Here are Districts 5, 6, 7, and 8 Reapings. I like writing these Reapings since not much is known about these Districts so I try to get more creative. I hope you like these characters.

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District 5 Katarina "Kat" Peters's POV

I stare down at the innocence of Caroline's face, a face only a baby can have. Babies have the privileged of not knowing the world's true colors. It is like their whole world is in a perfect black and white. Over time, yellows will pop up fro happiness and reds for despair. For now, I wish to shield her from the colors.

I like to think of Caroline as a rare exception. She is something beautiful that pops up out of the most horrible situation. Things like that almost never happen. She is above the usual. I am so proud to call her my daughter, even if she was a result of that night…

I can't bear to think of that night anymore. Caroline's only flaw to me is that she is a constant reminder of what had happened. No matter how hard I try, I can't wash that away with all the love I feel for her.

I sigh one last time over how perfect she looks in her sleeping stage and leave her small nursery. Before I do, I take a peek at my baby sister, Harmony. I love her in a different way, as what she is, a sister. I won't, couldn't, ever admit to my mother that I love Caroline more than Harmony, though I know she feels the same in opposite.

I leave to my own room to dress for the Reaping. I don't bother with nice clothes anymore. I couldn't get them anyway, with all the money going towards the babies. I put on my everyday blue dress with a belt and my favorite, but tarnished necklace.

I look in the mirror to brush my hair. Unlike most girls, I don't hate or love my appearance. My black hair is normal and strait. My eyes look sleep deprived, but still keep their almost black appeal. My tiny frame still looks frail, but what do you expect from District 5? The only thing I wish I could chance is the scar across my throat.

I shuffle down the stairs and into the barely lit kitchen. District 5 looks gloomy and gray, a usual weather pattern here. Yet, this morning, it looks especially grim. My mother is at the sink, washing a few half-rotten fruit. I assume my younger brother, Lane, is already gone.

"Good morning, Katarina," my mother says promptly, not turning around. I love the way she can always tell who is there even when she isn't looking. It astounded me when I was younger. Now, it is only a tiny, bright part of my day. It does not do enough to affect my usual mood, though or hers for that matter.

I grab one of the apples from her hand and take a bight. I still feel a sting as I swallow. I don't know if it is just my imagination or reality. I can't ask my mother if it is normal. She gives me a tiny smile before shooing me out of the way. "You need to get to the Reaping. I told you I would take care of Caroline."

I nod at my mother and start out the door. I walk down the steps with my apple in hand, glancing back only once. I shouldn't have, though. I trip on one of the many loose stones on the pathway. I fall on to the stone hard, enough to make me want to scream. If only I could make a sound come out. It is never easy having words to say and having no voice to say them.

Dexter Hasselback's POV

I don't want to stand in this sea of animals, but I have no other choice. They think I can't hear their snickering or their name calling. Stupidity is as stupidity does. These people know nothing. But I still don't understand why their insults hurt so much.

I wish I could kill them all.

I immediately shake the thought out of my head. That side of me has not been seen by anyone, but me. Even I haven't seen that side in awhile. I don't know why it always shows itself on Reaping Day, of all days.

I have never feared Reaping Day like most children do. It was never a problem for me. I had much larger things to fear or at least I thought I did. When I think about it clearly now, Reaping Day should be more terrifying. Yet, I still do not fear it.

The bullying is just so real. The Reaping is only a possibility and it is one all of the children face. Bullying was only me or at least in my grade. It was and always will be the red hair. It is the hair of evil. I despise it more than anything.

Even now, it causes my complications. They bullies have matured slightly since we were all twelve and thirteen, but the hair still get mocked. I hear the snide comments from behind me. I don't want to, but I do.

The comments come to a halt when the mayor steps up to the microphone. He rushes and mumbles his way through the History and Victor List. We don't have many victors, but we do have the most recent one, Knox Overstreet. He looks high or drunk. Either way, it is easy to tell his life is a living hell.

The escort is a the microphone when I hear the whisper in my ear. "I hope it is you, ginger." I whip around quickly to find the person responsible. A group of boys stand behind me, all much larger than me. Darrel Nighlen in the obvious culprit though.

"C-c-c-cut it out," I hiss at them, but they only laugh menacingly at my stutter. It is their fault I have it. It will always be their fault.

"Katarina Peters!" I didn't even notice the announcer until he called the name. I glance at the girl chosen. She is fairly pretty, but doesn't look like one who will last long. I feel sorry for her. She looks so scared.

