Thanks for your patience, I hope to have a few more Reapings up this weekend, because I have tomorrow and Tuesday off as well.
By the well, have you heard the song Coming Home? I'm just listening to it now, and I think it (at least the chorus part) fits the games well.

Disclaimer! I don't own the Hunger Games. Duh.

Cormac Tabben

"Is there a Cormac Tabben here? Ah, there he is, ladies and gentlemen—"

I drown out the sound of the escort's voice completely, ignoring the crowds of people and the cameras that surround me as I climb the steps onto the stage. I don't care. Not about any of them, not about my life. Not anymore, at least. I lost the one thing I cared two years ago—though it seemed like it was just yesterday.

"Cormac—Cormac help me!" Erick's frantic shriek echoed through the streets and I ran as fast as I could towards his antagonizing cries. He was shouting and shouting, pleading for mercy. It was those kids again, those bastards who picked on him daily, except this time they'd gone too far.

I turned the corner and there he was, lying in a pool of his own blood. His face was black and blue and red—blood gushed freely from a wound on his head and from his mouth. I dropped to my knees, cradling his head in my lap. To the side stood a group of five or six boys, two who stood grinning while the others looked on in horror at their own work.

"Erick" My voice came out rough and broken. "Hold on, buddy, I'm going to get you home,"

But Erick's eyes had already become glassy and I could feel the rushed breath in his chest slowing. His grip on my arm loosened and he could no longer look into my eyes.

"No!" I shouted in pure anger, pure loathing now "No!"

As I stand on the stage now, I spot some of the boys who killed my brother, looking at me with a sense of relief in their faces. Glad that they won't have to face up to what they've done in this life. They're damn right to be happy, because for the past two years I've wanted to kill them, to murder each one personally. As I think about it now, I suppose it really won't be that hard for me to kill the arena. But do I even want to get out alive? I cannot think of anything worth coming back to, with Erick gone. If I died, I'd be with him...

But I cannot decide if I am ready to give up fighting yet.

Lowell Mackenzie

"Lowell Mackenzie!"

What? My name? B-but how could this happen?

Okay, stay calm. Think.

I reach the stage as quickly as I can, brushing through the crowds of people. I should be relieved; my thirteen-year-old sister could have been reaped. And I know if I can stay positive, I can survive the games.

So many people loose optimism in the arena, often giving up even before they've gotten there. I won't though. I may not be an experienced fighter, but I know a lot about other things; survival skills, speed, strong lungs from working long hours in the factories all day.

Our escort asks for volunteers but no one steps up the plate. Cormac and I shake hands, his eyes not meeting mine but instead they stare at the floor, lifeless. I can already tell that my District partner is one of those people, one who has given up.

For some reason this saddens me beyond being picked for the Games. His mom is known around the District for um, getting around with a lot of other men. He's had to suffer not knowing his father, but that doesn't mean he should give up on everything. I want to help him, but I don't know how.

We are brought off the stage and into a car, where Cormac and I each take a seat in the back and a chauffer steps in the front, starting up the engine. I glance at Cormac, whose eyes still stare into the carpeted car floor.

"Hey—" I say. He raises his head to look at me. Hesitantly I clear my throat.

"Don't give up this early, kay? You've still got a lot to live for, and I think you can win these games if you really put your mind to it. I know about your life and your mom, but that doesn't mean you have to suffer because of her bad decisions. Take control of your own life, make your own decisions." I finish in a light, comforting smile.

He just stares at me for a moment before smiling humorlessly and lowering his head again.

"Thanks, Lowell. I'll remember that when I see your face in the sky." Cormac replies, eyes drifting from my now paling face to the crowds of photographers surrounding our car.