Here's the third reaping chapter. I found these tributes to be really interesting to write, and—like always—I hope I wrote them as you guys thought they would be like. Remember to review, review, review, to give me some feedback.

Merry Early Christmas!

Oh, and, Chuckesleaze, I chose a song for Autumn, I hope it's okay.

~The Reapings, District 5 through 6~

District 5: Ransom Sage

And then he'd spread whipped cream
All over her...
Cookies that she had
Left out on her shelf
If you think this is dirty
You can go fuck yourself!

~The Arrogant Worms, The Assumption Song~

"Eulalie," I begin, sifting through my memorized list of pick-up lines.

She bats her eyelashes at me a few times, though instead of looking turned on by my witty charm, she looks kind of bored. "Yes?"

I study her carefully, my eyes wandering appreciatively over her chest. I only make eye contact with her when she clears her throat—rather loudly, I might add.

"Is that a new reaping dress?"

"Yes..." she answers, feigning a yawn.

"It looks good on you," I offer, but it's clear that it's only a halfhearted compliment.

Eulalie stares at me. "Thanks." And again, she's not even intrigued as to why I would have said that.

"But it'd look better on the floor..." I continue, "next to my bed."

It takes a moment for this to sink in. Eulalie Monroe isn't known for her brains, after all. Her dark eyebrows knit together in confusion and she is frowning. It's as if she's trying to solve one of Panem's most complicated math problems, which, in her eyes, is probably two plus two. And I'd be willing to put money on the theory that she'd come up with the answer of cat.

Yes, that's right, cat.

I wonder if she'd get the joke... Mila would, even though it's totally obscure and you'd have to spend all of your time with me to even understand where I was coming from—

A dull pain makes me stop thinking about unintentionally funny words.

"Ouch!"

We both recoil, Eulalie rubs her hand and I do the same to my jaw. She looks at me with narrowed brown eyes and I can't help but feel a little stunned. Because, nine times out of ten, girls never pay me any attention, unless their name is Mila. So this is a definite first and I don't know how to feel about it.

What the fuck am I talking about?

She hit me in the face!

And it hurt!

"Don't you ever say that to me again!"

"Say what?" I ask innocently. I don't need to give her any more reasons to hit me again.

"T-that!" she sputters, cheeks turning red. "You know what I mean!"

"What are you talking about?"

She doesn't say anything, choosing to put her hands on her hips instead.

It really doesn't take long to confuse her...

I remain quiet a couple of seconds, acting stupid. And then, out of nowhere, I yell, "What Mom?" I pretend to listen to the empty air for a few moments before I come up with another "response for my mother."

"I'll be right there, Mom!"

Eulalie gives me a blank look, completely forgetting about my comment. "I didn't hear anything,"

"Really?" I ask with false surprise. "My mom has a huge mouth, it's good for... stuff." I flinch at the terrible turn my thoughts take. I really don't need to think about mom and dad doing... that.

Blech.

I shake my head and wave goodbye to Eulalie. "See ya!"

As I'm walking away, I turn around, only to see the hottest girl in the world scratching her head in clear befuddlement.

I'm good.

ѮѼѮ

As it turns out, Mom was calling me—she wanted me to help Luca get ready for the reaping.

And I, being Panem's Most Awesome Badass Older Brother, agreed to give him my assistance.

"So, Luca... you always have to remember that there are four kinds of sex. Okay?" I attempt to fix his tie, only to realize that I have no fucking clue as to what I'm really supposed to be doing.

My little brother—though he hates it when I call him that—sighs. "Ransom, mom only lets us spend ten minutes a day together, and you're choking me, and you promised me one of those magazines you hide under—"

"Shut up, kid. I'm giving you some valuable information here."

"I know that there are different kinds of sex, you already told me about that and you're always talking to Mila about the or—"

I cover his mouth with my hand. "I said shut up! And these are four new kinds, alright?" I let go of him and walk over to the door. I shut it quietly, but only after I make sure that the coast is clear. If mom thinks I'm filling Luca's head with "testosterone-fueled ideas" as she calls them, I'll be grounded for another two weeks.

