So sorry I haven't updated in forever! I've been pretty busy. I'm so excited for the Games! But they can't start until I'm done the interviews… so I'm going to shut up and write now…. Njoi!

Interviews: Districts Eight and Nine

Sisco Perry's POV

District Eight

"What? Oh, uh… Avery Davis? Yeah, Avery Davis, come on up!" I know, I should be interested in these tributes' interviews, but they're so boring! Well, the ones I've forgotten must've been because I don't remember them. The rest have been juicy and entertaining. And I've been sitting for nearly two times the normal time I sit for interviews. My poor derriere is aching, and my right foot has fallen into a deep slumber only true love's first kiss can wake it from. Where the heck is Prince Charming?

Avery steps up to the chair. I stand up to greet her (which is greatly welcomed from my bum), but have to sit right down again (a non-favorite of my backside).

"Hello Sisco. Do you want to see my necklace?"

"Sure." I'm glad she's taking this into her own hands. I'm running out of fresh questions to ask them.

"See? It's a sun. My brother gave it to me and –"

I pretty much space out after that. I mean, you can't blame me. I was distracted by the emergency on my tongue. Ugh. When did I stop liking butterscotches? Well, I haven't had one in a while. This tastes worse than the mint and chives. Ewwww!

"So, I could always tell you about –" she's cut off by her buzzer and I call up the next girl, who bores me nearly to death. The girl after that rambles on about something or another. So I don't pay attention until the boys.

"Mag-num Har-ron." I've started to get that slurred/slow speech I get when I'm tired.

"Sis-co Per-ry," he says, mimicking my tone. This would normally make me laugh, but for some reason it infuriates me. I hold in my emotion, though.

"So, Magnum, uh, what's your home life like?"

"So, Sisco, uh, what's your home life like?"

"Seriously."

"Fine. It's normal. What do you want me to say?"

I decide I'm not going to get any personal information about him, but maybe I can get him to rant. I rack my brain for a topic a kid like Magnum would hate. Then I get it. I'm a genius!

"How's school?"

He rolls his eyes. This is good. "Don't get me started," he begins.

Too late. I think.

"First of all, my grades suck, so my parents tried getting me a freaking English tutor, which I don't need, by the way."

"Why ever would your parents think a smart kid like you would need a tutor?" I know I'm over-doing it, but I'm starting to not care. I just want another mint.

"I know, right? They says I speak wrongly, but they wrong. I speak perfects, right?"

"Oh, of course!"

"Yeah. That's whatta told 'em. I says, 'you doesn't know what you talkin' 'bout!' and then they went all 'blagh' on me and starts yellin for no reason. My dad is the worst. He flinches whenever I makes a mistake cause he don't like it when I use 'bad grammar' but I don't give a sh-"

"Oh, Magnum! Look at that! Your time's almost up! Uh, uh, do you have a girlfriend?"

"No. I doesn't need nobody to be my girlfriend." Rrring!

He doesn't move. "What was that?"

"That was the buzzer that means your time is up." Idiot.

"I never knew we hads one o' those."

Then you're dumber than a brick. "Magnum, you have to go now."

"Fine, fine, fine."

"Next up is Derek Rathburn." No one steps up. There are some murmurs from the crowd.

"Derek Rathburn?" I say a little louder, and a 6ft tall boy walks up to the chair.

"Sorry. My hearing has been a little messed up since I started working in the factory. The machinery is really loud in there, and I work five machines."

"Wow, that's a lot. So, are you in the factories full-time now?"

"No. I still have school. I only work on the weekends and after school Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays."

"Busy schedule."

"I manage. I also have friends, of course, so it seems like I have no time to myself. I guess I'll have a lot of that in the arena tomorrow."

"Yeah, guess so."

We chat for a little while until his three minutes are up, then I call up Doon Wainright.

"Hey, Doon. Tell us a little about yourself."

"Okay. Where do I start?"

"Your family," I suggest.

"Uh, alright. I live with my dad because my mom left when I was young. I never really met her. She liked chickens."

