Guys, I was originally intending to give you only one chapter, but I thought 'Oh well, I'll reward them' but I expect repayment. Repayment in the form of reviews, or chocolate... I'm not too fussy! :D

So, I thought why I don't throw another career, or two, into the mix. Guys, this is the first male reaping as well ;) So let me present to you: Claude, literally want to marry this man ;) xxx And Sandra :D Our 2 careers are definitely a good two to be in the mix :D

Claude 'Claw' Dew, District 2.

District 2, the home of masonry; the population here are responsible for all the stonework which lines the streets of the Capitol; we're also the home of the Peacekeepers. The result of these two factors being that our tributes are a lot like the stone which is our primary trade: strong, emotionless and dangerous. I am none of these things, and that is why I will never participate in the Hunger Games, the punishment the districts of Panem face for their rebellion 62 years ago: the cause of 23 unnecessary deaths every year.

Unlike the other boys my age, I'm not fond of violence unless it is absolutely necessary and even then I try to negotiate before throwing a punch; I have trained as have most of the youths here in district 2 but I never trained in preparation for the games. I trained to please my mother, Shimmer Dew, the social climber who craves the glory associated with having a child become a victor in the Hunger Games; although my younger brother, Shine is eager to enter and win the games mother still lectures me about how if I were to volunteer and win the world would be at my feet. I don't understand why, Shine may only be 14 but he is much more prepared and eager to volunteer in the games: he is the typical career, with his bulging muscle and bloodthirsty attitude; there's a glint in his brown eyes, a glint which identifies him as a trained killer. No such glint is present in my eyes.

As for the glory my mother lectures me about, there is nothing more I want from my life than what I already have; my family, my friends and my beautiful girlfriend, Iris who I fully intend on making my wife one day. That is why I'm more than content to follow in my father Cotton's footsteps and take a role within the family business of supplying marble to the Capitol.

But for one second I try to imagine what would happen if I did volunteer, could I win? Maybe, as a career my chances would be much higher than the non-career tributes; but I don't know if I could kill someone, in cold blood, in self defence maybe. I try to imagine myself as a tribute, ravaged by the arena: My dark brown hair matted with blood and dirt; my hazel eyes narrowed as I stood over a faceless tribute and thrust my sword into their chest, a sinister malice in my eyes; my tan skin littered with numerous scars and my full lips pulled over my teeth in an animalistic snarl. No, it isn't me, I'm not a sadist and I'm most certainly not a career. I'm the guy who always has a smile on my face, the guy who tries to brighten everyone's mood, I'm not a career and I doubt I ever will be.

No matter what my friend, Liam Quainwright, tells me about how I am the perfect candidate for tribute; I'm not like him, I couldn't cope. Liam has told me about the nightmares, about seeing the faces of every tribute who lost their life in the 59th Hunger Games, how they taunt him, he hears their pleas for mercy. I am not the kind of man who could live like that. I am nothing but a simple man with simple desires.

Once again reaping day is upon us, I am reluctant to go downstairs as I can already imagine what mother will have to say and it is truly something I would not mind avoiding; my plans to avoid my mother are shattered however when I hear her shrill voice travel up the stairs.

'Claude, Shine I want you two down here this instant. I have a lot to do and it's a big day, so get out of bed now for I will not have you spoiling my schedule.' I quickly oblige, as I do not want to bring my mother's wrath down upon us all; I run downstairs and quickly sit down at the table, Shine arriving a few seconds later. He got the muscles, but I definitely got the speed.

'So, here you go boys. Porridge, a good source of carbohydrates essential for my growing boys' She smiles at us fondly, my mother was once a great beauty. I've seen the pictures, and she still retains a sense of that beauty now with her grey hair tied elegantly at the nape of her neck and her hazel eyes which are identical to my own are now focused on me, she quirks her perfectly manicured eyebrow at me as if waiting for something to happen.

'So Claude, have you reconsidered what we spoke about? Are you going to volunteer' her gaze becomes penetrating, and she is wringing her hands. I take a moment before answering, carefully considering what to say.

'Well, I think it is in the best interest for us all if I do not—'

'Oh don't give me some stupid excuse, why aren't you volunteering? Are you incapable? Are you scared of death? Do you not want to bring any honour to this family?' A frown is marring her face now, her hands now balled into fists. Does my own mother really want me to sign my own death warrant? What can I say to that seriously? I am saved from having to reply by my father who has lowered his newspaper to glare at mother, his emerald green eyes flashing dangerously.

