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Damaris Ponte
District Nine Female, 18 Years Old
Before Reapings

I can't put my finger on it.

I just can't describe why District Nine is so tranquil, so naturally beautiful, without being speechless. Perhaps, it's the way the rows of grain interlock with one another, seeming to never end. Or maybe it's the way those beige-colored birds, the ones that no one knows the name of, tend to flock to a certain area every time the first layer of snow comes.

Or maybe it's the way District Nine is just so rustic. So traditional, so laid-back. Maybe that's it.

It might not be any of these things. It might even be something as simple as the silence; the silence that lets me close my eyes, just thinking about my life. Silence is common in District Nine – it's always been.

Noise is just a distraction. The occasional sound of a shout, usually from a Peacekeeper, or the sound of someone dropping a clay pot. It could be any of these things, really. They're all valid.

Even if District Nine might not be the most suitable place to live, it's home. It's recognized as one of the poorer Districts, but honestly, I don't really mind; money's never been a big aspect of my life – it was always my mother who took care of the financial aspect of our life. I never dealt with money often.

Even as a child, I never dealt with currency often; I got what I got, never asking for much.

There's not much in District Nine, anyway. We don't have those fancy gadgets or those luxurious clothes that everyone in the Capitol is dying to have. It is what it is, even if it could be better. Everything could be better, can't it? Nothing's perfect.

We might be frowned upon from the higher-class Districts and the Capitol, but if District Nine was perceived differently, it might make life easier for everyone. For the field-workers, for the shop-owners, and even for the Peacekeepers.

But, I can't do anything. So, I'll just have to nod my head, accepting everything as it is. That doesn't stop me from wanting more, though. There's always something else we all yearn for.

Even if it's far-fetched, we still all want something.

From around the bend of this little path through a small patch of forest, I hear the scampering of footsteps, immediately assuming that it's children. Usually, I would smile at the sound, laughing at how much they enjoy themselves. But, today… today is different.

It's the Reaping day.

As the kids come by, I smile sweetly at them, all of them glancing up at me as they run after one another. The sight of them running just makes me feel even more uneasy, but I suppress the thoughts, not wanting to feel even worse about today.

Shrugging, I continue to walk, swaying my head side-to-side at the sounds of the birds in the tree chirping. They're the blue ones, the ones with the red-specs on the wings. These are one of my favorite types of birds; they make a soothing sound, one that would help you fall asleep.

They just make feel… calm.

That's what I like about District Nine – how calm it makes you. How tranquil and silent it is.

I might just be that type of person, but a lot more people should appreciate the hushed atmosphere of District Nine. Outside of these walls, life changes, and people don't appreciate that enough. They take living in District Nine for granted.

As I turn the next corner, I run my finger along the tree I come across, my finger getting pricked a little. I laugh quietly to myself, not wanting to ruin the whole moment. Once I see a few Peacekeepers coming my way, though, I look down at the ground.

These are the types of people I tend to stay away from. They don't do much for my well-being.

"Good-morning, girl," the older one says, this specific one notorious for harsh treatment of the citizens. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for the Reaping?" He asks, his tone being completely mocking.

I keep walking, continuing to stare down at the ground. I bite down on my tongue, not wanting to give him any satisfaction or even look at him. He just wants to taunt us, to show that he doesn't have to worry about what everyone else here does.

I hear the pack of Peacekeepers stop, the older one beginning to follow me a little. Tensing up a little, I look up ahead of me, seeing that there's a group of people. I sigh, knowing that I can blend in with them now, not having to being teased by him.

"Don't get there too quickly," he calls, stopping in his tracks. "Don't rush the probability of you being reaped… and killed. Don't forget about that bit."

Biting down on my tongue a little harder, I clench my mouth shut tightly, resisting the urge to look at him. I wouldn't have anything to say; I'd probably get in trouble if I said anything. If District Nine had a draw-back, it'd be the Peacekeepers. They're all miserable and wretched human beings.

I only have the Capitol to blame for that, though. They let them act like this.

As I approach the group of people, I stop, watching them all walk past me with the same expressionless look on their face. They all must be getting back from work today, and for a moment, I try to see if my mother's somewhere in the crowd. On Reaping Day, workers get let out early, and honestly, it's just ironic.

I don't find my mother, but I do see someone's light brown hair bobbing up and down, and as she turns around, I see from the brown eyes that it's Aliye. She sees me, a small smirk appearing on her face, and then she turns back around to the people around. I forgot that she has new friends now.

I'm just the old friend to her; I don't mean much to her anymore.

