A/N Guess who's alive? This author! I'm so sorry for the unannounced hiatus. It was a mixture of school, lack of inspiration, and plain laziness, and gosh… it's been a month! Augh….

I completely understand if you choose not to continue reading. This chapter isn't that great anyway; you can tell when I was trying to force words on the screen. I do hope that you don't hate me too much, though…

I know I'm so behind on reviews. I have a lack of motivation. If I owe you a review, mention it in a review or a PM and I'll try to get back ASAP.

I hope you'll forgive me… on with the chapter!

Diesel Wing, 18, District Six Male

I open my eyes and stare at the crack in the ceiling, which is dripping water into an old bucket on the floor. It rained last night, and it just so happens that the depression on the roof lines up with the crack. Or maybe the depression and collected water caused the crack in the ceiling. The house is strangely quiet. Whatever. Ugh, my head throbs with a headache, and my throat is dry and parched. I probably shouldn't have drank that extra bottle… Oh well.

I groan as I climb out of bed and wash my face in the sink, gulping down a few big mouthfuls of water. That's better now. The headache should be gone in about an hour. What time is it…

10 AM. I guess I overslept by about...two or three hours? I was supposed to leave for work at 7. That makes a lot more sense. Usually, I'd hear the rhythmic of Axle's chair thumping against the floor as he prepares to go to school. Three hours late… I'm probably fired now. Not like I care;the job sucked and I can live without having one. Dad will throw a fit when he gets back from the night shift, but what does he know? He works all day and lives a miserable life.

I light a cigarette and sit down on the old sofa across from the television. I try to turn it on, but there's no power. That's right; we haven't made any payments to the power company this month. So that's another thing off the list. First was the postal service, now it's the electricity.

The front door opens, and I hear Dad flicking on the light switch. It's a little hard since my left ear is deaf, but I've gotten used to this.

"There's no power," I say.

He yelps in surprise. "Diesel! What are you doing here? Why aren't you at work?"

"Overslept by three hours."

"What?"

"Yeah," I say, "I'm fired anyway; it isn't worth going over there."

"Still, you could try."

"Go all the way there so that they can fire me? Nah, I'll wait here for the letter. Oh wait, the mail doesn't come here anymore. Not like it matters, really."

"First it was school, now it's this," he huffs, "Why can't you put yourself to anything? Your teachers said that you were gifted in mathematics."

"What good is school? I don't need any of that crap."

"Look at Axle," he says, "He-"

"I know, Axle this, Axle that. Whatever." I get up. "I'm not Axle. Or Voytuk. Or any of those others that your compare me to, okay?"

"Diesel," he says, "Get a job. We're barely living off of what we have right now."

"And if I get a job, we still won't have enough. Whatever. No use."

His face is turning red with exasperation. "What am I supposed to do with you? Your mom worked herself for you, and you do nothing but smoke like a chimney. You're just a financial burden. You'll never become anything!"

Ouch. That hurt. I make towards the door, grabbing the pack of cigarettes on the way out and pocketing the lighter.

"Where are you going?" he says.

I don't reply as I slam the door behind me. I'm a financial burden? Then you won't miss me for a few days. You don't want me around? I don't have to stick around. I'll just couch-surf for a few days. It's nothing I haven't done before.

I walk down the meandering road that leads to the junkyard. It won't rain tonight; I can stay a night there if Kiva's too busy. It's relatively safe there unlike the central city, which is dangerous after nightfall. Even the "great and mighty" Capitol can't deal with the rogues in there. Mr. President up there in his fancy castle once tried to impose a curfew in there. They only got themselves five dead Peacekeepers. They set up so many programs, but all that happens is an increase in taxes to pay for the programs. The rebels aren't much better either. I sometimes hear their bombing at night, but they're just causing our district to self-destruct. It won't be long until the whole nation's up in flames, and when that happens, what good is a job?

I step through the huge gates that open into the junkyard. This used to be a train yard, but ever since the rebels bombed it, it's become a collection of scrap metal and furniture. Some people argue that this metal could be resold, but who'd buy this stuff? I sit down on an old rotting chair and wait.

Before long, I see Kiva's slender figure walking in.

She waves.

"What's up?" I say.

She shrugs. "Busy. How's work?"

"Well… yeah. Fired."

"So quickly?" she gasps, "It's only been… three days?"

"You betcha," I say. "Some people just weren't made for work."

She sighs. "That's your decision. But you can't spend life here."

I gesture at the metal around me. "I could…" She doesn't look amused. "Maybe I can't," I admit, "By the way, can I stay at your house tonight? You know I won't disturb anything."

"Yeah, sure," she says, "But come in after 10. My parents aren't too happy with 'strangers' staying in our house."

"Sure," I say, "I don't mind."

I light another cigarette.

"You know," I say, "I could probably save quite a bit of money if I quit smoking."

"You could."

"But I don't think I will."

She shrugs. Sure, I started smoking a little early, but it was bound to happen anyway. There's no point in trying.

Christina Ford, 17, District Six Female

I peep into the open back window of the bakery and take a deep whiff of the smell of food. Careful, Christina, don't act too quickly. I hear the baker move into the kitchen for the afternoon rush, so I scramble through the window into the corridor. If I'm caught, I'll be whipped. I remember the scars on my back and double my resolve. Remaining in the shadows, I quickly sidle up to the storage room. I place my hand on the knob and turn it slowly. The easy part is over; now to open it.

