Here is District 9!

Loverman22 with Farro Ragweed and

Sgarnett99 with Venus Aeterna!

Disclaimer: I do not own the hunger games

Venus Aeterna

I have to marvel at Panem's state of juxtaposition. There is so much beauty and sheer power to it, and yet, at the same time, it's so ugly.

I hate the word ugly. It is not an attractive word. It is a word that provokes thoughts of poverty-stricken coal miners, crazed tributes trying to eat the heart of their victims (it has happened), families dying of starvation. It's all ugly, and all a disgrace. I can't stand it.
See, beauty is a thing of importance. People must put stock into beauty, otherwise they will get nowhere. Your appearance is the first impression people have of you, your face and looks. It is the only chance you get before the judging commences.
I'm not simply shallow. I have just proven that beauty is important. Everyone thinks so low of the coal miners in District Twelve because they are ugly, poor and sad. There is no draw to being around them. The truth is not always pretty, but that is it.
The beauty of the nation, though, is undeniable, even among all the ugliness of the outlying districts. The Capitol is so powerful, beautiful in the metaphorical sense, and its cobbled streets, shining buildings and brightly coloured people are quite pretty. The fact that they can force children to kill each other just proves how powerful they are. And that, while some may not believe it, is beautiful too.
District Nine is beautiful. Stone paths, snowy winters, quaint little shops. Warm, happy homes (some, at least, like mine) and vast, powerful fields adorn the district. Many of the people are ugly, and I don't deny it. Many of their living situations are ugly, and so are their physical bodies. But there is undeniable beauty, particularly the grain fields, and I love my home for it.
I could sit here and marvel at its power all day, but I can't, because I have to the Reaping. I don't mind the prospect of the Reaping, or the fact that I may be picked for it; quite the contrary, really. I have been privately trained for the Hunger Games all my life, my father being a former District Four citizen and Hunger Games fanatic. He wanted me to be just like a Career child, and he had the money to pay for a trainer. So now I am completely competent using throwing knives. I am a fast and graceful runner. I am clever beyond my years. I really could win the Hunger Games if I wanted to, if I was picked, even though I'm only fifteen.
Resignedly, I rise and walk slowly back home, along the brick paths and under a canopy of bright green that blocks the intense sunlight. I don't want to go to the Reaping; not because I'm afraid of getting picked (I won't; my name is in there four times and this is a poor district) , but because all of the other fifteen year olds of the district will be there, and they hate me. It's not my fault that I'm prettier, richer, more skilled and more intelligent than them. They are simply jealous, and it irritates me to no end. I can't stand to be around such ugly, annoying, poor, jealous children. I would much rather be practicing my knife skills with my private trainer, or sitting in the grain fields.
I sigh and make my way up the steps and pull open the oak door at my house.
"Hello, father," I call, peeking inside. The house feels empty and bare, all is quiet and still; but I know my dad and little brother will be in here somewhere.
"Venus?" A voice calls.
My six year old brother, Adar, comes bounding down the stairs and says excitedly, "It's reaping day today, Venus!"
"Does that excite you?" I ask, stroking his black hair. He looks up at me, confused.

"What?"

