Hello, everyone! I'm back with my first reaping chapter. This chapter will be focused around the beautiful creation of the mastermind that is Vanity's Insanity. Seriously, go give that boy some love.

-warning: this chapter might be teetering on the edge of rated M, and will probably be sad, so either brace yourself or don't read-

Enjoy, and don't forget to review letting me know if you liked it or not!

Diamante' "Dia" Verlac

A meager amount of light floods into the alleyway that I spend my nights in. It catches every crevice in my hand, displays every bit of dark makeup that's smudged across my knuckles. I look up at the streams of sunlight, for it isn't often that I see it so early in the morning. Every fleck of dust is noticeable, and they scatter wildly when I let out a raspy cough.

A large, rough hand finds its way to my bare chest and digs its dirt-caked fingers into my right breast. I glance over at the man beside me. He's in his mid-thirties, maybe, with dark hair and a shaggy beard. Going through divorce, I guess, his wife kicked him out and he's using prostitutes to compensate. Well, I don't mind one bit as long as he enjoys his goods.

I crane my neck and ghost my lips over his, whispering, "I had fun last night," In reality, I've lost the feeling of enjoyment from these encounters. No man's touch can make me feel loved like in my dreams, but I don't get money if I don't pretend. "You're… so large." I nibble at the man's ear and watch him wedge his eyes open and look at me.

"You're so pretty, doll," He trails his dry fingers along my cheekbone. "Do I get an extra round?"

"Mm," I shake my head. "Not unless you're willing to pay extra. But I'll still let you touch, go on."

His palm searches every inch of my torso: across my protruding ribs, down my dust-freckled stomach, resting at my sharp hipbones.

A voice rings through the silence and causes the man's hand to pull back violently. "Up, up, Dia!" The voice is like two metal swords swinging at each other with that unpleasant metallic sound. "'Ey, you pig, you gonna pay extra for staying here all night?"

"It's fine, Cherry, I asked him to stay," I sit up and my platinum blonde hair falls into my eyes. "He's paid me enough already."

She shoots daggers at the man. "Well, reapings are in an hour, Dia. He better leave."

With that, he scrambles up and pulls on his pants wearily. Cherry flashes her rotted teeth at me. "Got half of whatever he paid you?" I nod and hand her some of my paycheck from last night. Cher always collects some of what every prostitute got, because she's what holds us together and we all owe her for being here at all. It seems a small price to pay.

"You've got to get ready," Cherry squatted down to level her face with mine. Her breasts are nearly spilling out of the tight corset that she sports day to day. "You know what they do to those who don't attend the reapings, don't you my girl?"

I nod at her. "They kill them," I wipe at my face, further mixing all the dirt, sweat, and dark eye shadow. "Don't see why it matters much, though. I'm already dead."

She sets a soft hand on my shoulder. Sometimes it's almost as if she cares for me. "I can't afford to lose you," Her fingers whispered up my neck, lingering at my jaw. "You're one of my best sellers." That's all I really am to anyone. A best seller. A nice body. A good fuck. But why should I care, even? No one will ever be able to love me.

"Well, I can assure you that you won't find me skipping out on this year's reapings," I give her a reassuring smile, knowing that I really won't miss them, because I'm volunteering today, and she doesn't suspect a thing. Poor bitch. "Help me get cleaned up?"

"Ah, of course," Cherry tangles her fingers in with my hair, smiling. "Can't have my best whore going out looking like she passed out in a ditch." She pulls a dead leaf from my blonde locks.

She pulls me up roughly. "I'll go get Petra, have her wash all the shit off you," Her eyes examine every inch of my body, taking in every pore that's clogged up with the dirt of the alleyway. "Gather your clothes."

I lean down to scoop up my typical outfit: short-shorts, stockings, a t-shirt, and my black fingerless gloves. Petra waddles over with a bucket and a rag, slapping the wet cloth on me without warning. I sigh and let her wipe away the dirt from my skin. I really don't mind, but it might be easier to take Petra touching me all over if she was anything to look at.

None of the alley women are very easy on the eyes. Most of them have been worn down by years of sickness and hunger. Issues with self worth and moral have wiped away the layers of beauty that most of them once obtained. If I stay here, that is my fate. I'm bound to end up lying in dirt and coughing up blood for the rest of my life, covered in wrinkles like a peach that spent the day out in the sun. I'm not about to let any of this happen to me. I will not let myself waste away before I can feel the touch of real, true love.

Petra washes off the streaks of makeup on my face and creases her brow. "I was just like you once," Her voice always sounds like paper being torn in half: rough but constant, bearable enough. "Young and unafraid. I thought nothing could touch me- besides, you know… men. But spending your life in a hellhole like this, where anyone can just… where anyone can just use you so freely… like you're a public restroom… It builds up so much regret, girl."

