Candella Cartwright, District Seven Female, 15 years old

Sometimes I wonder what the name 'Candella Cartwright' means - I've never met my parents and I barely know my brother since we were separated at birth. We grew up in different wards so I don't really know who he is; I've got my suspicions, but that's all they are. It's frustrating, sometimes, not knowing who you are, but then again isn't that what life is for? To figure out who we are? I'm optimistic that one day I'll find out and then I'll be content. For now though, I'll keep on outcasting myself and doing things alone.

When I turned fifteen I was allowed to get a job at the local factory. It was a simple job, cleaning away the sawdust, but it made sure I have money, money that I can save up so when I'm eighteen I can better myself at least somewhat. I like the job, really, it gives me something to do on the weekends and makes my life a little less boring. Plus, at the factory people look out for you - we may not talk, but they've got your best interest within them especially if you're of reaping age. It's sad whenever a coworker perishes, but even sadder when they perish because of the Hunger Games.

I suppose that's my biggest fear about still being eligible for reaping - losing the money I've earned. Also I'd be losing my freedom because I think that's what the money symbolises for me, my freedom. With the money I can move away from the orphanage but without it I'm stuck here. The only thing stopping me from moving out now, bar the regulations, is the fact that I don't talk to a lot of people. Hopefully by the time I'm eighteen that'll be different and I'll be able to live comfortably on my own. I could probably move out now though since nobody would notice seeing as I'm so quiet. I've heard that apparently my brother is rather sociable. I guess we couldn't be more different even if we tried.

A major downside about living in the orphanage is the clothes we wear; they're all second hand, hand-me-downs or even scraps of fabric woven into something that's somewhat wearable. Thankfully the latter is more applicable to the younger kids. Thankfully we wear nicer stuff for the reaping. Granted it's not the best and we only have the because some people donate clothes they no longer need, they're something and a lot better than what we usually wear. My clothes this year are stiff; a stiff blouse and a stiff skirt. It's hard to walk in it and it's itchy - I can't go a few minutes without scratching. I'm smaller and thinner than a fifteen year old should be and thus my clothes are slightly too big. The workers at the orphanage have fixed this by pinning them in bunches where they can. My hair, usually either in a messy bun or untouched, is in a tight ponytail. It's out of my face, framing it just in case it's me.

We walk from the orphanage together, always. Younger kids in the front, older kids at the back. All the pre-reaping kids have to come too but the adults strategically hide them so they don't need to see the horror that's the reaping just yet. I keep to myself now, even as we walk down and nobody's talking. Because we're in the orphanage we don't need to take out any tesserae, or at least some of us don't. They choose a few each year to put their names forward. It's a bad bargain, if you ask me. A poor care service forces you to endanger your life by putting more names into the bowls in return for sub par food. The orphanage, quite literally, is the Hunger Games.

Chandler Fenn, District Seven Male, 16 years old

Sometimes I wonder if my mother knew what she was doing when she left us, knew what would happen to us. She walked out on her family of three sons, leaving them with a father who drank leisurely. I wonder if she knew that, when she left, he would turn to drinking more and would eventually become abusive towards us, more so me.

I'm forced to take tesserae out to pay for food for the family since my father's and eldest brother's money goes towards his drinking habit. My other older brother, who can still be reaped, will more than likely have his money snatched away from him as soon as he gets a job - our elder brother is trying to prolong that for as long as possible. I don't blame him. I don't look forward for all the money I make to go to the man who abuses me.

I don't spend many days at home at the best of times, but especially not on reaping day. I don't want to turn up to the Square smelling of alcohol because my dad's been drinking all morning. No, instead I get changed early before anyone else is awake and make my way to the trees. It's more peaceful, when I'm up in a tree. Everything's below me and seems so insignificance I feel like I have a prime opportunity to think for myself and nobody else.

As I walk to my favourite tree, a solid pine that's harvested for seeds so it's never cut down, I pick up some apples from the orchard. Sometimes there's wild horses that come through the forest and by now we've struck up a deal. They know they can count on me to get them some apples seeing as they'd be shot otherwise.

There's not many today, seeing as the main centre is crawling with peacekeepers and they're probably smart enough to not go near them. You know you're intimidating when even animals won't go near you. I throw the apples to the horses that do come and they eat it quickly before galloping off. Usually I'd be able to groom them a little, but I guess today they don't want that. When they disappear into the depths of the forest I turn and climb the tree, reaching the lowest branch. This ensures that when the peacekeepers come through to make sure everyone's at the reaping they'll see me. They're somewhat sympathetic, knowing that we'll probably need time to reflect, but they're still ruthless. Failure to climb down when they tell you to results in being shot.

