Hope you guys like this chapter! I was also wondering if you would all mind checking out a drabble story I wrote called Fading Humanity. It would mean a lot to me.

On with the story:

(Zina Reedmore D8)

I examine the television closely, eyes currently trained on a brown eyed girl with sparkling green eyes. From the grime that covers the landscape around her, its clear this reaping features District Twelve.

I've seen flirtatious, deadly, quiet, intelligent, cold, confident, bubbly, friendly, and almost everything in between flashing onto that spotless screen. Where do you fit? I think to myself, almost critically.

I stare at myself in the mirror intently, examining the potential. A girl with olive skin, pin-straight black hair with bangs, and sharp hazel eyes blinks back. Even across Panem, not many look like me either.

Subconsciously, my fingers fumble to the small locket wreathing my neck. Prying open the rustic silver, a creased card of paper floats onto my lap. Unfolding the paper for what seems like the millionth time, I carefully read its contents.

I smile as I scan the untidy scrawl. It seems like almost yesterday when my adopted mother, Yara Reedmore, told me the story of the Ugly Duckling.

"How come I look different than all of you, Mommy?" I had asked so innocently, eyes widening in confusion, and a slight sadness, while I pulled the tattered teddy bear closer to my chest.

"Zina, there's nothing wrong with being different." Yara had said, ruffling my hair. I was only six; it wasn't time to tell me the whole truth.

"I don't like it, I don't!"

"Sh, sh," she had soothed, stroking my hand, "I'm going to tell you a story that will make you feel better."

I was weary at first, but soon became overcome by rapture.

"So you see, Zina you are beautiful, just in a different way then all of us."

"Please, please read it again!" I had chanted eyes bright.

Yara laughed, what a beautiful sound it was, filling the air with joy, and kissed me on the cheek before flicking the lights out.

That night, I slept more soundly than I ever had before.

I glared at myself as hot tears slipped soundlessly from my eyes. A Capitol attendant appeared from the doorway, holding a box of patterned tissues.

"Go. Away. Now." I seethed through my teeth, rage replacing my misery. I slump onto the ground and scream into the bed skirt, clawing through the threads. I spend the next hour in this frigid position, until my limbs begin to ache. Straightening myself up onto the edge of the bed, legs dangling over the side, I catch a glimpse of my eyes in the mirror.

They're different now. How do I look…classier than before? I was just crouched on the ground, rubbing my eyes like a maniac!

I can't help but admire the way they bore into the glass, they show a somewhat pretty young woman, who has a wild side. You wouldn't be able to catch it unless you really look. And then, I come to the conclusion that I will be that girl. The kind one that you overlook, but secretly has a burning fire in her, one she's going to use if she has to.

And no, she won't trust anyone. She never really has.

A rare smile forms onto my lips, and quickly vanishes when the District Eight escort, Lazare, shrieks my name in his high pitched tone.

"Time for dinner, Zina!"

I take my time strolling through the train until I reach the dining cart, elaborately designed with large paintings, a glowing crystal light fixture, and gleaming silverware.

We are served a sea creature that I learn from Lazare is a lobster, an assortment of vegetables, and baked potatoes, so different from the bland, unseasoned ones I was accustomed to at home.

I find no need to mingle with the escort, or my district partner Hexavire. Instead, unfailing attention will go to my mentor, Gwendolyn.

She's tall and thin, with limbs so fragile they look like twigs. I'm tempted to ask her how in the world she won the Games, but she must have caught the look on my face. She chuckles, and begins to speak.

"It's all about having clever fingers. You got some?"

I swallow my last bit of food and begin, "Not in the snares department. I can climb and scale trees very well, though, and starting fires is simple. I know who to trust and who not to trust, too."

Gwendolyn takes a swig of wine, and nods approvingly. "We can work we that. For now, I want you to come with me to view some old Games tapes."

Taking a seat in a leather corner couch next to Gwendolyn, she fiddles with the flat screen, and then pushing what I assume is a tape into a contraption beside the electronic.

She sit back down beside me, and crystal clear videos burst into the screen. After a few reapings are shown, it progresses to District Eight. When the female tribute is mounting the stage, a gasp catches in my throat.

It's me. Well, not quite. She could be my twin, maybe an older sister. I'm subconsciously rooting for her the entire way, and when she wins, delivering a thrust of her last throwing knife straight to her adversaries' neck, I give a small grin.