"I'm waiting." says Luca impatiently.

"There's House Sex, where you have sex on every surface possible, and in every single room of your house."

"How do you know that?" he asks, genuinely curious. That kid is more like me than Mom likes to admit.

"Elias' older brother just got married." I explain.

"And... oh." Luca shuts his mouth, his ears turning tomato-red.

I guess he's also smarter than I give him credit for.

I continue on, as if I don't notice that this conversation is murdering what little naivety he has left. "Then there's Bedroom Sex—where you only have sex in you're room because it's too much work to fuck anywhere else."

"Okay. And you know this how exactly?"

"You don't want to know, Luca. You really don't."

"Whatever... how much longer is this going to take? The reaping starts at twelve and it's not like you're ready. And I really want that magazine." he stares at my hiding spot with irritation.

"Well," I say, not bothering to mask my agitation. "If you'd stop playing Twenty Questions, we'd get done a lot sooner."

I try—and fail miserably—to fix his tie again. I've put at least five different knots in it, and it'll take awhile to undo them. I yank it once, hoping to remedy the issue, but it doesn't help at all. If anything, the problem gets even worse. The black fabric is wrinkled now, too, and Mom will think I messed up because I was messing around. True—but still.

I can hear her now...

Ransom, honestly. I don't know where you picked this behavior, but it's gross. Did I give you the wrong impression about s-e-x when you were younger?

She wouldn't even say it. And then, I'd ultimately say something terrible.

Well, those diagrams you showed me were pretty detailed.

Luca stomps his foot angrily. "Next."

"Oh, um... then there's Hallway Sex. That's what Mom and Dad do,"

"What!" Luca exclaims, "TMI!"

"Chill dude, it's when two people pass each other in a hallway and say 'fuck you.' That's it."

This seems to placate him enough to ask for the next explanation. "What else is there, Wise One?"

"Um..." I begin, "there's—"

'Luca, Ransom! Get moving, you know how the Peacekeepers are about lateness."

Not really, I think, they just lecture you, and that's better than what they're supposed to do.

The Peacekeepers in District 5 rarely keep their guns loaded.

"C-coming!" Luca shouts to our mother while I accidentally choke him in my final attempt to make him presentable.

He shoots me the Death Stare and I act like it doesn't matter. "I tell you the rest of the joke later, kid—promise."

District 5: Autumn Coville

So what if you can see the darkest side of me?
No one will ever change this animal I have become

~Three Days Grace, Animal I Have Become~

I want to run and hide.

She's coming to get me, brush in hand, ready to attack.

I try to remind myself that she's only trying to help—it's reaping day after all, and us Community Home kids need all the help we can get.

And, besides, it's only one day. Mrs. Dulce leaves me the hell alone the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year. That time is for wandering around the pathetic excuse of woods around the district. I always wished that I lived in District 7, because, supposedly, that entire area is surrounded by trees and moss and other green stuff—probably other types of local foliage.

I don't belong here.

I never have, not even when I was young and happy and nice—too nice, really.

District 5 is for the birds.

Mrs. Dulce gives me a huge smile, one that makes her laugh lines all the more prominent. "How are you today, Autumn?"

"Oh, just peachy! Especially since two small, innocent kids will be sent to their deaths today! I'm great!" The poison in my voice is blatantly obvious.

The gray-haired woman looks straight into my eyes, something not very many people can do; they usually stare at their feet when they're talking to me.

"Well, I know today isn't the best..." she struggles to find a Capitol-approved word, and I roll my eyes, "holiday, but we have to be positive."

"Right." I roll my eyes.

"Brush you're hair at least, the Capitol likes everyone to look nice, no matter what."

"Fuck the—"

"Autumn," Mrs. Dulce scolds, shaking her head in disappointment. "You know better than that!"

Clearly, I don't, but I take the brush from her and do as she asks.