"I asked if that excited you," I answer softly, sitting down at a plush couch. "I might be picked, you know. Even though I did not have to take tesserae. My name is still in that bowl, four times."
Adar looks confused. "But…daddy says it's an honour to get chosen. He trains you for it. It's a good thing."
I smile sadly. "I suppose, but do you know what happens to the tributes who don't win?"
He shakes his head.
"They die," I reply with a small smile, and add, "I would prefer to live, Adar. Something called self-preservation." I could win. But I don't want to have to risk anything. It's too dangerous.
"Self-preservation," he murmurs, and says, "Still, Venus. Daddy says it's an honour."
"I know," I reply, making my way up the stairs, not bothering to argue. Someday, he will learn that it is not, in fact, a good thing to go to the Games. Not unless you are certain that you can win. And I am only ninety-nine percent certain.
"Venus." I'm cornered on my way into my room by my father, dressed in a Peacekeeper uniform. "Were you out training?" He asks.
"No, I was in the fields," I reply. "I don't like training, father. I'm not going to volunteer, you know."
"Why not?" He asks, mystified. "It's an honour. I pay for you to be trained privately."
"I know," I say. "But I was teaching Adar about something called self-preservation. I could die, and I do not like that prospect. If I'm reaped, then so be it. I will not, however, volunteer for what could mean my death. I'm not an idiot."
He rolls his eyes. "Maybe I should stop paying for your private training sessions, then?"
"Do what you like. It is not a question of you financial state; we both know you're perfectly well-off, whether or not you pay for my training," I tell him, before making my way into my large bedroom to wash up for the reaping ceremony.
A white dress lies on my bed. It's strapless, made of a flowing, silky material, and looks striking against my dark skin. Many people in the district don't have time for things such as nice reaping dresses, or even looking nice at all, but like I said, I believe it's one of the most important things about a person. I pull the dress over my head, admiring the way it hangs on my body-last year, it was too big. It's customary to dress well for the reaping, and I've hated having to wear the overly large dress until now.
"Venus! Come down!" My father calls. "It's time to go to the reaping!"
I sigh. I know that it's time to go, does he think me stupid?
I make my way down the oak stairs, clasp my brother's hand and walk out the door. "I'll meet you afterwards," Father says. I nod; he will have Peacekeeper duties to take care of. It goes like this every year.
My dad disappears out the door and I follow, making sure to keep hold of my little brother as we make our way to the town square, where the Reaping ceremony will be held in front of the Justice Building. Our escort is there already; he is the definition of a Capitol person; the epitome of stupidity. The escort is suave and needy, chirpy, irritating, and not fashionable in the least. The Capitol's idea of beautiful is truly absurd at times. Only the people born with beauty should be allowed to have it, and there's something very unappealing about the plastic manner of their faces. The clothing is splendid, though.
"Where do I go, Venus?" Adar asks, looking up with me at fear when we reach the square.
"Where you always do. Go stand with the people and wait for me. I'll come find you right after. You mustn't worry." He looks up at me with big brown eyes.
"Are you going to volunteer?"
"No, little one. I'm not. I'll see you after."
I make sure Adar is standing outside the gated area for twelve to eighteen year olds, where he won't get lost. Surely I will not be reaped- if I was, I don't know where he would go. It is just another reason to resent mother for leaving as soon as my little brother was born. And now she lives a life of luxury in the Capitol, while my father works hard every day, making money to give us a good home, to have a personal trainer for me in case I were to be reaped. I give my name and the peacekeeper waves me past, ushering the next scared child forward. I stand with the other fifteen year old girls, not talking to anyone.
Nobody speaks to me, I don't speak to them. It's a silent agreement. They dislike me simply because I am more privileged than them. Simply because I train. 'Unfair,' they would say.
'You would train, too, if you had the money,' I would reply. I cannot let their irrelevant opinions get in the way of my success, though. And if I'm ever Reaped for the Hunger Games, I will succeed.
Because I have training.
And the rest of the peasants I share a district with don't.
Who will be laughing then?
The mayor introduces himself and begins his speech on the history of Panem. Quite frankly, I detest the sound of his voice. It bores me. I don't believe, years of listening to the same thing over and over, anyone would enjoy listening to him talking. I know that a 'great nation rose out of the ashes of Panem'. Why does he insist on saying it over and over? By the time we're eighteen, most of us could repeat the history of Panem and the Treaty of Treason back word for word.
"And so it was decreed that each year, the twelve districts of Panem shall…" I tune his voice out again. If he is getting on to the Treaty of Treason, we must be close to finishing this whole ordeal. Then I can go home.