'Shimmer Dew, we have spoken about this. Claude is to become a partner is my business; he has made his intentions regarding the games very clear from the beginning. Why must you persist? It is very unbecoming in a woman of your status' Mother is silent, shock etched into her face and disgustingly lust sparkling in her eyes. That is why I love father, he is a man of few words but when he does speak, we listen. Father has always supported us in every decision we make, like me deciding to enter the family business and Shine entering the Hunger Games. Shine, then decides to break the silence that has engulfed the breakfast table.

'Don't you worry mom, at least one of your sons will make you proud' he winks at me and my trademark smile flashes onto my face.

'I'll go into the arena in a couple of years, kill them all and come home. We'll move to Victors Village, you'll be the envy of every woman in the district and we'll all be happy. Simple, I don't know why you all get so uppity about such trivial things' he rolls his eyes as if to emphasize his point. I can't help it, I start laughing until tears are streaming down my face; I have to admire my brother's perspective, he sees everything in black and white, he goes directly to the point. My father's bass chuckle joins me shortly after and mother's tinkling laugh soon after that. That's my family, the one that breaks down into a hysterical laughing fit around the kitchen table; and soon Iris will be a member of my family. I couldn't ask for anything else in the world.

The remainder of breakfast is spent in everyday conversation: the trading prices of marble, Shine's upcoming boxing match, and the careers training programme and who will be the tributes for the upcoming games. Shortly after though, mothers face turns stern and she looks toward me and Shine.

'Boys, upstairs and changed now, and make sure that you look presentable. Hell will freeze over before I allow my sons to be seen in public looking anything short of immaculate. You are representing the Dew family, remember that.' She raises her eyebrows and widens her eyes, she is completely serious; being anything less than flawless in the public eye is the worst sin one can commit in the eyes of Shimmer Dew.

'Mom, the reapings aren't for another hour and a half' I know she wants us to look good, but seriously me and Shine are guys; we don't need that long to get ready. Surprisingly she smiles at me, a genuine smile that implies I'm missing something, when she notices my blank expression she elaborates.

'Well, I thought that you'd both like to meet your friends prior to going to the reapings; and Claude I thought you'd also want to see Iris alone before you meet Liam' Oh, of course. I run up the stairs; in no time I've thrown on the new outfit mother purchased in honour of the reapings, every year she buys us something new: 'You will not be seen at the reapings in the same clothes more than once. What would Morgana say? Oh I'd be the laughing stock of the wives community'.

Staring at myself I think I look presentable: the white dress shirt is fitted, drawing attention to my defined biceps, making my tan appear more prominent, my skin is glowing and my hazel eyes appear more vibrant than ever; the black trousers are fitted and the patent leather shoes complete the ensemble. Presentable, indeed. I look like a potential career tribute, handsome and strong; no wonder mother and Liam try and coerce me into volunteering, I look the part. What am I thinking? Could I seriously kill a 12 year old, someone defenceless and vulnerable? No, I couldn't and that's why I would never be a part of the Hunger Games.

I walk downstairs to stand before my parents, presenting myself to my parents before I leave. If I left the house without showing my mother she would go ballistic and I've heard rumours that when she was younger she was a master of throwing knives, but I don't want to find out.

'Oh you look wonderful darling. Strong and fierce, those leather shoes set it all off; when the other moms see what you're wearing they will die from jealousy, I did such a good job shopping didn't I?' She smiles widely, and affectionately pats my shoulder before my father cuts in from behind his newspaper.

'I think what you should say is that you do a good job spending my hard earned money, dear. Oh and Claude, you do look good' I stifle a laugh that is bursting to spring from my lips at the expression on mothers face; she looks shell shocked.

'Oh, well I think you do a good job of eating the food I've cooked, wearing the clothes that I've cleaned and ironed. Yes, Cotton you should learn to think before you speak; it is very unbecoming in a man of your status' She repeats his earlier words and I cannot hold it any longer I begin to laugh at my parents fruitless banter. If, I'm going to meet Iris and Liam I'd better be leaving soon, I wave my hands to try and catch my parent's attention; they appear to be engaged in a staring contest, daring one another to speak.

'Mom, Dad, I'm gonna go now. Meet Iris and everything. I'll see you after the reapings' I wait around for about a minute to see if they'll respond but they seem to be too consumed in their battle of the wills.