I hate making myself look "presentable." Especially if it's because of those parent-killing, egotistical, Games-hungry, losers. They haven't ever done me any good, I'm here because of them. Alone. Angry. Lost. My conditions are endless. Chip is the only person I have, and I can't count on keeping him around forever. There's no rhyme or reason to how the Capitol works. They'd probably kill him if I open my mouth to insult them again.

I spend an hour brushing my hair, and even then, it's still a complete mess. Mrs. Dulce brings me a new dress (new meaning new for the Community Home, of course. It's probably at least four years old.) It's bright yellow, and it looks like the sun puked on it. I wrinkle my nose at it, but take it anyway. What else can I wear?

Before I know it, it's time to go, and we are all forced out of the door, on our way to the second worst event in the history of ever.

ѮѼѮ

I have to walk past the gallows to get to the fifteens section.

The entire town square is roped of in clear-cut sections, visible from mostly any vantage point near the storefronts. The pens are lined up in numerical order. Twelves first, located by Sage General Store; Thirteens next, by the bakery, and so on and so forth. The center point of the map is the stocks, which includes the gallows, where innocent people are blamed for their kid's mistakes.

I fall into step with a group of three people. Two guys, one girl.

"And he said, 'Wow, Elias, it's huge,' and Ransom tells him, 'that's wh...'"

I shake my head and quickly walk away.

I don't think I need to hear what happens next, this is a group of rich-ass perverts, so whatever it is, it's not good.

Chip is standing in the very back corner of our pen, as always. And I duck under the rope the second I see him.

"Wow." he says mockingly. "Look who tried to brush her hair." Chip holds an uncombed section up, smirking as I frown at him.

"I obviously didn't do a good job of it." I hit him in the arm.

He lets go of my hair, glares at me, and holds his elbow close to his chest. "I know, that's why I said tried."

"Shut up."

"No."

We exchange a few more rude comments before Mayor Elwood appears form behind the huge orange curtain on the stage. He's tall and fat, but very respected by everyone but me.

"Welcome to the reaping for the seventy fourth Hunger Games," he recites the Treaty Of Treason and moves on with the program. Crap about the Dark Days, the first Games, more guidelines for the reaping, our list of pathetic victors.

Eventually, he introduces, Noelle Dream, our escort. She's a woman covered in fruit. Her outfit is probably authentic, too, because everything looks totally real. She even has her hair styled to look like a bunch of grapes, a mixture of purple and green.

"It's nice to be back guys!" she says, her voice lowering in pitch.

No it fucking isn't.

She walks over to the first reaping ball and nearly trips because her shoes are ridiculously tall.

I laugh and a random girl shoots me an irritated look, Chip doesn't hesitate to elbow me in the arm. Doesn't anyone else find this funny?

Noelle recovers enough to read the name off the paper. "Autumn Coville!"

So I'm going to die... this isn't good... but I have to be strong.

In three short days, I'll be in the Capitol. My skin bristles at the thought of it. Me, in the same city as a bunch of... a bunch of... morons like Noelle Dream. That idea alone nearly drives me insane, but I'm not willing to let anyone see it. My expression is one of calm, cool, collect, pride.

Noelle seems surprised to see me there when I finally get to the stage. "Oh my," she says, staring at my hair. "Don't you look..." she attempts to make eye contact with me, but quickly averts her gaze. "Um... sweet."

I shake my head.

"No? Well, that's too bad... let's select our next tribute."

She takes several huge steps away from me (almost falling again.) and puts one of her dainty, manicured hand in the other glass ball.

"Ransom Sage!" Noelle cheers, as if this kid should be proud he's going to die.

I see a commotion going on from the seventeen section, a blonde girl screams "Ransom!" angrily, and a boy with messy hair walks onto the platform. He stops in front of me, winks suggestively, and I decide that I want to rip his fingernails off. I know nothing about this Ransom-guy other than the fact that he's a privileged asshole.

The exact type of person I hate.

I suppose I shouldn't be so upset, considering that Noelle got most of his inappropriate comments.

"Nice shirt," he says, "I love the grapefruits—they're a nice touch." Ransom then sees the rest of her outfit, and a disgusting smile breaks onto his face. "Cool skirt, too, though some people might get the wrong idea about the bananas."