I hear the boys behind me laughing more as our escort reaches the boys bowl. The most disturbing part is that they would actually be delighted if I was chosen. "And your male tribute is…"

"It is going to be you," Darren whispers again while the escort is drawing the name. His gang of boys laugh again, even more viciously. I furrow my brown again and get up the nerve to retaliate.

"It w-w-will n-n-not…"

"Dexter Hasselback."

And just like that, all my nightmares come true. The slim possibilities become the true facts and the once most terrifying thing turns microscopic in comparison. I can only think of one positive. At least in this arena, killing is an option.

District 6 Finn Darrenhall's POV

I usually wake up to the sobs of my mother, but my house is ghostly quiet this morning. I climb out of bed cautiously, unsure whether or not I should be alarmed. My mother always faces her worst fits of depression in the morning. My father still seems to be haunting her from the grave

I don't waste time by fixing my self up. My brown hair is short and does not need much grooming anyhow. I climb into my Reaping attire and make for the kitchen. As I thought, the kitchen was abandon. I wouldn't have noticed the small scrap of yellowing paper if I hadn't knocked it over on my way to the pantry.

I pick it up to see that it is from my mother. "I left early for the Reaping. I think you can manage to get yourself there in one piece." I smile at the paper before tossing it into the trash. My mother may look physically scared and her mind might wander in and out of deep sadness, but her curt tone and writing still remains the same. I love these glimpses of my mother's old self.

I grab a small piece of bread from the pantry, seeing as we are almost out. The pantry's dark shadow looming over the bread has a real depressing feel to it. It would be the perfect subject for a painting. I want to leave some for after the Reaping. I take a bite and slam the door closed. I grab my fraying, brown coat and walk out the door. I don't bother locking it. My house has nothing worth stealing.

I don't expect anyone to be waiting for me and no one is. I never even had friends before my father's death. People find me…for lack of a better word, hostile. That is quality is one of the many things my father taught me. Even as he is rotting away in his grave, I still hear his voice in my head. "People are a waster of your time, Finn. And if someone won't leave you be, hit with words not fists."

Despite my father's "words of wisdom", I did get into a lot of fists fights with the boys in my class. That is another reason I don't have any friends. I feel like my violence has mellowed with age, but underneath my quiet exterior is still a boy who can snap with more coldness than any boy can. Who needs fists with a quality like that?

I continue on my way to the Reaping in a silence I have learned to love. It might be all I ever love any how. This is my last Reaping for the rest of my life. Now if only I could tell where I am going from there.

Cetera Jellon's POV

I walk my usually two paces behind Jonnie as we make our way into the already packed District square. Kaya is next to me, chatting on about whom she is betting on to be reaped this year. I n all honesty, it could be anyone really. District 6 does not have a reputation for being rich or for having volunteers.

Normally, I would be talking with Kaya, arguing her points or adding some of my own. However, I am always nervous when Reaping Day comes around. With my friends and family I am usually very animated, but today I go back to being quiet and unattached from what is going on.

"Come on," Jonnie calls from in front of us. "We are going to be late." Kaya and I speed up slightly, but Jonnie still keeps ahead of us. That is the problem with having fast walking friends. Kaya continues her Reaping talk up until with reach the District square.

Kaya waves good-bye to us and heads to the seventeen year old spot. Jonnie and I squeeze past the crowd to get to the rest of the sixteen year olds. We finally make it in and find one of our other friends, Sparl, waiting.

"It is about time," he yells over the rest of the group. "I got here a good two seconds ago." Jonnie laughs a little at Sparl's lame joke, but I keep quiet. I have a tendency of not smiling or laughing at little jokes, even with my friends. I am always afraid no one else will laugh with me.

"Whatever," Jonnie replies. "How about after the Reaping, we all go over to my house for an after Reaping celebration?"

Sparl nods enthusiastically, but I shake my head. "My parents will want me home. You know how worried they get," I mumble. I can see Jonnie had trouble hearing me, but she did notice the head shake.

"Come one, you have to come!" she exclaims in an overdramatic manner. Sparl nods along with her, but I still shake my head.

"I really can't," I say. "I'm sorry." Jonnie and Sparl seem to understand, but both still look disappointed. I hang my head down slightly. I hate disappointing people and I hate it more that I disappointed my friends.

The mayors getting up on the stage to start the Reaping saves me from hearing more after party talk. He gives the basic History and Lists of Victors before he hands it over to our District escort. Gulf has freshly died sea green hair in its usual beehive style.

She doesn't give a long speech over why she is proud to be here. It is pretty obvious she is not proud to be here. Gulf quickly rambles off a generic few sentences and goes straight to the female bowl. "Cetera Jellon!"