I purse my lips. What is the point of this lecture? There's nothing to talk me out of if I'm not staying here. "Regret is for the weak. You know why?" I pull her hand away from my face and step back, shaking my hair out. "Because everything is your choice, and if you spend your time looking back on all those choices, then all you'll ever do is make more mistakes for you to regret. It's a cycle you fall into. So if you feel like a public restroom, it's your own damn fault."

"You're already planning on leaving," Her eyes stare blankly up at me. "Cherry won't be pleased, but I ain't tellin' her."

I give her a half-smile. "That's good," I pull my white tee over my head. "Say a word and I might have to kill you." I wink, just to seem like I'm kidding.

Petra shakes her head, letting out a sigh. "Cherry makes her money off young girls like you," She starts to hobble away with her bucket and rag. "But she'll get over it after a few days. She'll replace you easily."

I'm not sure if that's supposed to comfort me or not: the feeling of being easily replaceable. I wish I could just be something strong enough to support more than just myself… I want to be needed, not just wanted. It gets tiring trying to convince myself that I can spend forever with only myself as company.

I pull on my stockings, making another rip in them with my toenail. By now, all my clothes have gone to hell and back, or they sure look that way at least. My shorts are all brown with dirt, and I can't quite remember what color they were before, but I wear them anyways. Then I slide on my fingerless gloves. For years my look has never quite been complete without these babies, and sometimes I can't remember what my palms look like without black cloth covering them.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and walk down the alleyway, passing all the prostitutes. Most of them watch me stroll by, but none wave or acknowledge me any further than just that glance. An unfamiliar man is walking the opposite direction, towards me. He's probably in his forties, his clothes are clean and finely woven, his hair is very well-groomed, but his eyes look so detached. Rich, but not happy. That's what he is, and that's why he's here.

His hand stops me by the shoulder when I try to get past, but I nonchalantly remove it and keep going. His footsteps follow close behind. "Look," I call out behind me, "I have no time… Sort of have somewhere to be. Leave me alone."

The footsteps don't stop, and I feel a strong grip on my ass. That's it, I warned this bastard, and once is always enough. I turn and raise my elbow so it catches him in the jaw and his hand leaves my body. His head jolts to the right and my fist collides with it right there, sending him left, and onto the ground. Serves him right. I could've been late.

Soon enough, my heels are clicking up the pavement of the town square where the Reapings are. In District One, this event has less to do with picking random teenagers to fight to the death, and more to do with teenagers volunteering to do exactly the same thing. It's just… so typical.

I sign in and take my spot with all the other seventeen-year-olds. They smell like someone swam in flowers and gold and it honestly makes me want to barf. All these teenagers in this crowd are exactly the same, but me? I'm the one people here stare at in horror; the one they can only hope gets run over by a car, or eaten by a rabid dog. Because I am definitely not typical.

Speaking of "typical", here's the mayor, standing on stage and going on and on about the annual tradition of the Hunger Games as if people are actually listening. I for one don't care about the people who have died, or won. I don't care about how these Games started out of the ashes of a rebellion, as a symbol of what-the-fuck-ever. I'm only here for the chance to give my life to something that isn't prostitution, and no one can stop me.

Finally there's a change in pace as the golden-haired Telina sways back and forth on stage with a big, idiotic grin on her face. Her words blare through the microphone and over the town square, and I honestly don't pay much attention to what she's saying until her stick-thin fingers find their way to one of the bowls before her. "And the female tribute for District One this year is…"

If I'm going to volunteer, I need to do it quickly and beat the rush. "I volunteer!" I call it out before Telina can even say the name, and I instantly feel hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at me, their gazes boring deep into my skin.

Well, they can stare all they want. It won't stop me. I flip my hair back into the face of a girl behind me and smirk, strutting up to stage. Everyone around me is already talking, whispering bits of gossip about me, sharing their thoughts about the girl who just volunteered.

I make it onto stage and someone shouts, "She can't represent us!"

Then another: "Someone else take her place."

I snatch the microphone from Telina and scowl at the crowd. "I'm Diamante' Verlac, I'm representing District One in this year's Hunger Games, and I'd like to thank you all for being so damn supportive." I give them all a venomous smile and shove the microphone back in Telina's hands.

Maybe they don't like the idea of me now, but I'll have them questioning everything they ever stood for when I come back to this district as a victor.

Okay, that at least wasn't as inappropriate as I thought it would be. How do you guys think it turned out? What do you think of Dia? Please leave a review, and I'll try to update soon with the male tribute for District 1, Link Driscoll. Bye bye for now!

-Maddie