A/N: Wow! I want to thank everyone for all of the support! You guys have truly inspired me to continue, and I plan on seeing this story out to the end. All of the kind words and praise really made me smile and pushed me to write the best possible story I can for all of you! Please keep it up! In thanks, I will be responding to reviews from now on at the end of each chapter, so look for your name if you leave a review. We are getting close to the capitol, so the sponsor shop will open quite soon! Keep on posting in those bloodbath forums! Currently, Nero is losing! If you don't want poor Nero to meet some odd misfortune at the beginning of the games, then go post your favorite tribute in the bloodbath forums! I just can't believe how many reviews came off of last chapter, thanks to each and every one of you! So here we go...District Ten!

Roger Shimhill

District Ten- Male

Courtesy of RainEpelt

"Roger!" My mother calls, waking me from my slumber. I don't want to get out of bed, so I slip the woolly comforter of my head and pretend as if I've drifted off to sleep once again. My act works, until someone drops a boulder on top of me, snatching my breath away and causing me to jerk from my recumbent position. Or so I thought it was a boulder, but in reality, it's my younger brothers, Kelvin and Kingsley.

"Wake up!" They chime together, pressuring me to rise from my comfy bed.

"You could have just asked," I say, tussling their short black hair as I collect myself. Making my way out of the room and down to the kitchen with Kelvin and Kingsley in tow, I can smell the wafting sent out pork as I arrive.

"I called for you," my mother says without turning around from the stove. She is busy cooking the pork, and I grumble a reply, "I was tired from all the work yesterday."

"Well, your father is outside, and he needs you to feed Caramel before we go to the reaping," My mother says in response.

I had forgotten about the reaping, and I comply with a shrug as I leave my brothers behind. The morning sun hits my eyes with a blast of refulgent gold, and I squint to block the singing view. I can see my father; his name is Roger too, tossing bales of hay from a wheelbarrow into the small barn we own. There, I can find my sister's stupid horse and feed her. Although I'd rather watch her starve.

I love animals, I really do. Except I only love them when they have purpose or bring me pleasure. For example, the pigs and cows and sheep serve us as food, so we benefit from their presence. Although my dog, Roscoe, doesn't have a true purpose, he's like a member of the family to me, so he can stick around. But Caramel doesn't serve a purpose. We have no soil to till and we have no reason to ride her anywhere. Plus, she brings me no pleasure, only swats me with her tail. So if Caramel were to go tomorrow, then I wouldn't have a single complaint.

As I reach the barn, my father barks out a rough greeting and my eyes find Caramel. We've been enemies from day one, ever since Daisy got her for her birthday when she was eight. Daisy is the youngest child, and my sister. She adores Caramel, and Caramel loves her back. But Daisy doesn't feed her or shovel her copious piles of shit. I do, and it sucks.

"Morning," I grunt to Caramel, who swishes her tail in annoyance of my presence.

"I could just throw all this feed in the river," I threaten, completely serious. Caramel, the dumb bay, levels her eyes and snorts. She knows I'm here to give her food, and would no sooner reject my offering that break her own legs. Putting the grainy feed in her trough, I also change her murky water. Caramel looks up, possibly in thanks, but I don't notice. Leaving the horse behind, I walk out the barn and nearly smash into my father.

"Watch it son," my dad advises calmly, moving around me as he goes to put his pitchfork up.

"Big day today," he says while he hangs the tool on the rack.

"Yeah, could be anyone, I'd rather it be me over Dahlia," I admit glumly.

Dahlia Shimhill, my beautiful and brilliant sister. Eighteen years old, is the oldest of me and my siblings, and today is her last day eligible for these sick games. My mother and father have put a big dinner together for tonight when we come back from the reaping, to honor Dahlia's success. Smartest in her class at the school, Dahlia aspires to become a veterinarian in the medicinal quarter of the district. It's a necessary job, as District Ten requires its livestock to be healthy in order to survive. I on the other hand, don't even go to school. I dropped out long ago, and have settled with being a ranch hand for the remainder of my life. With a little something on the side.

While my father makes his way back to the house, I slip around the back of the barn and dig up what I've been working on. My projects are normally small, but I'm building this one for Aroma, the mayor's daughter. Aside from helping my dad, I practice woodworking, and I've made quite a few sculptures. This one is of a horse, reared and calling to the setting sun, detailed to the finest points. Aroma doesn't now I like her, but a guy has to start somewhere. It's almost done, and I admire my handiwork with a smile as my eyes graze over the horse's frozen mane and giant teeth.

"Roger! Breakfast!" My mother calls from the porch, and I hide the statuette once more and go back to the house. I don't want my family to know about my talent just yet, I don't want to something to happen to me before I can open up a shop. I would hate for my family to watch my talent die, because it could possibly bring in some money. So I've decided I'm going to wait until I'm eighteen to unveil my work, and until then just keep it a guarded secret.

