Shimmer Argent, 18, District 1

I normally wear short sleeves, to show off my well-developed arms, but today I pull on a long-sleeved, icy-blue tunic over black, skintight leggings. The sleeves are an unfortunate necessity—even in District One, the concept of a civilian carrying a weapon into a public area is frowned upon. Not that I expected to actually have to use the throwing knife I was sliding up my sleeve, far up enough to go unnoticed, but not too far up to be easily accessed. My threat was enough to keep the rabble in line.

But still, I think, whipping my arm around and propelling the knife across the room, where it lodges firmly in the wall at heart-level. It would be very satisfying to score a kill before I even enter the arena.

I retrieve the knife and conceal it again, and then I glance at myself in the mirror as I tie my long, blonde hair back in a ponytail. From my hair, to my muscular flesh under my pale skin, to my eyes, icy-blue like the tunic, I am beauty. Deadly beauty.

My parents and I walk silently side-by-side to the town square, where the Reapings are always held. District One's Reapings are early in the day, before breakfast. But it didn't matter, because I would eat on the train.

I turn to go towards the other eighteens, and my father places his hand firmly on my shoulder.

"This is the defining moment of your life," he hisses into my ear. "Don't mess it up."

"I won't," I replt. He nods and lets me go.

The crowd of teenagers parts to let me in, and I note that several other girls had their hands firmly in their pockets or clasped behind their back, to make sure that I didn't even think that they were going to volunteer. I almost want to laugh at their obvious fear.

As the mayor steps up onto the stage and begins to speak, I scan the boys for eligible partners. There were plenty of strong, able-bodied males. But did any of them have the fortitude? The bloodlust? The craving for victory at any cost, to see your victims lying in the dirt, broken and bloodied?

I turn back to the stage as Pleaton Danalander, our current Capitol escort, looking beyond ridiculous in a tall, purple wig that went horribly with his neon-orange suit, thrusts his hand into the girl's bowl.

"The girl tribute for District One is—"

"I volunteer!" I declare before he even finishes his sentence. "I, Shimmer Argent, volunteer!"

The crowd visibly relaxes as I stride up to the stage.

"Well, isn't this exciting!" Pleaton gushes. "And now for the boy…"

"That would be me!" a deep voice calls. "Me, Phenom Spectral! I volunteer!"

A few guys cheer and slap Phenom on the back as he passes them on his way to the stage. I raise an eyebrow as I look him over. He's an eighteen, too—I've seen him in the gymnasium, training. He's decent with a sword, and of a formidable height. But he is neither more skilled with a blade nor taller than me. Still, he would have to do.

When Pleaton tells us to shake hands, he squeezes it, trying to gauge my reaction to his strength. I stare at him right in the eyes, confident and intimidating. He attempts to hold my gaze for a few seconds, but then he grins slightly and drops my hand.

I smirk. No one can hold my gaze. This boy would be useful, but he would be easy enough to kill when the time came.

Landon Meddel, 16, District 8

I knock on the door to Gabrielle's house, and her mother answers the door.

"Hello, Landon," she kindly greets me. "I'd ask you to come in, but we're about to leave."

"That's all right," I reply. "I was hoping to escort Gabrielle to the square."

Mrs. Oriot smiles. "Of course," she says, stepping aside. "Gabrielle," she calls. "Landon's here."

Gabrielle enters the living room, looking more beautiful than ever in a floor-length red dress. I reach out and take her hand. Looking closely at her face, I can tell that she's been crying.

"Don't worry," I whisper, tucking her hair behind her ears so that I could see her eyes. "We're going to be all right."

She nods, but still looks fearful.

"After the Reapings, then tell me that we'll be all right," she replies.

We walk in silence to the square, where I kiss her on the cheek before we go to our separate genders' groups. It isn't required to stand with your gender, but it's a tradition in our District.

I can't even hear the mayor talking over the constant mantra in my head.

Don't let it be Gabby. Don't let it be me. Don't let it be Gabby. Don't let it be me…

I'm so preoccupied that I don't see the escort approach the glass balls and take out a slip of paper, but the next two words she says bring me back down to earth, hard.

"…Gabrielle Oriot!"

What? No! It can't be!

But there she is, my Gabrielle, pale and trembling with terror, tears streaming down her face as she walks up to the stage.

No! NO! Somebody, anybody, don't let her go! Stop her! Volunteer! DO SOMETHING!

But no one answers my silent plea, and the escort turns to the boys' drawing.

Suddenly, Gabrielle's eyes meet mine, and I know what I have to do.