She does her best to ignore Ransom's God-awful comments. "District 5, I give you you're tributes."

More like unwilling victims, I think, rolling my eyes.

That's all we really are.

District 6: Wendy Gertrude Hefflestrime

You've seen what you like
And how does it feel for one more time

~Daniel Powter, Bad Day~

I miss him so much.

And today, it's worse... it's reaping day.

I remember what he looked like as he mounted the stage. Young and scared. He had been so small, and I knew in my heart that I wouldn't ever see him again, at least outside of watching him on TV. Watching him die.

The way that arrow pierced his heart. A stream of blood soaked his shirt. There was an empty call for help and his life ended with a thud.

Well, that, and cannon fire.

A loud bang fills the room... just like a cannon.

I jump and then, instinctively, skitter across my bedroom to hide under a blanket.

Footsteps.

That's what comes next.

It can't be anything too bad. I could have told myself that, I guess. The violence rate in District 6 is pretty low, nobody really breaks the law, and if they do, it's never ever talked about.

I stare at the door, which is covered in pictures of my brother, none of them were taken recently.

I still think that someone bad might come in here, despite the fact that it doesn't make any sense, my heart rate still hasn't slowed down, and the paranoia is practically breathing down my neck. I cover my eyes with the rest of the quilt and wait, knowing that something terrible is about to happen. I think that—sometime, in the space of a second—I end up curling myself into a ball, as if that in itself could protect me.

The door—finally!—opens and in steps...

I pull the blanket off of my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief.

It's only Rachel and Haylee.

"Hi guys," I say weakly. "How are you?"

"Worried about you." says Rachel quietly.

"That's why we came over, Wendy." Haylee chimes in, because she hates being left out of a conversation.

"I'm fine. Really."

Haylee looks at me, a skeptical look on her face. "Than why are you hiding under his blanket?"

Nobody ever says his name anymore.

"Oh... this." I throw the threadbare scrap of fabric aside. That's what mom calls it, when she thinks I can't hear. "It's nothing... honestly."

"We understand why you're upset, Wen." Rachel attempts to calm me down. "You haven't seen him in so long. It must be hard—him being... gone, I mean."

My throat closes up. "I know, but I'd rather spend time asking you why you're wearing that ugly dress, Hayl." I try to make my amusement sound real, but I don't think the happiness reaches my eyes.

"It's so not ugly!"

"Um, yes. Yes it is." Rachel laughs.

I chuckle lightly, trying not to cry.

ѮѼѮ

Haylee and Rachel are always two steps ahead of me, but every so often, they look back, worried.

I never make eye contact with them.

Instead, I look at how busy the town square has gotten. Everyone is dressed in their nicest clothing. Khaki pants, ties, coats. Fancy dresses, skirts, blouses. Jewelry. I'm standing in a sea of pretend rich people. District 6 isn't the lowest of Panem's wealth scale, but we don't swim in money either. And some of this stuff looks too good to be real, and no one wears this sort of stuff. I glance down at my own outfit, just to compare everything. I'm wearing the same nice dress I've owned since I was nine—only this time, I have it on for my reaping.

My first official one.

Though I can't forget the reaping that happened two years ago, I wore this then, too.

It doesn't take too long to find the twelves section, it's very close to the stage, right by the shaky wooden stairs.

I can see my mother waving to me as I rush under the ropes, she keeps giving me a thumbs up, like today isn't worse for us than it is for everyone else.

Rachel and Haylee don't talk to me in the minutes before the mayor brings the escort out.

All we do is wait.

District 6: Fallon Zeider

To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one's there to save you

~Simple Plan, Welcome To My Life~

"Give them back!"

"No."

And he says it so simply, as if it's the only choice he really has. That's all he ever says to me. No. I'm nothing to anyone in this district, just a scrawny and weak and pathetic kid. Someone good for laughs, a punching bag that is solely there to get hit.

Again and again and again—though an occasional kick is given to me at times.

