Hey, everybody! I haven't been on FanFiction in forever, and it feels amazing to be back! But before I say much else, I have to give a shout out to Immortal42! This wonderful person sent me a PM asking me to update this story again. Before I got the message, I had kind of lost hope in TTAO. Now, though, I'm working on it again. I got the message last night, and since then I've written this chapter. I hope that it is just as good, if not better, than the beginning of the story and that it will continue to improve. FanFiction gets me to write, and write hard, and I miss having that immediate initiative to get it done. With other writing, I don't have a deadline, but, on here, I feel like I do. And it is a very good and productive feeling. ;)

I hope I haven't upset you guys too much. I know I'm not that reliable of an updater (in the slightest). I know that I keep doing this disappearing act and then pop back up after hope of return is long past. I know that that is the way it might always be, but it sure feels good to think that, for the moment, that isn't the case. Hopefully this moment will last a really long time.

DISCLAIMER: I am me, and proud to be (look at that, I can rhyme). Therefore, I am not Suzanne Collins and do not own The Hunger Games.

-Potion Cadway, Escort of District 5-

My fingers drum against the wall; my plastic nails click impatiently. The sun is getting too high in the sky. A quick glance at the clock on the nearest camera proves the sun to be true. He's late.

Where is he?

My thoughts echo the whispers among the camera crew and even some Peacekeepers stationed nearby. They have all noticed that the mayor is behind schedule. And yet I'm going to be the one that has to answer to the Capitol, I think bitterly. I had repeatedly checked that he was informed of the time, and still he refuses to be punctual. Who knows what trouble I'll be in if the reaping schedule is thrown off.

This might be my last time as an escort.

I blink at the sudden thought. It's true. If the mayor takes much longer, this reaping will take too long, and it will mess up the rest of the districts' times. I will no doubt be punished for it. But that bad of a punishment? I'm not sure.

Heaving a sigh, I push off from the side of the Justice Building I rest against and walk up to the podium. I fit my hand around the microphone, considering. I need to do something, so I might as well get this event moving. We have a tight schedule, and the train conductor is going to be a bit ticked if I don't have the tributes boarded on time.

I puff out my cheeks and work up the nerve to actually say something to get it all rolling, when an eruption of clapping ripples through the crowd. Behind is the mayor — finally — dressed in his suit and tie, teeth glinting in his smile as though nothing is amiss. I squint up at the giant clock on the Justice Building. Only eight minutes late.

As the mayor takes the microphone and begins speaking, I run through the block schedule and decide that I might just have a chance of cramming everything in without spilling over the limit.

My fingers are crossed that the mayor might have some sense of urgency and that he'll cut his speech short.

I take a moment to listen to his drawn out words and dramatic pauses, oblivious to my anxiety.

I knew it was too much to wish for.

-Jewel Johnson, District 5-

I'm fidgeting. With my arms crossed over my chest, I tug on the short sleeves of my white dress. It's simple and plain, about the only thing my family can afford. We don't have luxuries. My shoes don't fit quite right, and I shift my weight back and forth, shuffling my feet. The straps will sometimes cut into my skin, but that's the least of my concerns.

In a distant, far off place, the mayor is droning on about the history of the Games. He always makes it seem like that incredible nighttime story that children beg to hear over and over again.

I don't hear much of it today, though. I'm too consumed in thoughts to pay any attention to much that doesn't immediately concern me.

This is the reaping. This could be my chance. All I'd have to do is raise my hand and say my name, and then I could be the one to go into that arena. I would be sentencing myself to either kill or be killed. The former, I know, is the most unlikely. The latter is probable and, if I'm being honest with myself, not unwelcome. I've considered other ways too many times to ignore that the idea of letting go is almost pleasing. Too many times I've gotten so close to calling it quits. Too many times I've lost my nerve and chickened out of doing it. Too many times I've been ignored by everyone. Too many times my family and I have suffered. Too many times, I repeat. The words are ominous and empty. Too many times have ended in nothing.

What about your sister, Chloe? And Mom and Dad? It's that petty voice in my head again, the same one that always makes me second-guess myself.

What about them? I retort. It's cruel, but true. If I were to die in the Games, they would no doubt miss me. However, one less mouth to feed could be good for them. I'm sure they won't miss my stomach that much. Besides, I realize, I'm doing this for me. For once, I want to do something for my own benefit.

The voice won't back off. That's selfish.

My mind blanks of arguments. The voice has got a point.

Slurping up my hesitation like water, the voice trudges on. You're family will be broken if you die. They'll think that they could have done something to prevent it, and they will always wonder if they could have, especially if you are the one to kill yourself.

I'm not killing myself though—, I begin, before being cut off.