The door begins to creak as I pull the door open, so I stop. They really need to oil the hinges…. No one heard. I should be fine. I open the door until the crack is barely large enough for me to fit my skinny body through, and I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness before grabbing bits of food and putting it in my bag. A chunk of ham here, a can of beans there; I don't want them to notice. That way, they'll continue to leave this place unguarded.

When my back is full, I peep through the crack in the door to make sure the coast is clear before tiptoeing to the window. I scamper out of the bakery and, looking around for anyone that might have seen me, I flee the scene.

I make my way through the alleys until I find the back alley, where Arnold, Sarah, and I stay. Sarah's the only one there now.

"Where's Arnold?" I ask.

"He went to see if anyone was hiring," she says, "He got offered a deal to help move stuff just for today, so he took it."

"So there's no one hiring?" I say.

"Yeah, I checked this morning. Even the factories are full. It's probably the 'raise the minimum wage' thing. The owners can't afford to hire new people."

"You've gotta give the Capitol some credit for trying to help."

"Yeah, I know, but they don't know anything! It's all hit or miss right now."

I shrug and put the bag of food down. "I'll go check and see if any spot's opened since this morning."

"It's only been a few hours."

"So? If anything opens up," I say, preparing to go, "I'm going to be the first to get it."

She shrugs. "Sure, I guess. See you later."

As I approach the social services center, I notice the crowd gathered inside. Still, I push my way inside and try my best to get as close to the front desk as possible. Peacekeepers stand along the walls, worried about the crowd, while the people at the counter are busier than ever. It must be the new wave of layoffs.

The line never seems to end. Maybe I could cut a few people? I mean, that's not that nice, but how long have I been here? It's going to take me forever. Maybe I will. I take a step, but I almost run into a little girl standing beside her mom.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I say, flustered.

The mom looks at me with weary eyes and ignores me.

"It's okay," the girl says. She can't be more than five years old.

"How… long have you been here?" I ask in a hushed voice.

"I don't know," she says, "But I'm hungry. Mom says that when she finds a job, we'll have a good dinner."

"...Oh."

"Are you hungry?"

Unsure of how to respond, I back away, returning to my spot in line. That was awkward. How long has that girl been here? When was the last time she had a meal? I chide myself for even considering cutting the line. I might've waited for a while, but making them wait longer? That's just wrong!

An hour or so passes, and there are only about thirty people left before it's my turn. The girl and her mom are fourth in line; I hope they don't walk away disappointed. Suddenly, a small group of men and women barge into the center. One look at them and I know they're one of the inner-city gangs. They don't come out here often, but they must've thought that it'd be faster here. Curses begin to rise as they push their way through the crowd, forcing their way to the front of the line. This'll delays us by at least another twenty minutes. Where are the Peacekeepers? Not a single one in sight? Did they just change shifts? Someone has to do something. Where's everyone with power? The little girl presses close against her mother, and I know I have to be the one.

"Excuse me," I squeak. D*mm*t, the people around me can barely hear me. I collect myself. It's not that big of a deal. I can do this. I gather my courage and repeat. "Excuse me!"

They ignore me, and I step out of line and push through the people. "Excuse me." One of the women turns her head. "You can't push your way to the front. It's not fair to those of us that've waited here for hours."

She narrows her eyes at me and laughs, drawing the attention of everyone around us. "You're serious, right?" she says in a loud voice.

Won't take me seriously? I feel my cheeks burning. "Yes."

She turns around and stops paying attention to me.

"I'm serious! Get to the back of the line!"

"Stop pestering us," one of the men growls, "You'll regret it." He laughs. "You look funny when you're angry."

Too late to back down now. But I can't possibly fight any of them... I look and see that Peacekeepers are resuming their position. "Peacekeeper!" I shout. I have to repeat myself before my voice is heard, but one comes through the sea of people. I explain the situation, and the story is confirmed by the people around us. Soon, the group is forced to leave. I see the little girl smile out of the corner of my eye.

Soon, I'm at the front of the line.

"How may I help you?"

"I'm looking for any job," I say, "I- I'll take anything. I don't care if it's the lowest of the low."

She looks me up and down. "I'm sorry, there aren't any openings for someone with your physique."

"Are you sure? I'll clean the streets. I-"

"I'm sorry, but there are people waiting. There aren't any available jobs."

I shuffle away from the counter and out of the crowded social service center. The sun is already setting. Another afternoon wasted. Sarah sees me and immediately knows what's going on.

"It's okay," she says, "We'll try again another time. We're bound to hit gold someday."

I hear a distant explosion, followed by gunshots. The rebels are up to no good again. Really, they think that small bombings are going to change anything? Panem is falling apart. The Capitol is greedy and rich, but the rebels are stupid and suicidal. Can't they see that these "acts of terror," as they are called, will only lead to the destruction of our district? Besides, it's impossible to sleep.

It sucked today. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Questions:

1. Thoughts and predictions for Diesel?

2. Thoughts and predictions for Christina?

3. Thoughts and predictions for my updating schedule?

4. How many of the previous tributes do you remember without going back and checking?

District Seven should be out a lot sooner than this one was… I hope. Bug me! PM me! Keep me involved in this website! That'll be a constant reminder of my obligation as an author to y'all, my readers.

See y'all,

~Joseph