"I'm not kidding around, Addle. Give. Them. Back." I try to sound menacing, but my voice is still quiet. And if anything, I sound like a rodent, whiny, like a little kid. Eleven years old at most. Two years younger than my actual age.

Addle throws a punch, his knuckles connecting with my left arm.

"Why should I?" he taunts mercilessly. "You look better without 'em Four Eyes."

I bite my lip, that hurt, and it will certainly turn into another bruise in a few hours. It's always easy to tell when I've gotten beaten up, which is almost everyday. I've got several scars from fights (though I never hit back,) I've been in and I like to think that it makes me look tough.

Life, however, doesn't feel the same way.

"Just because..." I say, bracing myself for his next punch.

"Well, I've got news—"

"Fallon, are you out here?" The sound of the back door startles both of us, and Addle actually lowers his fist.

Maria—who is pretty smart for her age—comes out of the house and into the small backyard. "Where did you go?"

I don't answer, but she finds me anyway.

"Fallon," she starts, and she looks so small and innocent compared to Addle, who is as huge as a building. "What are you guys doing?"

"Nothing, just hanging out." Addle says quickly—a little too quickly.

She looks from me to the bully several times before she sticks out her lower lip. Maria's eyes go wide and I almost forget that she is nine years old. She actually looks like she's three.

Without warning, she throws herself on the ground and lets out an earsplitting wail. Tears fill her eyes, spilling over her eyelashes, traveling down her cheeks. Her pink dress has green splotches on it now—grass stains—and she picks at an old scab on her elbow until it comes off, making the cut look brand-new.

Addle's too stupid to walk away.

"Help!" she cries loudly. "Help me!"

A woman who is on her way to the reaping stops to take in the mess of scene in front of her.

She looks at Addle, the obvious instigator and glares at him. "What did you do to this little girl?"

"Nothing!"

"You expect me to believe she did this to herself?"

"She did!" He protests.

The nameless woman shakes her head. "Stop it, you shouldn't be hurting kids. Go home now, before I tell your dad."

Surprisingly, Addle doesn't argue.

He looks at us both, glaring, and stomps out of the yard.

When he leaves, Maria smiles. "What would you do without me?"

"I don't know." I say, and I mean it.

ѮѼѮ

We walk to the reaping together, and Maria is giving me pointers on how to act.

"You know," she says thoughtfully. "You'd get beat up a lot less if you sounded as tough as your scars make you look."

"Like this?" I ask, lowering my childlike voice.

"Yup."

We reach the square in five minutes, and we immediately start to look for my dad. He usually stands by the huge television screen, the one that broadcasts the Hunger Games for all of District 6 to see. He hates being near the shops, around all of the noisy people and gamblers—the ones who place bets on our lives. Not that my dad minds getting an extra buck here or there. Maria says she's seen him making bets after everyone has left.

Go figure.

She runs to my dad, waving to me, still giggling at my "strong voice."

I lose myself in the thirteens section, the second-closest pen to the stage. If one of us was reaped, we'd have to cut across the cameras to get to the steps.

Mayor Preston appears not long after I get myself settled in. He speaks about how the Games started and brings Bertha Gibble, a blue-green woman covered in swirling tattoos, onto the stage.

"Hiya District 6!" she waves to us, several people wave back. "Let's choose our tributes!"

She makes a big deal out of sticking her hand into the bowl, pulling a name out with a flourish. "Get up here Miss Wendy Gertrude Hefflestrime!"

A twelve-year old runs out of her pen and into her mother's arms, crying relentlessly.

It's kind of sad, because Peacekeepers actually have to bring her onto the stage.

She's weeping even louder now.

Our escort frowns, she's already holding the next slip.

"Fallon Zeider." is all she says.

Something powerful surges through my veins at the sound of my name.

This is my chance... I can show everyone how tough I really am.

Let the bloodshed begin.

I have a quick question. Do you guys want to read the train rides, or would you prefer to read about the chariot rides and prep, first? I could do both, but the train chapters in other SYOTs can be a little repetitve of the reapings... so if you could put that in your review, that'd be great!

Thanks!