I leave the house and continue on my way to Iris', now I've done it. Whenever I think of Iris I feel butterflies in my stomach, a goofy smile blossoms onto my face or so they say and all I can see is her. Her flaxen hair which falls straight to her waist, her petite frame with her luscious curves which fits into my arms as if it was the missing piece of a puzzle, her blue eyes that shine with mischief, her cute button nose, her joyful laugh which sounds like heavenly bells. Everything, the girl consumes my thoughts; so happy, you will never see Iris Waldenberg upset.

Apart from now, as I turn onto the street where Iris lives a haunting image strikes me. Iris, my Iris so beautiful and happy appears broken. Pain flashed through my chest, it is truly heart wrenching to see the girl who is practically your everything curled on the floor weeping constantly. Shoulders shaking as her sobs echo in my ear, what do I do? How can I comfort her, she is the one who holds me. I stand and stare, who did this? Nobody would physically harm Iris, any girl she could beat without breaking a sweat; and as for the men her in district 2: I am not an outwardly violent or aggressive being, but it is an acknowledged fact that if any man touch her I would beat them senseless. Many times I've heard such scenarios described as 'aggressive negotiations'.

I edge forward slowly, considering what I should say. I stand before her and I see that she lifts her head, her blue eyes red and swollen, her plump lips turned down in a frown, brow puckered with anxiety. I feel helpless but I reach down to cup her jaw, tilting her head upwards. She looks into my eyes blankly. She has gone from a sobbing wreck to being completely devoid of emotion.

'Iris, my love, what's the matter? Please tell me what I can do, seeing you like this it's too much' She stares at me, her face still an expressionless mask. She climbs to her feet and turns to walk away, I reach out to snag her wrist, she cannot leave without telling me what had happened; we never keep secrets, never have and never will.

'Love, you can't just walk away from a problem Iris. You taught me that, so just spill it. What's going on? I seriously don't understand how I'm meant to help if you don't tell me what's going on' unconsciously my voice is beginning to rise, I never get angry at Iris but I'm getting frustrated. They say that relationships are built on trust, I trust her implicitly but in this moment it appears that the trust is not reciprocated.

'Claw, not all of my problems are something you can make just disappear. Some things, you have to face alone, just give me some space please. It's all I'm asking for' her rebuke made me feels sick, what's happening? Have I entered some alternate reality? Suffering some elaborate hallucination?

'Iris, please. You can have your space, wallow in self-pity or whatever just tell me what's wrong. I feel—'

'Self pity?' Her face is now the image of shock, mouth agape and eyebrows raised but just as suddenly her expression snapped to that of rage. Eyes of blue steel, jaw clenched and her eyebrows pulled together. SLAP. The sound of flesh on flesh reverberates through the street, Iris has hit me and it takes everything not to raise my hand to where she had struck me. The sting began to fade but Iris just stood there, grinding her teeth.

So Claw, you want to know why I'm wallowing in self pity? Do you really? Because I suppose you do deserve to know. You helped create the problem.' I stood there, face blank. What was she going on about? I am seriously considering that there is a shred of truth to my earlier musing that I had entered some parallel universe.

'So you gonna stand there looking nonplussed all day? Do I need to spell it out? I'm pregnant, P-R-E-G-N-A-N-T, as in carrying your unborn child. So before you dare try and lecture me about wallowing, think: In 8 months we'll be parents; we're eighteen for God's sake, how are we meant to cope? What are we going to do?' Tears are streaming down her face before she turns around, disappearing into the crowd that had gathered to witness our public confrontation.

Shock: what? I cannot be hearing this; this isn't what's meant to happen. It's meant to go like this: We survive the reapings; I work in the family business and each at the academy while Iris studies medicine. We build a household; we become financially independent before we even consider beginning a family. What am I going to do? I need to be strong, the answer is so obvious: I need to be there for my future wife and our unborn child. It may not be the most convenient thing to happen but nothing will stop me being there for Iris, for our child.

Sandra 'Sandy' Burghardt, District 2.

Oh, how tragic? The 'golden couple' have had a domestic, how stupid. Yes, teenage pregnancy isn't the most convenient thing to happen in their situation but must they be so blind? Yes, they're 18 but they have a family that loves them and wealth in abundance. It isn't the end of their lives, whatever happens to them their socialite parents will save their asses. They need to realise that there are worse problems that fester here in district 2 and throughout Panem, real problems that tear apart families; problems that cost people their lives; problems that haunt peoples nightmares.

No, I'm not about to stand here discussing philosophy; I'm not about to sit and ponder all the difficulties I've faced in my life; Yes, I've had problems: My mother died. But these things happen, we mourn and we move on. I'm not insensitive exactly, I just realise we all have problems and no matter how massive our problems seem to us at the time, there are people throughout Panem that are facing worse. I will not indulge in pitying myself when there are people out there more deserving of any pity I can give.