"I VOLUNTEER!" I shout as loudly as I can, so that they must hear me as I struggle to the front, they have to hear me, because that is my Gabrielle who is up there, who needs me... "I VOLUNTEER! Gabby! Gabby!"

"Landon!" she cries, choking on her tears. "Landon, no, please…"

"Landon Meddel," I gasp to the escort before wrapping my arms around my Gabrielle, who is shuddering and sobbing.

"We'll be all right," I whisper. The Reapings are over, and now I have to promise her. "We'll be all right. We'll be all right. We'll be all right…"

Kayla Rakkor, 15, District 9

"And the girl tribute of District Nine is…"

I shift my focus from trying to find a word that rhymes with "bug-eyed" for the extremely unflattering poem I was mentally constructing for Minnie Yulstoad, the escort, to what she was saying.

"…Kayla Rakkor!"

For a few dreadful seconds, I am paralyzed. That's me! Oh, Lord…!

The Plan, Kay! a voice in my head urges. The Plan! Stick to the Plan!

I slump, shifting all of my weight to my left leg. I gently push my way out of the crowd, which parts to let me by, and limp up to the stage. My right leg drags, with an appearance of lameness I had been perfecting for years.

No one offers to help me up the stairs to the stage, but I make my slow way up with the air of someone who is determined to overcome their personal obstacles. Minnie gives me a pitying smile before moving on to the boys' drawing.

I keep my eyes down, not looking at my fellow people of District Nine. Only my parents knew about the Plan, and what I hoped playing the wounded prey would get me. As long as no one calls me out on it first…

"…Bergamot Palentia!"

A girl cries out softly, and I hear a soft thud as she faints and hits the ground. I glance up. Bergamot hesitates, and almost goes to the girl, but instead steps up to the stage.

While the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason, Bergamot—I remember hearing his friends at school calling him "Iceburg"—alternates between looking for the girl, who slowly recovers and then stares up at him in disbelief and despair, and at me, and my leg. He raises an eyebrow quizzically at one point.

Does he know that it's a façade? I think. I'd better talk to him, as soon as possible. He must keep it a secret!

I try to imagine how we look, what I will see later when they show the recap of the Reapings.

Him

Heightened, strengthened

The leader of the hunt

His chest embroidered with

The markings of his kills

Her

Shrunken, weakened

The victim of the hunt

Her ragged clothes a burden

To her failing little leg

Perfect.

Carn Hurdy, 18, District 2

"I knew you'd volunteer, Carn!" Hal laughs. "I knew it! You're going to rock these games!"

"Yeah!" I say, trying to sound excited. I keep alternating between excitement and anxiety. It seems like it was a different Carn Hurdy who shouted his name and strode up onto the stage, who shook Thera Adrastea's hand, who determined that she seemed tough enough to be at least a temporary ally. And now, it's the other Carn Hurdy who's sitting in the Justice Building, listening to Hal, wearing the gold ring that his mother had wordlessly handed to him when the time came to say goodbye, trying to figure it all out.

"I'll be watching, man," my best friend promises. "I'll be watching, and I'll be cheering. And when you become the victor, I'll be the first in line to welcome you back home."

Hal's excitement is contagious. I give him a confident nod.

"See you in a few weeks," I say as the Peacekeepers come in to take Hal out.

"Less than that," is his reply. "You got this, Carn! You got this!"

Pictures run through my head. An enormous crowd cheering me on. Victims begging for mercy as I squeeze the life from them or break their necks. And the crown, the victor's crown, being placed upon my head…

I got this, a voice in my head repeats. I got this! I can be the victor, I know I can!

Ashley Coralis, 14, District 4

I am terrified. All I can do when my mother and father come in to say good-bye is hold onto them and cry my eyes out.

"I can't do this!" I sob.

"Yes, you can!" my father says, rubbing my shoulders. "And you must!"

"I don't have any skills," I insist.

"You can swim," my mother points out. "You can fish. You're smart, Ashley. You'll figure it out."

"I can't leave you," I beg. "Please, don't let them take me away."

There's nothing that they can say to that. There's no happy, fix-all answer that will make it so that the slip of paper had someone else's name on it, or that someone volunteered for me, like Lucas Tandem had. He scared me. He was huge, and he looked ready to squash me like a bug.

"Wear this into the arena," my mother says, touching my headband. "Blue, like the ocean on a beautiful day. Wear it and think of home. You'll be back before you know it."

I nod, and then I cry more until the Peacekeepers come to take my parents away and me to the train. Then I stop crying, and everything just feels numb.