I feel my two friends turn to statues next to me, but I just start walking absent-mindedly to the stage. I don't think what just happened has entirely processed in my mind. All I know is my face in red and I am walking somewhere.

The crowd gives me a little token of applause, but they hardly care about the tributes. They expect us to be dead in the bloodbath. I don't care for their applause either. I only want to spot my family.

Gulf is at the boys bowl, fishing out a name. She finds a slip and smiles a false smile as she reads it. "Finn Darrenhall!"

I don't recognize the name, but I see a boy with short, light brown hair and a tall frame. He looks to be around eighteen, but I didn't notice what area he came from. He walks up the stage, his face wiped of emotion. He looks almost as terrifying as a Career, but not quite.

The mayor is back to the read the Treaty of Treason, but I miss it entirely. The next thing I know, I am shaking hands with the Finn boy. When I look into his eyes, they are as cold as ice. I don't think I will make an ally out of him. I just don't want to be all alone.

District 7 Sunday Lancast's POV

I hurl the hairbrush at the mirror, watching as the glass shatters to a million pieces along with my own wretched reflection. The glass sprays out on to the floor and counter, though none touch my bare feet. A few shards still cling to the mirror frame, those that feel they had a fighting chance. Maybe that is my case a well. Maybe a few pieces of my mind still hold fighting innocence.

None that I can find, though.

I back away from the glass, but not out of fear one piece will cut me. I don't want to see the reflection I destroyed along with the mirror. The girl in the mirror had looked so much like Ever, the same petite frame, brown eyes, and tan skin. The only difference is the girl has straight black hair, not curly brown.

I hate that girl. She is so scared and lonely. She doesn't even have the guts to admit. I want to feel better than that. I don't want to be that girl who sits alone in a pitch black room and cries to her own death. I wish to be better than that. I only know one way to do so.

I walk out of the bathroom and away from the glass. I grab the pair of shoes I left outside the bathroom and slip them on. I make my way down to the kitchen to find only my mother there. I can see the obvious tear stains on her cheeks. She is mourning Ever. This was the day she was sent to her death.

I pick up an orange from the counter and it is only then that she takes notice of me. She tends to forget my existence now. I want to forget hers as well, but her constant sobbing reminds me she is still here. She is still reminding us all of Ever.

I want my sister back. I don't want to mourn her. But by the look my mother is giving me, I will be subject to mourning. "I heard the mirror break."

"So," I mutter coldly under my breath. I take the largest knife I can find and slice into the orange. My mother takes note of this and lets out one of her disappointed sighs. That is the only thing she seems to be able to give me now.

"This can't keep happening. That is the twelfth mirror we have had to replace in that room alone. I know you want to bring your sister…" My mother does not trail off or start crying. I cut her off before she can do either.

"I know I can't bring my sister back. But I don't want to keep crying over her. I want to do something about it! Why don't you understand?" I scream louder than I mean to. I have spent the last year keeping my feeling locked from her. I think today they have decided to come out.

"Sunny, you are not suggesting…" I do not let her continue this time either.

"It is Sunday. Sunny is the name of a child. And yes, I am suggesting just that. I won't be able to get your help anyway. Not that I would want it!" I take the rest of my food and storm out the front door. I slam it on the way out. I feel my mother watching me from the window, but I do not turn around. She can even come after me for all I care. It doesn't mean she will ever understand. Only Teylor understands now.

Remember how I said there is only one way to get rid of the girl in the mirror? Want to know that one way?

I have to volunteer. District 2 and every other tribute will help me on the way, by dying of course.

Steam Trace's POV

I prefer to think of myself as an optimist, not a boy on drugs. Well, unless life can give someone a high, which is quite possible. I don't care if people give me funny looks when I get excited over a school assignment or getting picked last for football. Life is too short to care for people like that. I only really need one person to care about me.

I am walking hand and hand with her right now.

I was always one for believing in true love, not soul mates, just true love. From the moment I saw her in the lumber fields, I knew Jasper was my one and only. I am also a very determined character. Luckily, Jasper seems to like that about me. Why else would she give a boy like me the time of day?

Now, with her hand in mine, everything feels so right. I touch the ring on her finger, a bit too small, but one that will have to do for now. Once we are married and have money, I will buy her one bigger than any in our District.

"Are you excited for today?" I ask, breaking the silence between us. Jasper gives me an empty stare before responding.

"What do you mean excited? It is Reaping day," Jasper answers, her eyebrows furrowing. Jasper was not exactly like me when it comes to seeing the glass half full rather than half empty. She has a certain enthusiasm about her, but nothing to my extent.