Life to me is dull and repetitive; nothing happens, we are all stuck in a rut. Life is meant to be exciting, we're meant to all achieve some sense of fulfilment, or so my mother said. But excitement is strangely absent here in district 2; the grey skies a literal cage, trapping me here to live a long life of boredom. I will not allow myself to live an empty life; I have always known that change is the key to unlocking the life of the fulfilment mother described. The thing is, I do not dwell on problems, I actually do something about them. If I want change, it can come from only one place: The Capitol. My key to getting to the Capitol: The Hunger Games.

Yes, you assume correctly. Sandy Burghardt is the name, and creating change will soon be my game. Today I will volunteer as a tribute, not your typical 'career'; although I am respected amongst my peers at the training academy I am not a bloodthirsty brute. I lack the thirst the blood, the desire to cause death. So you ask why I am going into an arena when the only decision is to kill or be killed. Simple, I do not want to win; I want to make an example of the Capitol, hold up a mirror to their flaws, and point out that the Hunger Games serve no purpose in Panem nowadays.

You see, I'm confused as to why the Capitol allows for the games to continue, their original purpose of punishing the rebels is rendered useless. No, instead they allow them to continue, for their entertainment. They are so comfortable in their perceived power that they think that the districts will continue to take this? They are so narrow-minded; allowing this brutal tradition to continue is nothing but an open invitation for rebellion, and volunteering is my RSVP.

I waltz home, arms laden with the groceries my brother Luca has instructed me to get before I witnessed the domestic conflict of Dew and Waldenberg, his waiting in the kitchen area in the apartment we share. He raises his eyebrows as I walk in, I glance to the clock to see that it is 10.30; wow, I had been gone a while. I smile at him, hoping that my seemingly joyful mood will appease him. Apparently not.

'Where have you been? If I find out you've been harassing peacekeepers again I swear I'll flog you until you cry like a baby'

'Luca, drop it with the empty threats; if you tried to flog me I would kick your ass. And before you come back with some smart alec comment, that my dearest brother is a promise.' He laughs at my cheek, I know for a fact that I would never have to keep that promise. Luca is annoying, over protective and more than a little controlling but he is my big brother, and it seems at times that he is all I have. Yes, my father still breathes but he doesn't live, he just works all day; the office has become his new wife and children.

'Sandy, you should learn to keep that attitude of yours in check. It'll get you into trouble one day' No Luca, it'll get me killed, but I bloody well hope that it does cause trouble. Trouble for the Capitol, because they really need to sort themselves out, or as the old maids saying goes: 'it'll all end in tears'.

'Yes Luca, and if you keep trying to tell me what to do I'll stick a knife in you before you can blink' He rolls his eyes, my threats are as empty as his, but yet we still continue to make them. I throw the groceries down and pour myself a glass of water, Luca puts the groceries away and we just sit down in the kitchen, silence fills the room. Silence, it is so beautiful and today will be the last time I ever experience it. The Capitol with its gold paved streets is not a place where one comes across the bliss that is silence and as for the arena; it will be filled with the dying screams of myself and 22 other tributes.

'Luca, you do know I love you right? You're the best brother I could ever ask for. Whatever I do, just remember that I love you wholeheartedly'

'Bloody hell, cut this out. Talk to me straight; I don't appreciate this whole ambiguous stuff' Well isn't my brother eloquent? He seriously does have a way with words, not.

'You seriously do have a way with words, Luca. Right, I'll tell you straight; I'm going into the Games, it's the only way'

'What? You can't, your gonna leave me here with dad the workaholic? I'll be bored shitless until you get back. And do what? If you want money get a job, if you wanna kill someone I say stick a knife in Grayson, or that arrogant twat Quentin Trordon'

'It's not that Luca, just drop it right. I'm volunteering—'

'Over my dead body missus—'

'Don't be a fool; my life, my decisions. I'll do as I bloody well like and you'll let me right?'

'No, I'm not letting you go and get yourself killed'

'I'll do as I fucking like Luca, so fuck off out my business' that's it now, he has pissed me off. It's my life, not his, and I am entering these games. I can't tell him why but I sincerely hope that when he realises my motives he won't think any less of me. He will lose his sister, but he and the rest of Panem will be given an opportunity. The opportunity to do something, I will not die in vain: there will be change. I storm from the room before Luca retaliates, the last time I ever see him and we're at each others throats: Just my luck.