Briar Tussen, 12, District 11

My father looks more lost than I have ever seen him, and my mother is crying no matter what joke I try to tell her. The past hour seems unreal. Did they really say my name? Do I really have to go?

Only Anthea seems unaffected. "You're going to win, Briar," she says. "You have that big girl to take care of you."

She's too young to understand that District partners are not a team. She doesn't get that I probably will not return home after I step on the train.

But I smile regardless. "Yeah, Thea," I say. "Say, I'll make up a song for you about the Capitol, and at the interviews I'll sing it to you over the television. Won't that be fun?"

"Oh, yes!" Anthea giggles, wrapping me up in a hug. "Yes, yes, yes!"

The Peacekeepers come in then, to take my family away. I suddenly feel frightened, but I don't let them see it.

"We love you, Briar!" my mother sobs. "We love you so much!"

"I love you too!" I call as they're pulled out of sight, very likely for the last time.

The Peacekeepers take me to a car, where Anise is already seated. Anise Leenan, fifteen, her face as devoid of emotion as it was when our escort called her name. One hand fiddles with a green bracelet around her left wrist. Anthea was right in saying that she was a big kid. Her legs are very long.

She doesn't look at me at all during the ride, but she seems oddly familiar, even though I know she doesn't work in the orchards …

It hits me just as the car pulls up to the train station. She's the running girl.

One morning, a few years ago, I woke up extra early for some reason and decided to step outside. At first I thought that I must the only person awake in the entire District, but then I saw her standing at the top of the incline that our house was on. She stood there for several moments, silently contemplating the slope, and then she sprang. Her strong, lengthy legs carried her swiftly down the slope and off into the distance, turning around houses, occasionally doubling back in her run. I had never seen anyone move that quickly with so little effort! And as she passed me, the breeze from her incredible speed sweeping back her long, dark brown hair, I saw her smile in complete and utter joy.

Such a smile isn't gracing her face now.

The car doors open, and we are instantly surrounded by reporters and cameras. I force a smile and wave at the cameras, trying to look excited. I have to look good, for my family's sake, and maybe for mine as well. There just might be someone who would sponsor a happy little boy.

Tribute-Name-Age

1B Phenom Spectral 18

1G Shimmer Argent 18

2B Carn Hurdy 18

2G Thera Adrastea 17

3B Erit Byrne 17

3G Icee Lightwood 15

4B Lucas Tandem 18

4G Ashley Coralis 14

5B Tam Penemue 16

5G Moira Jemsom 18

6B Moh Kandeld 18

6G Sara Strickham 14

7B Jude Paraux 17

7G Robin Sarabia 16

8B Landon Meddel 16

8G Gabrielle Oriot 16

9B Bergamot Palentia 17

9G Kayla Rakkor 15

10B Luis Isofer 16

10G Dawn Calder 16

11B Briar Tussen 12

11G Anise Leenan 15

12B Bint Westley 17

12G Dalinder Fernswith 17

CP: Ooh, will you look at that! Only three tributes are younger than fifteen!

YE: Ouch, I feel sorry for whoever made that risky bet!

SM: But those who were the "one" in the five-to-one odds are raking in the cash as we speak. What a great way to begin this year's Hunger Games!

YE: What do you think, Claudius, does anyone look like a winner to you?

CT: We'll definitely want to keep an eye on Shimmer Argent, from District One. I mean, did you see the crowd part as she volunteered? [The screen cuts to a replay of Shimmer approaching the stage] She practically demands their awe. She looks very dangerous! We'll see soon if her bite matches her bark.

CP: What about those two from District Seven? Jude and Robin? [Cut to the District Seven tributes as they high-five instead of shaking hands. They're both red-headed, tall, and look very strong.] That's a tough looking duo. If they decide to team up against the others, Shimmer may have quite a job on her hands.

SM: It might also be smart to put Carn Hurdy and Thera Adrastea on the radar. [Cut to Carn and Thera shaking hands] District Two is very good at producing capable tributes!

YE: Don't forget District Eight! Oh, when Landon leapt up onto the stage to volunteer and held his sweetie tight… [Cut to Landon and Gabrielle after he volunteers] I thought I was going to cry! The knight in shining armor rushing to the aid of his lady…It's like a fairy tale!

[Cut back to the commentators]

CT: Well, Yvanna, we can only hope that the odds play nicely with them. Now, Sartorius, what's the latest on betting?

A.N.: Lots of thanks to everyone who submitted!