I look down back at the ground, feeling a little upset at how Aliye just decided to ignore me, remembering everything we used to do together. We used to play together, just like those kids that were running along the path. Once she met the upper-class girls, though, it all changed.

I'm not even sure why Aliye left me. She got along with everyone, but once they were introduced to her, I wasn't her friends anymore. It's okay, though. People change, people leave.

It happens with everyone.

"Damaris!"

At the sound of my name, I perk up, glancing behind my shoulder. Sharice, my sister, stands behind me, a few bags in her hand. I smile at the sight of her, only wondering where she got all the bags from – we don't have enough money to just buy whatever we want whenever.

She probably used her oh-so charming personality to get those.

"What do you have there?" I ask, the sight of her struggling to carry them all being rather humorous.

"Oh, that old man," she replies, nearly dropping one of them. Her head peeps out from behind them, showing her whole face to me now. "You know, the one who runs the store… he said this was a gift. No idea for what."

I smile at her, the thought of the old man only doing it because it's Reaping day making me feel bad. He's probably giving us all of these things to act as some apology gift if we were to be reaped. Sharice is my twin, so we do have the same odds, but if she were to be reaped… I couldn't live with it.

I'd rather myself be reaped for the Hunger Games.

"Is something wrong?" Sharice asks, a certain look on her face that makes me feel better. "Damaris?"

Holding out my hands, I gesture for her to give me some of the bags, and I begin to carry them back to the house with her. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just tired."

"Uh-huh," she says, walking past me, her shoulder brushing against mine. "Let's see what mom's up to."

Walking next to my sister, I smile some more, her presence making me feel better. But, I know what we're getting into today, and I can't ignore that. It's Reaping day – the day where one girl gets picked to go into the Hunger Games. Just one girl, out of all of them in District Nine.

What are the chances of us being picked? Slim to none, isn't it?

It better be.

I can't be reaped… and neither can Sharice.

We couldn't do that to our mother.

Not after everything she's been through.

Not after everything we've been through.

Adalia Greer
District Seven Victor, 25 Years Old
Reapings

"Don't stare, Cassia. You might go cross-eyed."

I whisper to Cassia, reaching my arm behind Duke and Aiken to push her shoulder a little. She doesn't react, continuing to stare right at all of the Peacekeepers around us. I smirk, lounging back in my chair a little, waiting for the video to be over.

Cassia really hasn't lost her touch.

Her resentful and angry touch. The one that she won her Games with, the one that will probably get her killed. This time, though, I don't blame her. What the Capitol is doing to District Seven now is just absurd.

They're punishing us for what our governor did. Now, the security is amped up, the Peacekeepers having the right to check every single person that comes to the Reaping today. Apparently, there was a rumor of an assassination attempt for the new Capitol-born governor, the one who replaced our old one.

And that's our punishment.

But, it's still early in the year. I'm sure the Capitol will come up with different ways to make sure that District Seven doesn't pull anything like that again. Once was enough, but twice… twice would just be stupid. District Seven couldn't make the same mistake again, could they?

Maybe other Districts, but not Seven. We know that we can't pull that anymore. It was all the governor's fault, not even District Seven as a whole. It was his idea to start training tributes and to get more recognition from the Capitol and from the other Districts.

It's not like I was completely against the idea of training a few tributes, but now, I can't even express my knowledge of it. If I show any awareness of what happened, I'd be persecuted somehow. Probably jail or public execution.

The Capitol doesn't want to hear about it anymore than District Seven does. It's mutual at this point.

It was a mistake.

And District Seven had to pay a price for that.

"Females first," the escort chirps, her voice oddly calm. "Let's get right into it… Do we have a Katcia Elspeth?"

As she folds the paper back over, she glares into the crowd, and I follow her eyes. A tall blonde steps into the aisle, her eyes wandering and she seems to be shaking a little bit. As she walks to the stage, I can see her more clearly, her slim frame shaking uncontrollably. Tears are forming in her eyes, and as she walks up the stairs, that is when they begin to slide down her cheeks.

She's crying. It's making me uncomfortable.

Boo-hoo, Katcia. The Games aren't even that bad as most people make them seem. If I was never reaped, I'd probably be dead right about now. I had nothing before I won – literally, I had nothing. All I had to do was kill a few kids to get something in this District.

Now, I'm living in a big house. I have endless food and endless clothing. It's not even that bad.

The Capitol gave me a new start. I can't complain.

"Now, males," she says, this time a little louder. Katcia's still sobbing to the side, the escort completely ignoring her. "Come on up here, Silas Braxton!"