If you volunteer to go into the Games aware of the consequences, you might as well be.

I sigh. That voice isn't going to let me win. I know it. With a last, weak attempt, I think, Nobody has to know that but me.

But I know that won't be the case. If I don't put up a fight, they'll know that I never intended to. Volunteering to do that would only make their pain worse.

I'm about to relent when I spot Evelin out of the corner of my eye. Her back is to me, but her body language tells me everything. Her hands fly about her in her usual frenzy as she speaks to a group of people I've never really known. I've seen them at school and in some classes, but I might have spoken to a couple of them on one occasion or another. I can't even recall their names. Each of them is smiling in spite of the situation at hand. Evelin tends to have that affect on people.

If she were talking to me right now, I would no doubt not be having this inner conflict at the moment. I wouldn't be weighing the pros and cons of dying in the Games. The thing is, though… she's not talking to me. She's talking to people I've never really met. On this day of all days, she isn't by my side. I've always called her my best friend, my only friend. Evelin — otherwise known as Effie, a nickname well earned for her ridged tendency to follow a strict timetable — is the only one who seems to tolerate me. Watching her enjoy herself without me is what makes my decision. She will be all right if — when — I'm gone.

I've been so deep in thought that I only now notice that the escort is up at the microphone. When her arm moves to choose a slip of paper form the girls' reaping ball, I don't think. I just act.

"I—," I begin.

The escort interrupts with a name. "Jewel Johnson!" she exclaims.

I'm surprised. Even though I had just been about to volunteer, my name being called still comes as a shockwave. It's solid and cannot be reversed. Now I don't have a choice.

I hear the intake of breath as I begin to march forward, the standard reaction to a twelve-year-old being chosen.

One disbelieving voice stands out above the others. Chloe's distinctive gasp, "No!" hits me hard. I shake it off, though, and continue on.

I've had plenty of practice with broadcasting the emotions deemed necessary, so it isn't difficult to appear distressed like any normal twelve-year-old would. Now that the initial shock has warn off of me officially going into the Games, I'm actually a bit relieved and maybe a bit… eager?

With these Games, I will either die, or I will come out a champion. People will finally notice and care about me. I will no longer be the weird nerd that nobody knows. I will be nothing, or I will be somebody.

-Samuel Lee, District 5-

She's a small thing, the girl that is drawn to be the female tribute. Her eyes are sad as she approaches the stage, her braid swinging against her back. She gives a weak smile when she stands beside the escort, Potion. The contrast between the two of them is stark. Potion, with her proudly clashing colors and too low-cut and bold top, makes Jewel look washed-out. It was like comparing daring pop art to subdued watercolors. The thought makes me automatically like Jewel.

The escort makes no effort to congratulate Jewel or even pause to give her a smile. The poor thing just sways on the stage, faintly swinging from side to side. Her eyes are distant, and I can only imagine where her mind is. I have a brief second of hope that someone will volunteer for her — but of course no one does. That's the way the world now works. Selfish people only looking out for themselves. Of course, the Games aren't an exciting prospect for anyone besides the Careers.

When it's official that nobody cares enough to take the place of this poor girl, I am relieved that Victoria isn't up on that stage. I've known her forever.

I sneak a peek at her beside me, twirling a strand of her beautiful blonde hair around her forefinger. She only does that when she's anxious.

My immediate reaction is confusion. Victoria already knows that she cannot be chosen. Not today, not ever anymore. This is our last reaping, being eighteen now.

Then I realize that the male's name hasn't been drawn yet. She may be guaranteed to finish living her life, but I haven't yet.

Her unease makes me uncomfortable, and I have the strongest urge to hold her hand. I almost do. But she doesn't know how I feel, and Joey would surely notice if I did. Standing right behind Victoria and I in our usual triangle, it would be hard not to. He's known me since we were eight, and I have the suspicion that he knows how I feel about Victoria. I haven't told anyone, though.

I only get to worry for a moment when Potion pulls out the boy's name.

"Samuel Lee!"

My name rings in my ears.

With a deep breath, I step forward.

Victoria makes the smallest whimper, as though that step has wounded her. I twist around to face her and shrug in defeat before turning back towards the stage. The image of her hand clasped over her mouth stays in front of my eyes, an old photograph. I stow it away to look back at later.

As Potion concludes the reaping, my feet feel numb as I stand there. I stare straight ahead at the crowd without actually seeing anybody. I shove away all feeling so that I can appear calm.

Potion has us briefly shake hands; both of ours tremble.

Well, there is District 5. Whatcha guys think? Am I a bit rusty? Let me know in a review!

Personally, I think the inner conversation Jewel has is a bit confusing, and I think the ending might sound rushed, but I can't think of anything more to add.

-Tasting Raindrops-