Everyone is seated at the oak table and my mother dishes out helpings of eggs and pork for everyone. Dahlia sits next to Daisy, both of them with the sandy hair of our mother. Every single one of us have brown eyes though, but me and my brothers got my dad's black hair. Kelvin and Kingsley giggle incessantly as they make snorting sounds, regarding the pig on their plate.

"Boys," My mother snaps as she sits down, and the two stop their mischief.

"Why don't we pray," My father says, and everyone grabs the hands on their left and right.

"Father God," my father begins, "Today we gather under you to ask for strength as two of our children face the mighty weight of the capitol, though it's might pales in comparison to yours. We ask that you guide our daughter, Dahlia, to safety today as she challenges the reaping one more time, while our son Roger needs your strength as well. We ask that this food before us gives all of us the strength we need to make it through today's many perils, and in your name we pray," We all say it together, "Amen."

Breakfast is quick, and my mother gathers the plates and deposits them in the sink, claiming she'll clean them when we get back. Before we go, Camille from next door arrives, to watch over Kelvin, Kingsley and Daisy while we're out.

"God be with you," Camille says behind us as my father, mother, Dahlia and I exit the kitchen and go out into the sunshine. Reaching the square, my mother and father hugs us tightly as Dahlia and I separate towards our respective groups. Joining the ranks of the other fifteen-year olds, I listen quietly as the video rolls. Depicting horrible images of the rebellion, the capitol seal flashes in the corner, reminding us of our servility. We are no more people than possessions.

When the video ends, Diaphana Minkmere, our district escort, takes to the stage. She is dressed in some garish ensemble of pink and sea green, and her outfit is revolting. As her claw digs into the boys bowl, she finds a slip of paper and reads the name aloud.

"Roger Shimhill!"

The district is silent as I reach the stage, my arms are shaking and my brow begins to catch the sweat dripping off my forehead. I'm sure they can tell in the capitol, I am terrified.

"Ruci Nonabi!" Diaphana calls the girls name.

Together, we are herded into the Justice Building, much like we do our goats every day. Except today, I am no longer the master. I am but a wee lamb, waiting for the slaughter.

My mother is in shambles and my father embraces my strongly. There are no words, only silent prayers and tears and comfort. Before we can muster any courageous thoughts or feelings, the peacekeepers whisk my parents away. Dahlia comes in, and her eyes aren't glazed with tears like my parents were.

"Goodbye Roger," Dahlia says, trying to keep her calm.

"Bye sis," I say, both knowing I won't see her again.

It's all we say, and before I know it, District Ten is far behind me.

Ruci Nonabi

District Ten- Female

Courtesy of RubyJewel230

I've never left District Ten. All my life, I've watched the countless flocks of sheep graze the verdant fields of District Ten and all my life I've wished my existence could be so simple. Just follow the bellwether, and make my way to the pasture every evening. That's a life I could be content with, but this. This turmoil and constant wondering if your name will be picked to die, well that's something I've always considered just plain wrong. If you ask me, I'd never want to leave District Ten. And I pray I never have to.

My black hair burns as I step out into the scorching sun. I scan the flock with my mousey brown eyes, and I count the sheep in the flock one by one, totaling twenty-three. Satisfied with our count, I turn on my heels back into the home that my brother, mother and I share.

"Ruci baby," My mother coos as she rolls out dough on the counter, "Hand me that rolling pin." Answering her request, I pass the cylindrical, wooden object over to her and look over her shoulder at what she is doing. My mother is making sorgia a pastry dish we always eat on the morning of reapings. The dough is thick and sweet, basted with honey from the beekeeper's best. My mother is good friends with the beekeeper, so we've always got plenty of sweet honey. The sorgia is an outer layer of this sweet bread, and the inside is filled with delicious cream. That's not all though, the sorgia is then laced with cinnamon and if we can get it, powdered sugar, from the baker's wife. The pastry is delectable, and it's got to be one of my favorite treats.

"Go get Reggie sweetie," My mother asks of me, inquiring to the whereabouts of my six-year old brother.

I find him in his room, staring at the wall.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask with a bit of a playful tone to my voice. Reggie's skin is as black as night, but mine is much more fair, due to my biracial nature. His finger's reach up and grab onto mine.

"You gonna get picked today Ruci?" It's a statement, but he phrases it like a question. "For the big game?"

"It's not a game you want to play Reggie," I answer.

"Why not?" He asks so innocently.

"Because there are monsters, waiting around every corner, trying to eat you up," I say in my scariest voice. The histrionics work, and Reggie soon shies away from talking about the games and wonders aloud what's for breakfast.

"Let's go find out," I say with a smile.