"Exactly. We get a whole day to ourselves when it is over. I had something special planned," I say with a knowing smile. I don't get one from Jasper though. She lets out a lengthy sigh and picks up our pace.

"Today is also the day we get to see two more kids go to their death," she says. "I hardly think that is worth celebrating. Aren't you at all worried one of us will get called?"

"Neither of us have many slips in the bowl, we will be fine. Anyway, District 7 has had some fighters in the past years," I tell her, trying to keep the mood pleasant. Jasper seems to have a different plan.

"There is always a chance, Steam. You need to think about these things sometimes." I can see I have upset her in some way. She isn't very fond of Reaping days. Instead of responding, I back off and allow us to walk in silence the rest of the way.

We reach the already packed square and say our good-byes. I give her a tiny kiss before sending her off with the rest of the seventeen year olds. I watch her go before making my way over to the eighteen area. My friends, Graham and Miles, are already waiting.

"I would first like to say congratulations to us, we have survived the Reapings!" Miles exclaims, throwing his arms around Graham and me.

"Not yet," Graham reminds him, batting Miles's arm away. "We still have this one to worry about."

"Who cares? To the Reaping Day survivors!" Miles yells loud enough for all our other classmates to here. A loud chorus of cheering follows and Miles takes out a flask. "Who want some?"

"Put that away," Graham says with a groan. "I have already told you, there is still a chance." Miles ignores Graham completely and takes a long drink from the flask.

"Fine, don't think of it as a Reaping cheer. Think of it as drinking to our friends last day in bachelor hood!" Miles yells loudly. I laugh along with Miles, but Graham still shakes his head at us. I do wave the flask away when Miles offers it, but I do cheer along with the rest of the eighteen year olds. We probably all have survived the Reapings.

The celebrating comes to a halt when the mayor approaches the microphone. He clears his throat before diving into the usual History and Victor List. Almost everyone knows the History by heart and some of the kids in our group mime it along with the mayor. Some of the bolder ones even make a few wise cracks. The mayor knows it is all in good fun though. The Peacekeepers are not as thrilled.

Our District escort takes over the microphone. I still never remember her name, even though she stresses it every year. I'm sure half the people in the District wouldn't know either. She is a bit more excited this year though. We have made it pretty far in the past two years. She says something about bringing home a new victor and then she is at the bowl.

"Our female tribute is…Pepper Monley!" A rather short, muscular girl comes from the fourteen roped section. She looks positively terrified as she climbs the steps. She takes her spot, looking about ready to cry. "Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer!" The voice was hard and forceful. A small girl from the fifteens mounts the stage. I recognize her immediately like everyone else. It is Sunday Lancast. I have pretty good idea of why she is doing this as well.

The original girl runs the down the steps quickly as Sunday takes her place. She does not wait fro the escort to ask her name. "I'm Sunday Lancast." The crowd does not even give the escort a chance to ask for the applause. They do it anyway. They all expect she is going in to avenge her sister's death.

The crowd finally quiets down so that the escort can call out the boy's name. The eighteen year old girls are already whispering and celebrating. Us boys are holding are breaths. "Our male tribute is…Steam Trace!"

I know what most people do when they are reaped. They walk up in a robotic fashion and pray someone will replace them. As I said though, I am an optimist. I walk up in large strides, a smirk on my face. I take my place next to Sunday. Inside, I am begging for a volunteer. Outside, I am flashing the cameras my best lopsided smile.

She asks for volunteers. No one steps forward.

For the first time in my life, I can't find a positive. I have a one in twenty three chance of coming out alive, maybe a little more. If I don't come out, I won't ever marry Jasper. We won't ever have kids. Nothing good can ever happen for me.

I keep a calm face. The only sign of frustration I show is when I run a trembling hand through my curly brown hair. Before the Peacekeepers march us off, I take the set of rings I had in my pocket. I chuck them into the crowd.

District 8 Ian Williams's POV

"Just look at the back of your hands, Ian! Every time you come home it is the same thing, dried blood." My mother's voice was not a soothing sound to here, especially when she was lecturing. I know my mother has a problem with my fighting just like she knows I have a problem with her problem. It is an endless cycle that will not be solved with a few hateful words.

"Mom, you can't keep treating me like a child. When I move out next month…" At the mere mention of my plans to depart, my mother scrubs at my hands harder. The thought of me moving out was a touchy subject for my mother. No mother wants her child leaving.

"Just get ready for the Reaping," she mutters, dropping the sponge into the pink tinted water in defeat. I oblige happily, glad to be avoiding my mother's looks used to make me feel guilty. I wish she would understand that I am eighteen now. I don't think she will until my moving out actually happens.

