District 7

Hazel Mould. Age: 15.

"Leif, can we please get a move on?" I grab him for one more kiss before his older brother comes out there and pulls us apart. It's the one distraction I've had all day from the somersaults my stomach has been making hoping that I don't end up getting reaped in a few hours. At least I didn't have to go in to the paper mill this morning to sweep up the excess wood pulp that goes flying all over the place.

"See you in a bit, Hazelnut." His hugs at least make me feel a little bit better though the warmth quickly seeps away as I head back into my own little house. Mom's all ready to get me dressed up for the afternoon event. It's the same hairstyle every year as a sort of good luck charm that will hopefully keep my name from slipping into the escort's hand: the top half braided back on either side until both reach the back and then combined into a single braid down my back while the lower half is allowed to just flow freely without blowing into my face. While green seems to be a popular color for dresses, mine have always been brown. Perhaps if I fade into the background I will be able to stay there for another three years. I might be a little better able to stay alive than others, but I would also rather not test that. I'd like to be able to run toward something rather than away from it.

Mom takes me by the face for a moment and just clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "You and that boy are going to be the death of me one of these days." Which is a very coded "why can't you just find someone whose parents don't already have him working?" Summer has turned my hair lighter and brought out my freckles that occasionally make the boys around the center of our area of the District turn and take notice on the way to work. Leif has never been like that though. He doesn't care if I look like a complete disastrous mess.

"He says he'll volunteer with me if I get reaped. That it doesn't matter if it's the biggest and strongest boy in all of District 7, he'll stay right by me because he'd rather die than live without me." It's the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my life as I just beam up at her from the chair while she gives me one last look over. She looks ready to say something, but is avoiding actually letting the words pass her lips. Neither of my parents approve of Leif all that much and that I'm too young to be getting involved with a boy. They've seen too many teenagers torn apart during the Reapings and having to heal from the loss of their loved one. "Be happy for me. I'm in love." I just pull my lets up onto the chair and hug my knees, smiling to myself. It's the one happy thought that I have today when my stomach has been in knots so I'm clinging to it with every inch of my being.

"Let's get going then, Hazel. The sooner we get there hopefully the sooner we can be back to make supper." That's my mother though. Everything she wants to say is either left to Dad or the looks that she gives me that I'm expected to read and know by heart. I can't be left entirely responsible for the fact that my lips are still slightly swollen from our heated make-out session.

I'm not sure where anyone would place the odds on us winning compared to some other Districts, but then we're not allowed to know all that much about them. One, Two, and Four are know for their sneaky ways of going about training the kids and it's not usual to see one of them win the Games. What seems worse is that the Capitol does nothing about these "Careers" and probably encourage it more than anything. Where is the show when you only have 24 kids trying to survive rather than also trying to murder each other. Which is all it really is in the end. Kids murdering other kids until there's only one left and then we celebrate them. Then if it just came down to survival, Seven would probably have an advantage over some of the others. Four, Nine, Ten, and Eleven… Really we're the ones that might have the best survival skills, but we're also the most under funded with the exception of Four.

Strange they don't seem to have as many Victors as the other two Career groups.

Oakes East. Age: 17.

Sometimes I wonder when I ended up being the responsible one in the family. Not that I would ever really label my parents are irresponsible. Once my baby sister Willow turned 12 last year though I think they've been in a constant state of prayer to whatever God might listen long enough to protect their kids from becoming the next ones Reaped. If anything happens with Willow, I'm powerless to intercept and volunteer for her but I also have a younger brother too foolish to ever survive more than a few days in any Arena. Yet I'm hoping it never comes down to being eligible to volunteer for him either. Not that I'm hoping the situation will ever come up and he'll reach his last Reaping with the same level of eating at your gut that you get at this age.

You start at twelve with your first and then second, and after that it more or less becomes a game of numbers. "Managed another year without having to take out another slip. Five more to go… Four more… Three…" Which leaves me walking along with my little sister on her second while I keep muttering to myself "two more left". It's my mantra to chant with each exhale along the way. Willow's just about as nervous as I am. Her hand seems so small when she's just trying to distract herself with looking over mine for any developing blisters from this morning's work. There are enough calluses there from three years of waking up every morning to go out and chop down wood that will be used for any number of things. She took over my job at the nursery when I got to be old enough for the manual labor, but she's also far better at getting the little saplings to grow until they're large enough to repopulate part of the forest that we've cleared. For the most part it's worked as a way to keep us in work for the next generation.