The strawberry colored streak in my hair dangles in front of my eye, and I brush it back behind my headband, trying to keep it from obscuring my vision. My red streak and my headband are little parts of me, showing who I am. The headband is embroidered with a gold mockingbird on it, and the leather of the headband is worn. It was a gift from Darius, before he died.

Darius was Reggie's father, and my mother's first husband. They had met here in District Ten, Darius was a ranch hand and my mother was a shepherd at the same farm. They married in the spring, and the wedding was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Darius didn't treat me differently; he knew where I was from and took me in as his own daughter. Nothing changed when Reggie was born, Darius still loved us both equally.

Until one day, Darius had a coughing fit at breakfast, and his crimson blood splattered against the meal my mother and I had put together. Something was deadly wrong with his lungs, and he just kept on coughing up blood. We tried to take him to the nurse down the road, but he died before we could get there. Someone called it red cough, saying his lungs got infected with something bad. We never learned though, still haven't.

Darius was not my father; I've never had a father. See, my birth wasn't exactly something done in passion or in permission.

I was conceived out of rape.

My mother never speaks about it, but she loves me with all her heart. I can tell by her smile and her words, she's never counted me as a curse. She is this way now, as we make our way to the reaping. My mother holds Reggie's tiny fingers in her hand as we reach the district square. Everyone is wearing their working clothes, as it is only morning and people still have things to do after the early festivities.

"Well," our district escort begins, "Time to select this year's tributes." Diaphana has done this a hundred times, and it seems as if she's beginning to lose her charm, tiring almost.

"Roger Shimhill!" She calls out to the crowd, and a pretty good looking boy takes to the stage. He's about my age, but a bit younger. I am currently standing in the sixteen-year old section with the other girls, and I the fear is starting to settle in. I know I can be strong though, if my name is called.

"Ruci Nonabi!"

Strength is funny though. When you say you're going to have it, and when the time comes, it leaves you like a phantom in the night. My legs are wobbly and I rise to the stage, not letting the peacekeepers touch me. There is no victor present, we've never had one.

"Ladies and Gentleman! You're tributes for this year's Hunger Games!"

"Oh Ruci baby," My mother is sobbing as she and Reggie cling to me. We weep together, and I know I probably won't see them again. I can't think like that though, I refuse to think like that.

"You've taught me to forage mom, I'll make the best of what we've got," I say to her.

It's true, my mother taught me to forage, so I could survive if anything happened to her. Now the time has come, and I must answer my call. I won't let the other tributes know though, they might kill me if they learn I'm worth something, well, kill me too soon that is.

"Be strong baby," my mother pleads.

I'll be strong, and as my mother and brother are ripped from hands I hear Reggie speak, "Where's Ruci going mama?"

"Home baby, home," is all my mother can say.

I don't get it at first, but I know what my mother means. The Hunger Games is just a stop in my journey, my journey back home.

Saltey: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you liked my presentation of Omri. The capitol is close, so the fun will begin soon! Thanks for the support :)

RainEpelt: Well, District Nine is bland, but the tributes will get more in depth once they're given more spotlight. Thanks for keeping me looking forward, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

richards25: I'm glad you like Omri, he does have an interesting background and the last name fits well for his situation. There are so many good tributes, I just don't know what to do with everyone at this point, but you haven't seen the last of him. Everyone is saying that about Cynthia, and I do agree that her presentation is Katniss-esque but I have worked to develop her character in the capitol chapters. Soon you'll see that dear Ember is quite like Miss Katniss, in a lot of ways.

DementedKawaiiKitten: You are so wonderful, you've left a review like every time and what you have to say about this story is so great! My goal is to have 75 reviews before we reach the capitol, and I think I can do that. You're right about how SYOT's die and I'm taking this story to the end. Thanks for all you've said about this story, it really motivates me!

nightfuries: I still can't believe you're reviewing my story, you are such an inspiration to me! Thanks for liking Omri, a lot of people like his last name, so do I :) Cynthia is indeed complicated, and her feelings for her mother and family will be explored later on. There's just so much plot to 24 unique individuals so I'm saving some things for capitol chapters and including more in the reapings for others. There are things coming up that everyone will be shocked or relieved to learn, so I'm excited for the capitol. Only 2 more! Woo! Your kinds words inspire me to keep writing and thanks so much for everything you've said so far.

pr1ncess1: Omri has mixed reviews, which I'm glad for. I want some people to be rooting for tributes and I want others to despise them. Cynthia is disliked by many so far, but I'm glad you're a supporter of her. Thanks for what you said about my writing skills and I'm glad you are enjoying the story!

The Phantom of the Labyrinth: I'm so glad you liked the way I wrote your tribute! I'm sorry if I presented her to be too Katnissy like a bunch of people are saying, but I promise her character will expand in her own direction later. Thanks so much for your motivational words!

Please keep up that fantastic Reading and Reviewing!

-AdmiralBobbery