Usually I think of more optimistic things such as a house I could own in the future or when I have my own family, but today I think about the immediate future. For someone in my situation, the Hunger Games seems like a sweet deal - if you win, you live in the victors village and, as victor, you can decide who comes with you and if you lose, well, you die and can escape Panem forever. For a split second I think about it, volunteering. I wouldn't need to, chances our my name's in there enough to be drawn, but what if it isn't? I can't handle another year of this, volunteering might be my only way out of it.

I'm stopped in my thoughts by the peacekeeper who shouts for me to come down. Will I have the courage to do it? Can I change my life?

Candella Cartwright, District Seven Female, 15 years old

Before the speech about the Dark Days our escort loves to go on about how our district should be included in the alliance of Careers. She says that all we need to do, really, is start up training centres and then we'll be in luck and that the Capitol'll favour us. Something like that. I doubt it's that easy to gain the Capitol's love and affection.

She skips right through the film, keeping it brief. She shows it, turns it off and announces she's going to select the tributes. As normal - or as she puts it "Let's start with our gracious ladies!" - we start with the girls.

She walks over briskly, takes her time choosing a name, and returns to the microphone. She attempts to look graceful when she unfolds the paper and smiles before reading out the name.

"Candella Cartwright!"

It's me. It's really me. People around me look at me when they see that my face has gone paler than normal, all whilst the escort repeats my name over and over. I try to move, I really do, but I can't bring myself to do so. Eventually, probably because of the sight of the peacekeepers coming towards me to move me, I walk, albeit slowly.

I want to cry, I really do, but I hold it in. Looks are for the sponsors and crying tributes rarely get anything. I try to smile, but I just look awkward. Instead, I keep a plain face when I make it to the stage and look out at my district. This might be the last time I see it.

Chandler Fenn, District Seven Male, 16 years old

I've seen that girl around before. Seen her, just not heard her. People say she's from the orphanage and that her brother is one of the more sociable ones, one of the ones who'll actually better himself. It's weird to think they're siblings.

Our escort seems satisfied after inspecting her, probably seeing Candella as a good source of entertainment - she's small, so she'll probably one of the first to die. The escort then walks over the bowl full of male names. I look, knowing that my name is in there so many times. Like with the female names, she attempts to be graceful when unfolding, clears her throat, and smiles.

She calls out a name that's not mine. We all turn to look and see a burly boy from the eighteen year old's section walking forward. He walks down the aisle slowly, probably in shock. I've heard rumours and apparently he was thinking of marrying his pregnant girlfriend - it's their last year together. This is my chance, I've got to take it or leave it. Either way, my life'll be better.

"I volunteer!" I scream as I run into the aisle from my section, repeating my declaration over and over again to make myself heard. The boy looks shocked, though you can tell he's grateful, but why wouldn't he be? To him, I'm probably just an over zealous teenager who thinks he can win the Games whose just saved his life potentially. The peacekeepers turn him around, instructing him to go back to his section. Instead, he goes and collects the girl who's probably his girlfriend and they sink back into the crowd of adults, hugging and, I think, crying.

I'm escorted to the stage and the escort looks incredibly pleased.

"Didn't want one of the older ones taking all the glory?" She asks me, probably thinking I'm going to join the Careers.

I remain motionless as I spot my brothers and father in the crowd. I can't read their faces so I don't know what they're feeling. In response to her question I simply nod, "Something like that."

My voice is smaller than I had expected it to be, though I try to be louder when she asks me for my name. The escort claps her hands afterwards, telling Candella and I to shake hands. She's a lot more scared than I am, her hand trembles as we shake.

I'm content though, I think to myself as I'm ushered into the Justice Building, my life can only improve.

It's not the same night but here we are! The District Seven reapings.

I hope I did them proud! I have to say, initially I preferred Candella but as I carried on writing I really started to love Chandler. What do you guys think?

We're getting there! Just five more reapings and then we're done! The goodbyes and train rides, when I do them, will be compiled into groups of four, just so I can get through them quicker - so be prepared for some long chapters!

As always, reviews make me happy~!

- Oli