Then an idea sparks into my mind. Was that…was that my mother? The idea seems so absurd, yet also practical. Someone doesn't just mirror my features, come from the same District as me, and…not be alive anymore. The last thought hurts to think about, even if the woman wasn't my mother.

For the rest of the night, I force myself to push the issue aside. I'm in the Hunger Games, and I need to live.

When I'm dismissed to my bedroom, I pull the covers high over my head, trying to get away from everything. But I can't help just one more thought.

Maybe in that arena, I'll finally have my swan moment.

(Hexavire Lucas D8)

I carefully etch equation after equation on the pure white paper, solving them with ease. It keeps my mind from drifting to different, more painful subjects.

I love numbers. No matter how many times you stare at them, how many times you solve their riddles, they stay the same. There are no surprises, just a jumble of loops and scrawls that will never turn on you. I marvel how unlike life they are.

When the entire page is exploding with my tidy scrawl, it becomes evident that I can't hide from my thoughts anymore. Flicking the pencil from my fingers, I throw myself, back first, onto the bed.

Staring blankly at the ceiling, it all begins to come to me. How much I want to scream, cry, or simply be hysterical. But I force myself not to. I promised my father, who is my only family, that I would be Hexavire. Not a crazed, angry version of him.

Most people preoccupy themselves with their emotions before the Games, it seems. Maybe…I should do the opposite. Only think of ways to survive these next few days, because if I do, then I can vent my emotions for the years to come, if I wanted to. Yes, I'll stick to being the quiet, intelligent boy who no one would expect to use weapons skilfully.

With a new burst of determination, I flick the television on, until I receive a recap of the reapings.

District One doesn't look incredibly capable, but I assume it's part of strategy. The girl will probably receive sponsors for her looks, and the boy most likely will be in the Career pack with her.

District Two has two sinister looking tributes, the boy being open on his abilities, and the girl trying to encase them in a bubbly smile. Definite Career material.

District Three's tributes surprise me this year. A girl who I couldn't imagine volunteering does, and a quiet, burly boy is called, who doesn't seem fazed in the slightest.

District Four is less Career, but seem to have a flaming determination inside them. I'm rather compelled, to be honest.

District Five's reaping is really quite the show. The girl, maliciously inclined, and the boy overcome by stage fright, or simply fear of the Games.

District Six seems on the weaker side, but most likely very smart, with the way stare out into the distance with their minds racing.

District Seven's male looks strong and insightful, while the female seems to be bristling angrily, her eyes narrowed. I can't tell if she's angered at her luck, or if she simply wants to scare the crowd.

When it comes to District Eight, I can't help but be relieved when I see that both Zina and I shouldn't be counted out this year, like our District usually is.

Districts Nine and Ten both have two cruel looking Career boys, and small twelve's. One of them seems quiet and unreachable, while the other seems almost…excited.

District Eleven is strong this year, with a distant girl who volunteers, and a cheerful, strong willed boy.

District Twelve, to my complete and utter confusion, seems to have fighters this year. A sly looking girl, and a very tall boy who is both brooding and silent.

I blink at the now black screen. There is competition. The thought sounds all too obvious in my head. There always is.

A high pitched squeal comes from outside my room. Lazare, my escort, is ordering my District partner and I to dinner. Collecting myself from the bed, I make my way to the dining cart.

I subject myself to an idle chitchat with Lazare about the Capitol food. It's so delicious that I'm shovelling it into my mouth by the heap.

After dinner, Zina and her mentor, Gwendolyn leave to strategize. I'm then left face to face with my mentor, Kaeden. He's an older man who seems to have the eye of a trained marksman.

"You heard Gwendolyn, with her crack talk about snares being useful? It's all about long range, let me tell you." he says, giving a toothy smile. "But what can you do?"

"Well…" I start, "I've been training with a bow, and throwing knives for as long as I can remember. I wouldn't count myself out with hand to hand combat either."

He nods in approval. "Perfect. Finally, a tribute I can work with."

After another hour of strategizing, I'm dismissed to my room. I lay over the bed, wiping beads of sweat from my brow. It's stifling in here, but it seems to clear my thoughts. Before I drift off to sleep, numbers flash through my eyes.

Nice and reliable.