"What?"

"Chickens. She liked chickens. Not the food, the animals. That's the one of the few things I know about her. Her favorite animal was chickens."

"Okay?" This kid is odd.

"Oh, and she was an artist. That's why I love to sketch things. It's in my blood. Her favorite color was purple. Her favorite food was venison stew, and…and…" Doon suddenly stares at the floor.

"Doon? Doon…" he doesn't move. I wave my hand in front of his face. Nothing. Not so much as a blink. I start to get a little antsy. The audience is clearly bored with him. I need him to say something else, and him he doesn't snap out of this trance, I'll get bad ratings. Maybe lose my job. Then I won't have any money for peppermints…

"Doon!" I yell. That "wakes him up."

"Huh? Oh, hi Sisco. Do you want me to tell you about my family?"

"You already told me ab-"

"Oh, yeah. Well, my token…"

"Is…"

"What? Oh, uh, my token is a notebook and pen so I can sketch. It also has a lot of sketches in it so I can look at them. I think they can help me calm down."

"That's an interesting thou-"

Rrring! Time for District Nine.

District Nine

The first two interviews fly by. Then I call up Belva Hunt.

She floats up to the chair. Her long brown hair is in an elaborate braid and she sits down gracefully. Her innocence is masked by the powerful aura illuminating off of her. She is twelve and tiny, but definitely has the courage of a lioness.

"Ah, Belva Hunt."

She simply nods and says, "Sisco."

There's a long pause as I try to come up with the first question. She saves me by saying, "I've prepared something for tonight. Um, some people might call it a speech, but it was written in poem-format."

"Let's hear it," I say, relieved.

She clears her throat and says in a crisp, clear voice,

"I know not the evils of the world

Nor what lies before me

But I do know and you should too

The horrors of these wretched Games

Are sure to forever haunt me

As I stand before you here tonight

My cries I hope you hear

To free the innocent and meek

To relieve the parents' fear

How would you feel if the Districts fought

And won another rebellion?

And forced your children into the Games

As a form of sweet revenge

Tears are shed every year

Because of your insensitive ways

So hear my cries and the cries of the Districts

And end these wretched Games."

The crowd grows silent. Some tributes gasp. No one has ever expressed their true feeling towards the Capitol like that, nor should they. Her family is sure to be punished. Her death is sure to be slow.

Her buzzer sounds and I call up what's his face. Then comes Ryker Hawk.

"Okay, biker Ryker. Tell us about yourself."

"Shut up Sisco." Well, okay then. If I shut up then you'll get lost in your interview. But, okay, whatever you want.

There's silence as I shut up and he has no idea what to say. Then he sighs and tells me about himself. I'm too caught up in my still victory dance to hear whatever his sorry, pathetic life is like. All I catch is "…so, yeah. That's how my dad died."

"Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss." NOT!

Rrring! Yes! "Okay, go sit down biker Ryker." I can see him bite his lip as he fights the urge to yell at me. I hear him mutter a string of profanity as he walks away. I roll my eyes.

"Next up… Pearce Shaw."

"Hello Sisco. Yes, that rhymed. I can see you seem to have a fascination with rhymes."

"Yes, it seems as though I do, Pearce. What rhymes with Pearce? Cheers… sort of."

"Yeah. Ears, too. Like when you get your ears pierced."

"Hey, you're right! But you spell it differently. If you win, the Capitol won't get their ears p-i-e-r-c-e-d pierced, they'll get their ears p-e-a-r-c-e-d. Pearced!"

"Ha. Ha. So. Funny." Uh, oh. I hope he isn't another brat.

"So, Pearce, tell us a little about home."

"Weeelll, my mom is dead. My dad disappeared without a trace, and I live with my 25 year old brother."

"Oh, wow. Your past seems tricky. Wait, did you say 25? How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Oh, yes. That's right. Okay, contin-" Rrring!

Okay, so that concludes the District Eight and Nine interviews! Only 3 more districts! And guess what? I'm not updating until I get 10 more reviews! So there! Ha!