The first thing I notice about this boy is how pale he is. He stares ahead, his eyes blinking rapidly, and he plays with his hands in front of him. He coughs, an awkward laugh escaping, and stumbles forwards. As she walks, he scratches the back of his neck, obviously unaware of what to do in this situation.

Is he okay?

"Come on up here, Silas!" The escort calls out to him, reaching out her hand for him to grab. As he grabs it, he comes onto the stage, blushing as he looks at Katcia.

That's cute.

"Here you are, District Seven!" The escort calls out, waving her hands towards the two tributes. I look at them, the two of them looking like complete messes. "Katcia Elspeth and Silas Braxton!"

I chuckle.

This is really what we're dealing with this year. Some tall girl, who can barely keep herself together right now, and the other one is some boy who apparently hasn't seen the sun in a while. Honestly, I'd rather not mentor; I'll leave it up to Blight and whoever else wants to.

Mentoring isn't something I enjoy. Talking to tributes is hard enough, and once you see them die, you can't help but smirk a little. All along, you know that some tributes will die, but once you come across a pair that might make it out alive, they mess up. District Seven tends to have that problem.

We are the lumber District, yes? So, we should have tributes that can handle themselves? With an axe, with strength? Yeah, that's what I thought, but after all these years, I was just wrong. I even thought that District Seven could be a Career District one year, but now, that's out of the question.

We're just District Seven, that's all. The District with five victors.

Only if they realized that the Games aren't even that bad. They gave me something; they let me have a life. They gave me everything I have right now.

It only took a few deaths.

The Games aren't as bad as most people make them seem. Once you get past the killing, then you're fine.

I just hope they realize that.

But, no. The other mentors here are all too reserved and too against the Capitol. They would never tell the tributes that the Games are helpful; if you win, you live a life of luxury and have all the leisure time you need. That is until you begin to mentor, but regardless, it's better than the life most people live beforehand.

Do I respect the Capitol? No.

Do I like the Capitol? No.

But, I know what they did for me. Without them, I'd still be living on the streets and eating the scraps I found in the garbage. That's why I can't really judge the Capitol much.

They did this for me.

And I am forever grateful.

Paisley Rallon
District Eight Victor, 30 Years Old
Reapings

Breathe.

Breathe, Paisley. Breathe.

"Paisley?" I hear Rove ask, placing his hand over my trembling hands. He presses his hand down, making me stop moving, and I look at him, seeing a smile on his face.

I exhale, closing my eyes. He keeps his hand on top of my hands, the warmth of his touch making me feel somewhat better, but once I open my eyes again, I begin to tremble some more.

Their eyes… they're all on me. Their eyes are all staring at us, judging us silently. They're looking at us, the same look in their eyes as they would look at a Peacekeeper. They're judging us. They're resenting us.

They don't like us – Woof, Urban, Rove, Cecelia, and I. The victors.

"It's going to be okay, Paisley," Rove whispers, lifting up his hand, but I grab it back, wrapping mine around his. "Just calm down."

Nodding, I look back at the escort, the bright pink hue of her outfit distracting me for a moment. Do they really put us on the same level on them? Do the people of District Eight really compare us to… to them? To the people of the Capitol?

Are we just pawns to District Eight? Pawns who gave the Capitol what they want. We are victors – the ones who have won the Hunger Games. The ones who have killed in order to be up here.

We all have killed.

Even me… and I still can't forget it. It was down to the girl from Three, Millea, who was about the same age of me. She kept yelling and shouting, taunting me to fight her. I couldn't fight, though. I could never kill someone… it wasn't like me. I was too young, too innocent to ever lay a finger on someone.

Me making it down to the Final Two was just luck.

It wasn't supposed to happen, but it did. Millea killed more than I could ever imagine in that arena, the one with the bright blue sky and the bright blue water. The one seemed so tranquil, but once you realized where you were, it was all over. As I cowered back in the bushes, watching Millea as she came after me with her machete, I cried.

And I couldn't stop crying.

All Millea did was laugh. She laughed, raising the machete above my head; she never expected me to react, and neither did I. I raise my knife, the blade puncturing her right in the stomach, the look on her face still in my mind ever since.

Fourteen years ago only seem like yesterday.

The way she looked down at me, not a single tear rolling down her cheek. I was the only one crying, the guilt and my own self-loathing swallowing me whole. It was a bad day.

And it's been a bad day ever since.

I can't even bear leaving that house much if Rove isn't there with me. He makes it better… he makes me forget.