I'm pacing in my room, waiting till my mood brightens, seems we're in for a long wait. My temper is a thing that works against me, it clouds all sense of rational judgement and rules me completely. I am a good girl with good intentions mostly, but right now I am the 'career' I've been groomed to be since the day I turned 12: I snatch a small steak knife from dinner the previous evening and throw it with all the force I possess at my bedroom door; the knife soars through the air at such a speed it appears to blur before it imbeds itself in the door. A knife flying through the air is a beautiful thing, but seeing it pierce a young child is not beautiful and that is why I promised never to hurt anyone unless necessary, life is not something to be wasted and that is what the Capitol sanctions, a waste of life; unfulfilled potential and broken families.

In no time I'm getting ready for the reapings, I wear a pair of dark jeans and a dark green silk blouse; not exactly stunning but I'm all for practicality when I think that in only an hour from now I will be fighting a multitude of girls in order to get to the stage and volunteer; so it seems I'll be wearing the tennis shoes. I've tried the whole running in heels thing and I know from experience that it is a futile task. I do look nice, I am not the most attractive girl but I have that 'something' about me.

When you look at a person and then look back again because you can't put your finger on what makes that person stand out. Standing at 5'7'' with dirty blonde hair, sea green eyes and a tan complexion. I appear to be distinctly ordinary, my muscled physique the norm here in district 2 as are the scars that litter my body from years at the training academy. So what is it that makes me stand out? The glint in my eyes that screams out for change, the determination to make that change happen and the willingness to give my life to ensure Panem is given the chance to make that change.

I exit my room and re-enter the kitchen, Luca is sitting where I left him all that time ago. Silence reigns yet again, but this silence isn't comfortable; it is a testament to something unspoken, the tension is so palpable I seriously think it could be cut with a knife.

'Sandy, I know why you're going, it's useless. You talk about change, and your right; things do need to change but they never will' His eyes are wide and rimmed with red; he appears manic with his desperation. I cannot relent, I am the girl that does something, I couldn't be happy staying here without trying to make the changes I deem vital to Panem. I am not a hypocrite I say that if there is a problem, change it: I cannot sit back without at least attempting to make that change happen.

'Luca, I know it might be stupid but I need to do this, I need to try or else I'll live a life regretting that I didn't at least try.'

'But dying isn't the only option; yes I know you intend to die. I think I have known for weeks, every time you say goodbye it appears so final. I refuse to say my final goodbyes; if you want change then I suggest you come back here alive so you can make that change happen'

'Your, your letting me go? Seriously? ' My brother smiles, it isn't a smile of joy but understanding; he just nods his head but I hear the words he hasn't spoken; He wouldn't want to be stuck with me for years if I didn't do this.

'Yes, you're doing a good thing. Well, you're trying to; and as you said it is you life. Why should I stop you doing something which could benefit everyone? I'd be selfish to stop you' He walks over and hugs me, short and sweet; he truly understands and he knows that it's something I need to do.

'Thank you Luca, seriously. Thanks' in certain situations I am rendered useless by my lack of eloquence; but we can practically read one another's minds. We don't need words to let each other know how we feel.

'Now go, and please reconsider this whole martyr thing. I'm not gonna lecture you; but remember you could do so much more if you came back alive'

'I know, I've got to go now. Love you' It's a lame goodbye; he won't be allowed to come and see me; since his fight with Grayson Luca has been placed under 'house arrest' by the peacekeepers. I'm not the overly emotional type but the realisation that I will never see my brother again is staggering. I will not, cannot die in vain: without me my brother has nothing, nobody. I need to make sure he has a better future to look forward to.

I pluck my mother's wedding ring, I always carry it and it will become my token when I enter the arena: the silver ring represents so much; everything that she taught me, my resolve to sacrifice myself in order to create change. But is Luca right? Would I be able to do more if I returned home as Victor of the 62nd Hunger Games, I think I may need to reconsider the path I've decided to win. To win or not to win? It seems that this is the question I now face.

Enobaria Yenston, District 2 Mentor.

It's been a whole year; a year since I was named Victor of the 61st Hunger Games; a year since I was taken to the Capitol to compete in the games that have become my identity, the games changed everything for me. I was a 16 year old girl, rather weedy for district 2 with brown eyes, pale skin and lifeless brown hair; but what I lacked in physical appearance I compensated for in bloodlust, cruelty and a savage need to win and prove myself to all the people here in district 2 who doubted me.

