Drumroll, please... this is the last of the reapings! Hooray! I congratulate you all for sticking with me thus far. Let's make this one count!

Fun Fact of the Chapter: This tribute was submitted by Yelof530, who also submitted Thalia, from District Three. Yelof530 dedicated the first chapter of her story Think Twice, And Maybe You'll Live to me, since it involves similar ideas regarding certain Gamemaker-President interactions... and I just discovered that when I was trying to find fun facts for this chapter.

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Kirby Knightly, District Twelve

This is the stage where she died.

Or, more accurately, was sent to her death. But who cares about accuracy at this point? When everything is gone? I can't look at this stage without thinking of her, and thinking of her brings back the pain from two years ago. The pain and the memories. That's all I have.

I wish Reaping Day were just over and done with. I'm glad it only happens once a year, otherwise I'd go insane. Mad, like so many before me have. Panem doesn't have a very high sanity quotient, what with the Games looming over all of our heads.

But no, the Reaping Day "festivities" have to be dragged out of control, making it almost impossible for me to go on like normal. First, the dressing up. Then, all the speeches. Then, the actual drawing, and the Treaty of Treason, and the sending-off at the train station, and then the district "celebration" afterward. Not to mention all of the pomp and splendor in the Capitol. It makes my stomach turn.

I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fist as the mayor of District Twelve walks up to the podium to give his speech. The History of Panem, with special regards to District Twelve. I've heard it again and again, but I can't help sinking into the words.

"In a time far before our own, there was a country by the name of the United States of America, on a continent known as North America..."

Twelve has always been a complicated district to work with. Smallest. Usually the poorest, although that sometimes changes. The district where the figureheads and leaders of the Second Rebellion came from. But also the district where the Capitol's savior, Commander Gale Hawthorne, was raised. Careers for a while, and then back into poverty. Nobody's quite sure what to make of us, and it shows in the speech.

If Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark had succeeded, there wouldn't be any more Games.

I open my eyes and then immediately drop my gaze as Jude Vesper walks across the stage, heels clicking. She pauses, pulling her mouth into a thin sort of frown, and then draws out the girl's name. "Riley Rynne."

Dexter Whatts, a kid I sometimes hang out with but not really, suddenly grabs my hand. "It's gonna be okay." No doubt he's remembering my silent breakdown last year, when I couldn't help but think of Fawn. I look up at him and nod, bringing myself together.

The girl who was called, Riley, is merchant like me, though I can see some Seam genes in her golden-brown hair color. She's a year younger than me, but I've seen her around school. Pretty enough to be popular, but usually just sticking to her friend, Danielle. Daughter of a wealthy family. I squint. She looks confident. Did she train or something?

Then the pain hits me like a rock and I can't look anymore.

The boy's drawing is usually much less of an ordeal, giving me time to pull myself back up to brace myself for another horrible wave of memories. Jude, with her antiquated accent and refined bearing, reaches into the second bowl and calls out the name.

She reveals an awful truth: where Fawn goes, I am destined to follow.

Somehow, this gives me some strange sort of comfort, and I'm able to make it to the stage without tears or meltdowns. Riley and I shake hands, and we're headed to the Justice Building for our goodbyes.

I'm doing fine until I'm left alone in the room, and then it overcomes me. This room is so much like the one where I saw her for the last time. Her presence is overwhelming, and I sink to my knees.

My dad comes in and comforts me, tells me that it's going to be okay, that I'm not alone, that Fawn and my mom would have wanted me to be strong. I nod, knowing that he's right. Then Dexter comes; he doesn't say much, but it's nice to know that he is there. Finally, Fawn's family, which has become as close to me as my own.

Her brother hands me something. "For your token. She would have wanted you to have it."

Of course she would have. I open my hand: a black band with a wedding ring and a bead on it. I bring it closer to my face, hands beginning to shake. The ring was Fawn's token, and the bead was from the twelve-year-old that she died protecting.

I close my eyes lightly. Breathe in, breathe out. "Thank you, Tyk."

Then they all leave, and I'm brought out into the sea of cameras and crowds, clutching onto my token, which is as dear to me as life itself. I stare into the empty faces, and keep in my mind the memory of my strong, beautiful, compassionate fiancee, and try to be ready.

Ready for this.

Ready for the Hunger Games to begin.