Finally I can do the next few chapters! Thank you Zoethepinkninja for submitting THREE tributes. If any of you are doing your own SYOT's could you please tell people about this I want to get it going.
Exia Caeli's POV
My parents gave me a District 1/District 2 name because they always wanted me to be a tribute in the Hunger Games, and they wanted their daughter to win.
My parents all have D1 and D2 names along with all my siblings. I guess my parents all wanted to live in District 1 or 2 and not District 5.
"But Mom!" Hecate, my 12 year old sister complains walking out of her room in a rather unsightly red dress. "I wanted to wear the pink one!"
"The pink one had a stain on it" Mom explains. Her name is Corinthia, and her great, great, great grandfathers, nephew's, son, whose daughter's, son was Cato. One of the fiercest tributes in the arena for the 74th Hunger Games but was killed by a measly district 12 girl who started a rebellion. At least that's what my dad says happened. He was only 5 years old when it happened but he lived through it, and after the capitol gained back control and President Snow the II started the Hunger Games back up.
"Exia, go get dressed" Mom calls while straitening, my 13 year old brother's tie.
I walk into my room and find Sparta, my twin sister, rummaging through my closest, still in her pajamas.
"And what are you doing in here?" I ask.
"Looking for a dress" She responds, her blonde hair falling perfectly, she hasn't even brushed it yet this morning and she wakes up looking prefect.
"In my closet?"
"Mom told me to find something to wear and so I'm searching for something to wear, she didn't specifically say which closet to look in" She explains a smirk crawling onto her flawless, identical to mine, face.
"Get out! I need to change" I scream at her
"No, and I think I'm going to wear this one!" She exclaims pulling out My reaping dress, the gold one with the silver trim and a matching pair of my heels.
"That's mine!" I exclaim lunging for it. We've been training since we were little and we immediately start battling. Soon enough we're both on the ground, she's trying to strangle me and I'm pulling her hair.
"Girls!" Mom calls from the doorway. "I will not have barbarians, I have winners, now why are you fighting, and you'll make each other look horrible.
"She's going to wear my reaping dress!" I complain
"I don't care, just wear your white one, now get dressed the reaping is in 30 minutes" Mom says before storming out of the room. Sparta smirks at me before grabbing the dress and shoes.
I'm walking out towards the justice building, thinking about how dirty the white heels are getting from this dust, I wish dad would've let us take the car. I decided to settle on my white dress. It's made of special linen that you can only get directly imported from the capitol. It has sleeve's that are a bit thicker than two of my fingers and a lace trim around the skirt. It's fairly bland for my taste, but mom tied a golden ribbon around the waist to give it more sparkle.
My brother is wearing a white button down shirt with silver cuffs and a similar collar; he is also wearing black slacks and a pair of black dress shoes. Hecate is wearing the red dress that she was complaining about earlier. It would look horrible on me, but with her black hair and chocolate brown eyes it actually looks fairly nice on her. Sparta is obviously wearing my dress.
We're about to get to the reaping when dad pulls me aside. "Listen, we need you to volunteer"
"But I'm not 18 yet-" I start to protest
"We just need a winner this year, district 5 isn't doing too well on Victors, and I've been talking, people say they can get you to District 1, 2 or even the Capitol if you have at least one living Victor in the family" Dad explains
"Okay, I'll think about it" I say. I'm not ready to volunteer yet; I was going to wait until I've finished my training.
I'm at the reaping. Our district escort Emerald is looking as bouncy as ever. Her dress is the same color as her name and so are her hair, and her eyes, and her heels, and at least half of her skin. I wonder if she actually changed her name so she would have an explanation to dressing like that every year.
"Oh, I am just so excited" She says in that annoying capitol accent that after every reaping you hear the 12 year olds imitating. "And Happy Hunger Games" They would say doing their best imitation of Emerald.
"Now time for the reaping, as always ladies first" she says with an overly big smile. For some reason in the back of my mind I'm thinking that volunteering would be a good idea. I could easily beat the Careers. I don't even listen for the name, but as soon as she finishes talking I shoot my hand up and push a 14 year old to the side and say "I volunteer!" This definitely was a good idea, I think as I introduce myself.
"Exia Caeli, and I'm going to be a Victor"
Drake Peterson's POV
I have a love/hate relationship with the reaping. If I get picked I will win, and if I don't get picked then who cares. I'm not one of those crazy Careers who spend their every waking moment training.
Sometimes I wish my parents didn't abuse me so I didn't have to run away, but I wish a lot of things and most of them don't come true.
I walk slowly to the Reaping's. I take a side-track through the tall fields of prairie grass, the seeds sticking to my faded clothes. I always loved the prairie grass that grew here, tall and looming over the little mouse's and prairie dogs the scurried through the tall plant, the goldenness of it, how it glittered when the afternoon sun hit it's textured surface, the way it moved as one as a gust of warm air skimmed across its golden surface.
I resist the urge to lie down in it, remembering that the reaping would probably start in about a half-an-hour based on where the sun was in the impossible blue sky. Normally by this time of day you would see young children galloping in the fields with their friends, their homemade kites trailing behind them like a colorful tail.
I never got to do that, and there's no kids playing today.
When I arrive at the reaping I quickly sign-in, and find my spot in the velvet roped off area. From where I was standing I could see the trembling 12 year olds, in the back row, each one having a look of pure terror on their faces.
I used to have a sister, and in retrospect, I still have a sister, she just doesn't know me. I remember her being born, but then about a year later that's when I ran away, and I didn't stop running until I reached those fields of gold and I lived there until I could quit school and find a job. My sister's name was Violet, assuming my "Parents" haven't killed her yet. She used to have the prettiest eyes, they were purple and so they named her Violet. After thinking about her I can't resist the urge to search the rows of 12 year olds, looking for the girl with dirty blonde hair, and violet eyes. I find her, there in the crowd, looking nervous. Her arms bruised and cut and she has a nasty looking black eye.
That was what I ran away from, but when I left all that hate that was sent onto me, was being sent onto her.
I try to forget about Violet and her pain and focus more on what's about to happen. As I stand there and watch Emerald, our perky escort, waltz on stage in her usual emerald green outfit.
I watch a blonde haired, rich girl volunteer. Her eyes twinkling with delight as she says her named pompously. "Exia Caeli and I'm going to be a Victor!" She shouts, her name sounds district 1 or 2ish and I realize that she's one of those people that train their entire lives.
"Drake Peterson" I hear the escort call, and I don't believe it for a second before walking self-assuredly down the aisle. There was going to be blood spilled no matter whose blood it was.
Okay, so I know the last part was really short, but I was completely blanking on ideas! Zoethepinkninja I hope you forgive me for changing it up a bit, I needed some space filler and so I just stuck the story of Violet in there. Okay. Well Read and Review and send in more tributes (that rhymes!). Really guys, I can only go up to District 6! Send in tributes! Disclaimer I do not own the Hunger Games.