Finally, our escort mounts the stage. Jerragen Minoes. Scarlet hair, overenthusiastic, overdone clothes. Honestly, can't some people see that simplicity is also beautiful?
The people I share a country with, my God.
To be quite honest, I dislike Jerragen. He irritates me. He acts flamboyant, prissy, and loud. He probably doesn't even know what sarcasm is.
"Welcome, District Nine! You do not know how excited I am to be here! And I know that you're, like, super excited, right?" Jerragen asks. I raise an eyebrow. A smirk spreads across my face. That is not a question you ask in District Nine. This man has no tact. Or he's just an idiot.
When there isn't any response to Jerragen's question, he says hurriedly, "Okay, well, let's get to the Reaping then! Ladies first, as per usual!"
Jerragen puts his hand into the girl's bowl and swishes his hand around, grinning. I can't help hoping, a tiny part of me, that I'm not Reaped. I could win, surely. But what if I didn't? What if I did go, and I died? If my private training sessions weren't enough?
Calm yourself, Venus, I command myself silently. It won't be you.
"Venus Aeterna!"
That is a name I would recognize anywhere. It's my name.
How could this happen? I only had four slips in that large glass bowl.
No matter. I have training. I'm beautiful. No one will dare to hurt me. To ruin my flawless face. I will come back to Adar. Simple.
I will win.
Pursing my lips, I shove my way out of the girl's section and stride up to the stage, nose held high. Whispers creep around the closed-off Reaping pen as recognition seeps through the crowd. It's Venus, the rich girl who everyone hates. Because she is better than them. I can't help smirking at the thought. I'm going to win this.
I have to.
"Are there any volunteers?" Jerragen asks, not realizing that no, there will most certainly not be any volunteers. The district wants to be rid of me. They think they are now. "Well... onto the boys, then!"
I survey the crowd as Jerragen clears his throat, trying to look as haughty as possible. No one must know that there is a tiny, hidden, scared part of me. "Farro Ragweed!"
I know of Farro. His father is a Peacekeeper, too. He is hated, too. And he, too, stands out amongst all the gingers of District Nine. Plus, he is a cripple. His clay coloured skin and black hair distinguishes him from the crowd. A half smile creeps onto my face. How ironic, the two hated, rich, children of District Nine are Reaped.
"Alright... do we have any volunteers for Farro?" There is no response. I expected as much. Anyone who volunteered for such a brutal death match would be insane. "There you have it, then! Our tributes for District Nine, Venus Aeterna and Farro Ragweed! Let's give them a round of applause, everyone!"
The audience, once again, barely responds. I place my cool hand in Farro's sweaty one and we shake. I stare straight into his set of brown eyes, trying to look intimidating. Trying to be intimidating. So that he knows I am the one to watch out for.
In the justice building, I wait patiently. When the door opens slowly, I look up. A gruff voice says, 'three minutes,' and I see my father and little brother standing in the door. I embrace them in a tight hug.
"Venus… this is dangerous, but it's what you trained for. You could do this. Think of the fame, the riches you would possess. Try to win. You can."
"You wanted me to volunteer," is all I say, stroking Adar's thick black hair.
"Well. I'm not sure if wanted was the right word," he replies sheepishly.
"Perhaps you would like to see me fighting for my life."
"Venus, I don't want that for my daughter! But what else was I hiring a private trainer for?" Adar glances back and forth between the two of us, looking confused. Why are we fighting, he surely wants to know.
"Father, you must someday learn of a thing called self-preservation," I reply. "I'm good. I know I am. But there is a possibility that I may die, even if you haven't realized that. I do not want to die, and surely you do not want to wish that upon your daughter."
"I already said I don't want you to die. I want to see you come home."
"Perhaps you should leave," I reply calmly, fury boiling over. I trained like a Career so that I wasn't to be defenceless in the Games if I was, in fact, chosen. I wasn't going to volunteer. And clearly father wanted me to. Clearly he wanted a Career child.
After a significant pause, he says, "Fine. Adar, we're going."
"No, I have something to say to him," I reply coldly. "He stays with me."
The door slams and I realize briefly that perhaps I will never see my father again. "Adar, look at me, little one," I say firmly.
"What?" He asks.
"Don't watch the television. Whatever father tells you." Father is ignorant. He believes I will live. He will let Adar watch me fight, possibly to my death. And that will not happen. Not if I can stop it.
"But-"
"No buts."
"Yes, Venus."
"If I die, which I might, you mustn't be upset."
"I promise."
"Good," I reply. "You should go now, Adar. I love you."
"Is daddy waiting?"
"Yes."
"Come back soon."
"I'll try, I promise, little one."
"You have to, big one," he giggles. Before the tears begin to fall, he leaves and I sit back. I must come home. I must beat everyone. And I will.
I will have to.