"No signs of splinters or blisters, Oakie." She presses our hands together palm-to-palm. Her fingertips barely reach two thirds of the way up my own as I just take her hand. Willow getting reaped is possibly scarier than myself. If there is a God on our side though we'll be breaking bread and trying to find something to laugh about over dinner tonight. I just smile down at her, and do my best to keep on a brave face for both our sakes. Two more left…

"Well good. I wouldn't want them to have to poke me for blood more than once because they hit a blister instead."

"Ewww!" She giggles though at the idea of my hand squirting on one of the Peacekeepers. Willow manages to keep up with my slightly larger steps with a combination walk/skip/hop that is usually more effective when she's between both of her brothers. Apparently she's also noticed there. "Leeeeif! Hurry up!"

Apparently Mr. Sentimental is in the middle though of trying to write another love poem to his beloved Hazelnut, light of his life… Or some other nonsense that he gets him all wax poetic. I have to press my lips together as he almost trips from not paying enough attention to where he's walking. "What, are they going to put me down as tardy?" Ooh. He's still all peeved over me practically dragging him out of that bush, but it's too bad. I'd rather him be mad at me than watch him get whipped for not showing up.

"Probably." He doesn't bother catching up and before much longer we're lined up while they have us sign in and get lined up to wait for them to start. Johanna, our latest victor, looks to be in a sour mood to be here already. I can't really blame her when Lennox is trying to get her involved in a conversation. Truthfully for all the good things we hear about the Capitol, he looks sick. His skin is tingled a pale green and I notice this year I'm close enough to notice his nails painted the same darker green as his hair. Maybe he thinks he looks like a tree. I wouldn't mind trying to chop him down, but I think that would be frowned upon. Even when he starts in with his usual greetings and accent that lifts at the end to make everything sound like a question.

No, this is not a "happy" hunger games.

Oh really? Were you considering sending two boys this year instead of one young man and woman?

Somehow I don't think the ladies really care to go first, no.

I roll my eyes a little at the ridiculousness of all of this rather than the idea that it's going to be someone that I know. I stop though when they call her name and Hazel Mould is starting up the stage to a District that doesn't volunteer. Unless, of course, you might be my brother who I can't spot through the crowd of sixteen year olds.

"And now for our new strapping young man tribute!" Lennox gives a wink and grin to the camera while crossing to the other bowl and I'm already holding my breath. No matter what comes out, I'm only too sure in another week I'm going to be watching my brother fighting for his life because he was volunteering to be near his beloved. I'm going to have to be there when my sister is sobbing her eyes out because some Career snuck up behind him in the bloodbath and choked him with whatever they happened to have on hand. Probably because he was trying to protect Hazel who can probably manage to protect herself enough to get sponsors. What seems like hours of waiting for the ball to drop is in reality only seconds as the moss haired monstrosity pulls out the one name who won't let him volunteer.

I make a point of looking back at the 15 year old section to give him a look. He might still try, but I would rather not have to toss him off the stage back to mom. The only thing is he's shrinking back into the crowd as much as he can manage while I turn back around and try to block out the cries near the back of the girl's section. Oh Willow… Please stay safe. Hazel seems to still be expecting the same thing I've already given up on. Leif might be one of the better poets, but when it comes to his own self-preservation he's apparently more willing to sit back and watch us have to kill each other than get involved. I just clasp her hand though and give her the same small reassuring smile I usually save for Willow. I'm going to be honor-bound to help, but when it comes down to it I know I'll take after my brother. Self-preservation first, friendship second.

District 8

Juliet Laprees. Age: 13.

I idly wonder if Carroll has always had bunny ears or how old you have to be in order to get something like that done. He's been our representative from the Capitol for as long as I can remember, but he's always had the same bunny ears poking out on either side of his tophat which only makes sense with a last name like "Rabbit". Which is also why I'm not too sure they couldn't have some sort of genetic ability that would make people actually have ears like that since birth.

These are the sorts of things that it's easy to think about when you're stuck waiting on everyone to get there for the annual reaping. I can't just go back a few aisles to hang out with my older brother and after last year Dad wanted to make absolutely sure that we were here early. I had been crying about not wanting to go out and ended up making us just the slightest bit late and both my parents in a good deal of trouble for not being able to manage to get us there a few minutes earlier. He only ended up taking it out on me then and I didn't dare to fight him this year about going.