I walk down the hallway to my bedroom to do as my mother asks. It is best not to get on her bad side today. I see she has already laid out an outfit for me to wear. A pair of basic dress pants and a dress shirt, nothing I couldn't wear. Well, it is a little dressy for me, but my mother is always happy to see me looking nice. To my mother, I am a good-looking boy. She ignores the few missing teeth and practically permanent ring of black around my eye. She just likes the curly brown hair and blue eyes.

I walk back out of my room and into the kitchen. My mother is no longer there. Instead, my only two friends, Ivy and Racine, are in her place. I do associate with other people. That is, if picking fights with said people counts.

"You ready?" Ivy asks in a lazy tone. She inspects the apples in the bowl on the table. They are all bruised and deformed, a symbol for District 8. Racine nods along with her while shoving his hands in his pocket. He isn't one for talk which is a trait I like about him.

"Let's just go," I mumble. I grab one of the apples from the bowl, ignoring the countless bruises. Food is food and we don't get much here. I follow Ivy and Racine out my own door and on to the street. Groups of people are already heading towards the square, their faces all solemn. Reaping Day isn't a holiday in District 8 like in some places.

I give a few dirty looks to some of the classmates who pass by, but we don't interact past waves or death stares. We aren't the most popular group. I just want to get this over with. My last Reaping is a symbol to me. I feel like once it is over, I will finally be free.

Kamira Lyre's POV

I pull my hair into a ponytail yet again, but pull it out immediately afterwards. The nerves are really getting to me. I keep pulling at my frizzing, brown hair until my friend, Kanina slaps my hand back.

"Calm down," she says in a soft voice. We are standing towards the front of the sixteens section. The Reaping is already late to start. I note that the twelves are restless as well. I remember being at that age, afraid and nervous like I am now.

"I wish it will just start already," I whisper. I don't want everyone else around me to think I am a nervous wreck. The last thing I want to do is lose their respect. I know that is a worst case scenario, but I find worrying to be one of my top hobbies.

"Don't we all," Kanina says with an exasperated sigh. She isn't a very patient person either. Still, she knows how to keep calm about it. "You don't need to be worried anyway. You don't have your name in as many times as I do."

"How do you know," I snap. I immediately regret what I just said. It is very unlike me to be that straightforward and rude. I was brought up better than that. "I apologize. I did not mean to be that rude."

"You talk like my mother, Kamira," Kanina says with a light smile. Kanina is always trying to get me to act bolder and sixteen like. It is a hopeless though. My parents and grandmother taught me to always be respectful to everyone. Every time I try to break away, I go right back to where I started. The only time I will ever break away is when I am leading people.

I am about to respond when the mayor begins the long and boring History. Our victor list does not take near as long. District 8 is not known for taking home the trophy year after year like other District. Soon enough, our District announcer is at the microphone.

"It is great to be here, again." The way he says again show how annoyed he really is to be back here yet again. Jackie is a classic District escort who thinks they deserve a better District. We aren't exactly thrilled over having him for an announcer either.

He does not say another word and makes his way over to the females' bowl. He grabs a slip as quickly as possible. "The female tribute is…Kamira Lyre!"

I wish I could answer the question in my head differently. Why does that name sound so familiar? It is my name. The answer will never change and I know I have to face the facts. I stumble out of my roped area and on to the stage in a somewhat delirious manner.

Jackie does not even bother to ask for volunteers because no one ever bothers to do so here. He just makes his way to the next bowl while the audience is giving me the smallest amount of applause they can. It is not that they don't care. They just want to get this over with too.

"The male tribute is…Ian Williams!" A chubby, but cute looking boy comes to the stage from the eighteens. He has a look of bewilderment on his face, but he shows no signs of a readiness to cry. He accepts his applause and stands on the stage, still looking slightly confused.

The mayor finishes the Treaty of Treason and now waits on us to shake hands. I turn to Ian with my hand out, but al he does is stare at it. Finally, he gives it a limp shake. Hopeless, I am utterly hopeless. By the looks of it, Ian is too.

…

There you go. I really liked writing Dexter's POV. I got to get out my IT book by Stephen King so I could get the stutter right. Oh course, I loved everyone else too. Sorry if some seem underdeveloped. It is just that some of the characters' personality traits can only be introduced in a certain way, ways I don't have with just a Reaping.

Districts 9, 10, 11, and 12 will be next. I will do District 14 as a stand alone with another peek at the McNeelys. I hope I can get those out soon. Reviews are loved. Peace, Love, and All That Jazz.

-Emma