Farro Ragweed

Fire; fire so much fire, Farro felt his lungs about to collapse from the smoke chocking his lungs. He seemed to crawl his way towards the front of his families' barn. He heard the creaking of the support beams on the ceiling; he felt the enormous beam hit the left side of his body. Farro felt that part of his body go limp; he could only crawl using his right arm. He finally saw the sunshine and managed to crawl his way out, he saw his little sister Kace lying on the dusty gravel ground hyperventilating.

"Kace, Kace, Kace" I screamed she couldn't hear me I felt my mind become a swirl of darkness and I fell into an endless sleep. Farro gasped he hated going to sleep; he could only imagine the incident that affected his life forever. After that ceiling beam hit him on the left side of his body, he paralyzed from the shoulder down. Farro remembered climbing in trees and feeling the of playing tag with the rest of the kids. He could smell the fresh smell of oranges and he went straight the stairs and his sister Kace came right behind him, the pair makes it down the stairs and he feels really excited for the exotic fruit. His mother lays out pieces of toast and slices of oranges; he bites into the toast and can feel the crumbles form around the corners of his mouth. Farro washes down the dry toast with the juice from the oranges. After finishing his breakfast he heads up the stairs and grabs his only dark blue silk suit. Farro remembered the days when his family was of high quality and importance to their community. His grandmother was the very winner of the first annual hunger games. Farro saw the tape of his grandmother in her hunger games. She was very strong and resilient to whatever the Gamemakers through at her. The arena for that year was the skyscrapers of once of a city called New York. The cornucopia stood in midair there were twenty four bridges that lead to the cornucopia. She managed to kill three of the careers when they were once weak. She would hide amongst the closets and she managed to grab hold of a gun. His grandmother killed an average of twelve tributes the highest ever and she still holds the record till today. The final was upon her and she was near the bottom of the tower. A rush of sea water filled the floors quickly, in the water hid a shark with dark purple skin. The shark rose on its tail fins and started to chase her up the sixty plus floors. The mutt tried to nip at her calves and managed to get a nip. She grasped at her blood soak wound and managed to get to the rooftop. She faced a frail district ten female she was only twelve the youngest person in history to make it to the final two. Farro's grandmother grabbed the pistol she got and she shot it hit the girl in the leg; she fell and started to cry. His grandmother made her way towards him and choked the life out of her. She heard the cannon and knew she won the games, she feel and couldn't help but cry. Farro always felt proud of being of her grandson, he broke from the thought when he heard Kace call his name. Farro looked up and his sister pointed to her wrist to signal time. He nodded and they made their way towards the town square.
The reaping stage came into view and he was that the grains were swaying around the stage. Farro and his sister signed in and they went their separate ways. Farro watched as the rest of the fourteen year old males made ugly looks.
"Why don't you take a picture" shouted Farro, his dark brown skin seem to burn from their stares. The escort made his way towards the front; he had dark crimson colored hair with electric blue eyes. He spook with excitement
"Welcome, District Nine! You do not know how excited I am to be here! And I know that you're, like, super excited, right?" said the escort he waited for a response but he continued anyway.
"Okay, well, let's get to the Reaping then! Ladies first, as usual!" he reaches in and grabs a paper.
"Please come forward Venus Aeterna" he said excitedly. Farro saw a very pretty female with olive color skin make her way towards the front. The escort hurried his way towards the male's side; he reached in and grabbed a slip of paper.
"Please come forward Farro Ragweed" he said excitedly, he made his way towards the front and heard many kids laugh. He got to the stage limping and shook hands with his district partner.
When he was ushered into the justice building he looked around and saw paintings of the past residents that ran this wonderful district. The walls were graced with pieces of grains attached and the wallpaper was a golden brown. He walked into his room and sat on the small arm chair in the corner. The door opened after a few minutes and his parents graced into the room. His father had a scar going over his left eye and had dark tan skin as well. His mother had dark crinkly colored hair and light caramel colored skin. The couple came and graced Farro with a hug and headed out their way towards home. He had a feeling in his gut knowing that his parents knew he was going to die.

Hope u all liked! Please review and expect D10 up soon :D