You would think we would be the best dressed out of all of the Districts. After all, the only place that probably has more budding fashion designers is the Capitol itself and we're responsible for most of the regulation uniforms for Peacekeepers and the like. That doesn't keep others from hoping that someone might notice their fledgling works and pull them off to the Capitol to become a stylist. As for me, I'm fine with just my plain white blouse and black skirt and trying to find something to watch other than Carroll Rabbit.

Unfortunately the only distraction from anything is the streaming in of Reapings from the other Districts. I guess if you wanted to be here first thing in the morning you could probably watch them all start to finish though they'll cut in when it's Eight's turn. It's not like you can even hear anything while I watch a girl probably no older than myself get up onto the stage from District 6. The boy that follows is actually a little bit shorter and just looks horrified. Already I'm betting on him not making it very far in the Games.

There is the smallest part of me that also wonders if it wouldn't be so terrible to have to go. Life isn't exactly wonderful here when you're spending most of your time making fabric that they'll only turn into ridiculous outfits anyhow. I'm young and not exactly someone that people would expect to win in the long run, but aren't they just looking for a good story in the end? What's better than the girl from 8 that manages to outwit the rest of her competition to go back to her home District and be able to live out her days away from the rest of her family?

Okay, I'd bring Mom. Mom's not done anything to me for the things I've done wrong in the past, but Dad just scares me. If he were in the Hunger Games with me is the only time I think I might be brave enough to do something about it. I'm not brave enough to volunteer however. Just enough to keep my fingers crossed for all the wrong reasons that the extra tesserae I've been required to take out for him to make alcohol will be enough to get my name drawn. After all, if I listened to him I'm just worthless anyhow.

I wouldn't mind getting to spend the week with Mr. Bunny ears either. He doesn't seem all that bad other than his mother possibly being a rabbit. Plus I'd get to ask if I could try petting him and seeing how much his hair is actually like fur rather than anything like the dull brown strands I have growing out of my head.

I'm probably the only one in all of Panem that's actually happy to hear my own name getting called.

Robin Hastings. Age: 14.

Knit two. Purl one. Knit two. It's the same pattern on and on again and keeping my hands busy trying to mimic the two needles in my hand is the best distraction I can come up with despite people staring over at me as my hands are fidgeting. Apparently some people still consider a hand knit sweater to be worth a good bit if it's well made. More often than not mine just end up looking more like someone puked it out with the assortment of yarn colors as I get bits and pieces and just pull them all together into a single article of clothing that last year managed to get us a month's worth of meat from the butcher. From the feeling in his freezer I could tell why he had wanted it so badly that he was willing to give that much up. Mom was also good about keeping it to small enough portions that it lasted. We ended up trading a few of the better pieces for flour and cheese.

Even Row is looking down a few aisles from his place in the back. It's his first reaping and it took long enough to get him to come out of his room to get dressed. I can't say I blame the kid. No one is exactly in a rush to get here unless they have business to discuss and even then there's not many that would do it so close to the Justice Building. Most of our trading is fine, but the means people go to get items isn't always as legal. People resort to stealing and trying to pass off the good before people realize their item is gone and then you're doing good to be able to prove it was yours in the first place. When you've got people starving though they're willing to go to about any means to make enough cash for a bowl of soup.

Purl two. Knit one. Purl two. They call a girl up from the row behind me. She about looks like one of the ones that would have been stealing to try and even get by from her highly noticeable kneecaps and elbows with even little muscle to them. Just because a lot of us work from an early age doesn't really mean that we get a lot of exercise. I can just picture her having to get up in one of the machines to make bolts of cloth and hopefully still have all ten fingers. At least it's one of the perks of being a knitter despite the fact that I'm clearly a boy: I've never had to worry about losing a finger to one of my knitting needles. I also get slightly more exercise just carrying around bags of wool and other animal hair to spin together.

I knew a woman once who actually spun her hair into yarn and made a hat out of it for her own father who had gone bald. Her hair was about the same pale gold as the girl on stage, but the story is also one that always makes me smile a little bit. You can believe in the kindness of other people who are willing to take care of each other rather than just steal. Though people are probably looking at me even more oddly when I'm still smiling for a moment after they call my name. "Oh…" My hands end up in my pocket rather than end up fidgeting all the more on stage where everyone is going to see it. I keep repeating the pattern in my head however so I don't end up looking completely dense up there as they're having us shake hands.

Run too, or you're done.

A/N: Apologies to my readers for the slight delay as I'm trying to get through the Reapings, but I have been working on the Arena and figuring out some of the events for the games.

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