"Welcome, District Eight," she calls out, her voice ringing in my eyes. I begin to shake again, but once Rove tightens his grip on my hands, I calm down a little. "To this year's Reaping for the Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games!'

I begin to shake again, her words sounding like the exact same thing they said to me as I was reaped. As my name was called up, my sobs blocking everything out around me. I couldn't take it then, and even to this day I still can't take it. It's all too much… it's all too much for someone to have to deal with.

No one should have to go through is.

Victor or not, no one should.

"Males first!" As she walks over to the male's bowl, I look down at all of the boys below the stage, their eyes all peering up at her. They're all so scared… and I don't blame them.

I am scared too.

"The boy that will be representing District Eight this year will be," she says, opening the card slowly. She pauses, making my hands tremble even more, my chest feeling too heavy for me to keep breathing. "Farro Damario!"

Following his name, there's commotion in the boy's section. I begin to panic, looking around to see who the boy is, but then I see two of them. There are two boys standing in the aisle, one of them being younger than the other. Looking at Rove, I begin to breathe frantically, not wanting to look down at the Reaping.

"I volunteer!" The older one shouts, putting his arm in front of the younger boy. "I am Rollo Damario, and I volunteer for my brother, Farro."

My heart shatters; seeing this boy volunteer for his brother makes this moment that much worse, the image of the two of them murmuring things to one another in the aisle making me begin to tear up. No… no. It's not fair. It's not fair to either of them.

It's not fair to their family.

"Well, come on up, Rollo!" The escort calls out, gesturing for him to start walking. The boy begins to walk up, a grimace of some sort on his face, not even looking back at his brother once.

Once the boy gets on the stage, I resist the urge to call out to him. To apologize to him, to say that I am truly sorry for his brother and for him. That either way, one of them would be in the Hunger Games. It's a bad thought, but I'm glad it was the older one. He might have a chance.

He has to have a chance.

For his brother… for his family.

"Now, for the females!" The escort is already at the female's bowl, a card in her hand, and she begins to open it even more slowly. My eyes are still locked on Rollo, the sight of him glancing down at his brother all the way in the back making me feel sick to my stomach.

No… he can't go into the Games. He doesn't deserve this.

"Do we have a Maureen Lowell?" She calls out, the crowd going completely silent after her name's finished being said.

A girl walks into the aisle, her short hair swaying to the side for a moment. She stands there silently, staring down at the ground until she makes her way to the stage. She walks up the stage, now only looking at Rollo. As I get a closer look, I feel like I have to apologize to her too.

I want to say sorry for her being so nervous. The sweat droplets on her forehead make me upset, her stiffness making me think that she's scared. She's even more scared than she wants us to see.

But, I understand.

I understand how scary it is… but that doesn't mean they deserve it.

They shouldn't be up there.

No child should be… no child should ever have to be up there.

"There we have it, District Eight!" She calls out again, waving her hands with excitement. "Rollo Damario and Maureen Lowell!"

I gulp, my head starting to pound in my skull and my chest becoming even heavier. I can't do this – I never could. I was never fit to be a mentor, and even after fourteen years, I still can't handle it.

I shouldn't be up here…

No one should.

Lomman Rybar
District Eleven Male, 15 Years Old
Goodbyes

"Lomman…"

Spinning around, I see my mother and my sister, Rylana, standing behind me, the two of them shuffling forward. Their movements are languid, and as they come closer, they get more emotional. My mother's tearing up, while my sister's just standing there, no expression on her face.

Why are they upset?

It's not their fault.

This is my problem; for now, anyway. It'll be their problem soon enough, when I might not come back. I shiver at the thought of the unknown, not knowing whether or not I'll come home. I always hate that feeling… when I don't know what's coming for me.

I don't know anything about the Hunger Games.

What's going to happen to me? I… I don't know.

"Lommna," my mother says again, catching my attention. "Lomman, please."

"Where's dad?" I ask, not really wanting to bring it up. I should've known he wasn't going to come; he never cared enough.

"Busy," Rylana says, her voice raspy. "He couldn't even make it to the good-byes."

"Forget him," my mother replies to the both of us, embracing me in a hug. I hug her back, reaching my hand towards Rylana for her to grab.

This might be the last time I ever see them, and that's what scares me the most. I can die, just like that, and never be talked of again. I'll go down in history with the rest of the District Eleven tributes that die in these Games.

I'll just be another kid that died in the Games.

That's all I'll be.