They said I was a goner, doomed to death in the arena. Well, appearances are deceiving: I walked into the games as the career girl who was already considered dead, I walked out a Victor who everyone feared; a woman who had proved herself as lethal and in many peoples opinions, crazed.

Ripping that boys throat out with my teeth, the most defining moment of my life has been forever implanted into the memory of every citizen here in Panem, their memories of me may be tinged with disgust, fear or even complete bewilderment; but they do remember me and my brutality is something which cannot be easily forgotten. I, Enobaria Yenston, have achieved immortality. It was in that moment I heard the canon ring to announce my victory. His flesh tasted sweet as his blood pooled in my mouth; a stimulant that cannot be compared to anything else. I am proud of what I did, proud that I proved myself the most worthy to continue living: My pride has now become a physical feature, my teeth: no longer crooked and yellowed, but filed to sharp points and plated in gold; a physical symbol of the act which made me immortal.

I reminisce for a few minutes longer before I have to depart for the reapings; today I return to the Capitol, no longer one of 24 tributes but as a Victor, adored by the citizens in the Capitol. I return as a mentor, prepared to guide one of the tributes here in 2 to victory, they can follow in my footsteps; try to match my greatness. I walk outside and I'm immediately joined by Brutus, one of my fellow victors with his wavy salt and pepper black hair and those cold, unfathomable grey eyes.

'Brutus, are you mentoring this year?' I remember last year he mentored Clatus, my district partner: the boy who died in order for me to win, the boy I killed by decapitating as he begged me for mercy, I will always remember his haunted cries, the pitiful pleas. One would think Brutus would begrudge me for killing the tribute he mentored, he doesn't, in fact he champions my bloodlust and encourages my brutality: especially at the academy where we train the potential tributes.

He is a sadist, like me: we are two peas in a pod, true kindred spirits. Brutus has been married for 12 years and is 18 years my senior, but this doesn't prevent our continued 'relations'; we understand one another in a way his wife can only imagine , we can sate one another's needs.

I notice a cut on his neck, hidden by the layers of thick muscles. Seeing the minor wound weep causes me to bite my lip, lust clouding my judgement: I lean in towards his neck and trail my tongue along the wound, the taste is phenomenal; sweeter than honey and smoother than finest whisky. He groans in pleasure, the beauty of our relationship is we acknowledge our animalistic needs, and we enjoy sating them.

Half an hour later we leave my house here in Victor's Village, we're cutting it extremely close in time; I am still in ecstasy as the pungent smell of sex lingers in my nostrils and the taste of Brutus still fills my mouth, his touch still sends shivers up my spine.

'In answer to your earlier question Enobaria, I am mentoring. It will be delightful working alongside you; although we will have to make time for you to work under me' his husky voice, causes every nerve ending in my body to tingle in need, to tingle in unadulterated pleasure. I feel warmth blossom in my stomach and for the second time in one hour my lust manifests in a pool of desire between my legs.

'Oh Brutus, I may have to be working underneath you as soon as possible; how do you have such an effect on me?' He begins to laugh, a smoky baritone and it is joined by my soprano tinkling; now it is time to go and meet the newest tributes. I am ecstatic, the Hunger Games are about to begin yet again, seeing tributes drop like flies is a drug to me, and for Brutus. For us, the odds are forever in our favour.

As we embark on the small journey to the Justice Building I begin to fantasize about the spectacular sights we'll see this year; the panicked screams of tributes who know their death is inevitable. Now for our newest tributes: will they be the bloodthirsty tributes ready to follow in my footstep and bring honour to our glorious district, or will they fall short? Die because of useless emotions like loyalty and compassion.

Oh, so there's a chapter! I know there's not a reaping technically but I'm sure you assume Claude and Sandy will be our tributes and you assume correctly. We will return later to meet the tributes properly and learn about their reapings. So, how did Claude end up as a tribute, when he said he wasn't a career? What is Sandy's plan then, will she decide to sacrifice herself or will she decide she can do more if she is the winner?

Oh and as for the Enobaria...I'm gonna start having different POV's! Next up will be the District 12 Reapings, told from the POV of our beloved Effie as it is her first year as an escort.

The new format yay or nay? I really wanted to change how I do the reapings! If I used the same format for all, it would become monotonous. So let me know your thoughts. Oh, I apologise for the chapter's quality, I found it very difficult to write. Now, I want to hear from my loving reading audience: How would you like to see the reapings, a mentor? Another eligible tribute? Escorts or a Capitol POV?

REVIEW! Thanks, Lawrence xxx