Demica Langley, 16

A slight shake wakes me. I open my eyes and see the friendly face of my grandmother standing beside my bed. I smile and give her a hug.

"Good morning, sunshine." She says weakly. As tough as she is, she cannot hide her sickness. I wish I could do more for her.

"Good morning." I say perkily. I hop out of bed and walk with my grandmother to her room. In bed, is my grandfather. He has not been well either, but his affliction is much worse than my grandmothers. I give him a hug, being careful not to hurt him.

"You're a sweet girl, Demica." I smile.

"I learned from you." He chuckles, but it's true. I have been with them since the age of ten, ever since my parents were brutally murdered for simply trying to be good people. I still get chocked up thinking about it.

"You should get ready, sweetheart. You can't miss the reapings." I nod and kiss him on the forehead before heading back into my room.

I take a comb and run it through my dirty blonde hair. My brown eyes look back at a girl, short for her age, yet decently built. Our grandparents ensure we do not starve excessively.

I splash some water on my face, thinking about the reapings. The two tributes last year were way too young, way too kind for what happened to them. They were taken away too young, too pure. It hurt to watch.

I quickly find a long orange button up dress to slip on to push my fear out of my mind. I put on the matching shoes and take a deep breath. Everything will be okay, Demica. I promise.

The bell rings and I exit my bedroom. I see my two older sisters helping each other get ready. Fortunately, they are safe from the reapings for the rest of their lives.

I walk by myself to the square to give me some time to think. This time yesterday I was handling baggage for Capitol citizens, and this time tomorrow I will be back at it. As awful as the reapings are, they give us a day off some of us so desperately need.

I think about all the entries I have in the bowl, a total of thirty. I take out tesserae not for myself, but for my grandparents. It's the least I can do to thank them for taking us in after our parent's death. Every cent I make working goes to them as well. We all work hard to support each other, I'm very grateful for all they do.

I stand in the crowd and twiddle my fingers. I bite the inside of my mouth to calm me. I take a deep breath as the mayor starts her speech and the escort introduces herself.

She walks over to the girls reaping bowl and I watch her hand closely. Who is going to be chosen?

"Emmy Graves!" A girl who barely looks ten walks onto the stage. She's shaking and I can see the tears start to form. I think about the girl reaped last year, who died right away in the bloodbath. I don't think I could watch that happen again.

Before I know what I'm doing, I walk up to stage, saying that I volunteer as tribute. Emmy's eyes widen and she jumps off the stage quickly. I stand on stage and take a deep breath.

I can do this. I can win for my family. I can repay my grandparents. We won't have to work anymore.

I can do this.

Rally "Rail" Toyota, 15

The brush moves rhythmically in my hand. Back and forth, I move it to create something beautiful.

The window serves as my main inspiration. The beauty of nature. The sorrow of citizens. The struggles of children. It's all there, right before my eyes, waiting to be depicted.

I take a deep breath and step back from my creation. It certainly needs polishing, but it looks incredible. I smile, proud of my work.

I set my supplies down, stretching my body out. Before I leave the room, I take the smallest paint brush and hold it tight. It will safeguard me at the reapings.

I change into something basic, clothes that used to belong to my older brother. They are long as I have not hit my growth spurt yet, but they will suffice.

I make sure to put my paintbrush in my pocket. I take a deep breath. Everything will be okay.

I join my family for a short meal before the reapings. It's quieter than usual at the table, there's usually always something to talk about. Whether it be work or school or something silly we saw, we can fill the silence. But not today, not when the stakes are high. It's Chase's last year eligible, yet I still worry. Anything can happen out there.

"You should roll up your pants." My mother tells me. She bends down to help me roll them up and my brother chuckles.

"Shorty." He says jokingly. I stick my tongue out at him and he punches my arm.

"Hey, cut it out." My father says. We all laugh, the nerves have really gotten to all of us.

I help my parents clean the kitchen before we all walk together to the square. On any other day, my brother would smack my hand if I tried to hold his. But not today. Today, we grip each other tightly, hoping we can return home together.

We eventually separate to sign in and I immediately find my group of friends. As an introvert, I may not have the biggest friend group in the district, but none of us mind.

I spot Casey first and smile. You would never know he was the son of a victor, he is friendly to everyone he meets and never flaunts his status. He's also a genius.

"How have you been?" He asks me, as genuine as it gets. I smile back.

"I've been fine, painting, living, the usual." I smile at Aaron and Cara and Cara smiles back. Aaron keeps his fierce look on his face, trying to discourage me from showing any interest in Cara. The thought makes me laugh.

"Are you nervous?" I ask everyone, trying to come up with some conversation. There's a consensus of "of course" as the reapings begin. You can feel the nerves seizing the audience.

I pray for Cara's safety as the girl's name is read. A small twelve year old girl is reaped, but is eventually replaced by a volunteer. We don't see too many of those around here.

The escort moves over to the male bowl and I pray for safety. For my brother. For my friends. For myself.

"Our male tribute is…Rally Toyota!" I feel like somebody punched me in the stomach. Emotions run through my body. I see the fear in Casey's eyes. He hugs me tight before I slowly ascend onto stage. I hope for a volunteer, but none come forward. Typical.

I keep my feelings buried away. I grab my brush tightly. Why me?

Let me know what you think of these two!

If you haven't already, please let me know which capitol event you would like your tribute(s) to have a featured section in. I'll be writing the train rides, chariot rides, training days 1, 2, 3, the private sessions, and the interviews!