But, I don't want to. It's not my time to die yet, even if I can't do much about it. I like life for what it is – even if District Eleven can be tough to live in some times – but I make the best of it. I'm not ready to die yet, but who is?

Who is ready to die?

I don't know the answer to that either and I hate the idea of going into the Games even more because of it. I like knowing what's going on, not heading into things blindly. I have no plan and no guidelines for this.

"Quiet," Rylana says, sighing.

It's true, though. It is very quiet, but there's not much to say. A good-bye would only make me feel worse, and a kiss or a hug would just ruin it. I try to keep up my smile, trying not to scare my mother more than she already is. I have to be strong for her; it's the least I could do.

There's a knock on the door, and as the Peacekeeper opens it, I shudder. They can't leave yet… not yet. I still need them; to remember or something. I feel like I don't have any closure with them. That is if this is the last moment I'll see them.

I just hope it isn't.

I have a lot more life to live.

As they leave the room, my mother tries to grab my hand one last time, and I miss it slightly. That's it. That's the last time I might see them and we barely talked. We barely said hello, asked how each other is, and we didn't even say good-bye. The feeling of wanting them to come back swallows me, my head being to ache a little.

Without even turning back around, I see the next visitor come into the room, the goofy smile on his face making me feel a little bit better. It's Hinton, my friend that I've known for ever.

I'm glad he came to see me. I'd rather him come than my father, he always ignored me and would never contribute much to the family. At least Hinton always put a smile on my face, even if he could have got us into trouble at times.

"How bad could being Reaped be?" He asks, and I know that he's planned some joke all along to make me laugh. I make a face at him, waiting for him to continue. "You get to get away from this place."

"I guess," I reply, shrugging, not really believing what he's saying.

"Lighten up," he says to me, pushing my shoulder a little bit. "I bet the Capitol will treat you like royalty. That is, until you go off to your death."

Even though he's joking, it doesn't help. I still smile, though, just at the tone of his voice and how I know that the Peacekeeper is listening in on this.

"That helps," I joke back, rolling my eyes. "You really know how to make someone feel better."

And then another knock comes.

It's the Peacekeeper again.

He opens the door, holding out his arm for Hinton to leave. Hinton stands up, patting me on the shoulder, and as he walks out, I just think back to my family. They're all leaving me.

They're all leaving me to dive right into the unknown on my own.

"You just wait," he says to the Peacekeeper, leaning in closer. "That kid right there will be the next victor, you just wait."

I laugh, but it's quickly silenced, the door shutting behind him. For a moment, I think that my father will be coming to, but I know he won't. He hasn't paid much attention to me my whole life, so why would he now? He probably wants this.

I'm just a burden on the family to him. With me here, he has to work harder and make more money just to spend on me. I'm not even sure why they had two kids in the first place; they always complained about money. Life was never easy, and even though they did try, it was never enough.

Nothing is ever enough in this District.

For anyone, really. Everyone always needs more food or more clothes, never being self-sufficient enough to live on their own. We're always relying on tesserae or help from each other. It's twisted.

The Capitol doesn't have that problem. I was always quiet about my dislike for them, since I was afraid I'd get in trouble, but now, there's nothing to hide. I'm going into the Hunger Games; I have all right to speak my mind.

That doesn't mean I will, but I could if I wanted to.

I bet Hinton would love that. He always made jokes about the Capitol and would always talk bad about it.

Looking out the window, I sigh, seeing the train pull up. I wait for the sound of another knock coming, this one by my escort that will take Copper and I onto the trains. I begin to walk towards the door, knowing that she'll be any minute, even if I don't want her to.

I have no control anymore.

I can't decide what will happen to me from here on out.

No one knows what will happen to me, or anyone, for that matter. Anything can happen in the Hunger Games.

Usually, though, it ends in death. Twenty-four go in, one comes out. And that one could be anyone that was reaped today; it could even be me or Copper. It's a slim chance, but there's still hope.

And that's what I'll fight for. I'll fight with that hope in mind.

I can do it. I don't have a choice, really.

It's either I die in the Games or win them.

And I can't die just yet.

Author's Note:

Here's the second (and last) part of the Reaping chapters. Once again, nothing in particular to ask, except for what you thought about the tributes and mentors, who stood out, and any other comments you have.

Another thing, though. This is the last chapter I'll be uploading for a while. The next chapter will be out some time in late February, probably near the beginning of March. I'm going away on Wednesday for about a week and half so there's no time to write or anything.

So, yeah. I'll see you all then.

That personal question, eh? Can't forget about these.

What would be your first thought if you were reaped?