carefully folded the page back into his pocket. His mother understood him, she always had, and this was her only way of telling him, knowing she could never actually do anything to help Mayson get out of his dead-end life in the mill. Mayson craned his neck, looking for his mother's dark hair in the crowd, but he couldn't find her, there were too many people in the way. Moments later, Mayson got the vantage point that he needed, standing at the front of the stage, side by side with a confident blond District partner. He found his mother then, not even bothering to look at his gang of friends who were all trying to tell him things with their eyes or gestures. Mother and son locked their gray eyes and Mayson thought, these Games will be my escape.

Anna Crest

"Today is your big day Anna!" Anna's father called to her from the kitchen.

For some reason those words hung in the air. YOUR big day. After all, it was Anna's big day. But was it really? Anna's father had trained her to win the Games just as he had won the Games when he was seventeen. She was everything he wanted her to be. No, she was everything she wanted to be. Strong. Opinionated. Cunning. Anna wasn't the average weak pushover Panem citizen. Instead of living everyday in weakness, she made herself stronger and indestructible in the eyes of her peers. Anna walked downstairs dressed in her blue reaping dress and sat in the kitchen with her family. Looking at her family, Anna started to feel some apprehension about the Reaping but her face showed only confidence. It's too late for anything but confidence, confidence that her strength and size are a lethal combination, confidence that her skill with a bow will win her the crown, and confidence that she will NEVER fail. Everything has been planned. Anna would get her hands on a bow, sneak around the arena, and ruthlessly kill anyone who stopped her from winning. She would be portrayed as the exotic beauty for the sponsors, and impress the Gamemakers with her skills and stamina, but it all starts with the Reaping.

With everyone gathered in the square, the event started right on time. Anna took her place among her peers. Anna's face showed stone cold confidence. While everyone else was scared and concerned, Anna appeared almost arrogant. Right as the escort reached into the bowl Anna shot up her hand and volunteered. Her moment was here. With head held high she walked to the stage. Once she was at the front of the crowd Anna was sure the cameras were on her and she needed to make her first impression. She threw out a quick confident smile, not sure how the audience, or more importantly how the other Tributes would view it, but she was going to have to live with her decision whether or not it was smart. Anna watched as her District partner was chosen, and again she smiled not knowing what to do. At the end of the Reaping she shook hands with her partner and went to the justice building.

Anna's family came in to see her first. Her brother looked very concerned but like Anna was trying to mask his concern. He didn't like that she volunteered. He wouldn't be able to protect her in the Games, and as her older brother it was his job to keep her safe. So he decided to do the only thing he could do, sponsor her, a plan he would keep secret from Anna because he knew she would refuse his help. Then her father gave her a quick hug and said "See you on the train"

Anna's next visitor was her best friend Victoria. "I saw you crying when I was on stage," Anna said. Despite Victoria's natural instinct to refute such claims and insist she wasn't, she simply nodded and buried her face in Anna's shoulder. "I need you to come back," Victoria said. Anna knew that someone as wild as Victoria needed someone to be their rock, and now Anna had even more motivation to win. At the end of the visiting time Anna sat alone. Today was her father's big day to show off his daughter, it was her brother's day to realize he can't protect his sister forever, and it was Victoria's day to realize the value of her best friend. The three closest people to Anna were all counting on her, and it was Anna's big day to not let them down.