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Caelia Harlow
District Two Female, 18 Years Old
Before Reapings

"Did you see that?"

Zelena gasps, her hands clapping over her mouth. She sits back in the chair, going to wrap her hair up in a bun. Switching from the television to Zelena, I look at both of them, getting more satisfaction from watching Zelena's reactions to this Game in particular. I've watched this one in particular countless times – it is Enobaria's Games, after all – but this is the first time Zelena has seen it. When Enobaria brings her knife down into the boy's chest, Zelena props her elbows on top of her knees, watching attentively.

I already have this memorized.

Every tribute, every death, every placement. Enobaria's is just one of many that I've accustomed myself to, memorizing every bit of it. Part of it because I do find some enjoyment in watching these Games, but on the other hand, it's to learn. It's to gain some background knowledge before going into the Hunger Games myself.

And today is the today.

The day where I volunteer. The day where I accept the challenge of being the volunteer that was chosen from the Academy. But, that's just to cover up what I'm really volunteering for. That's not what they want to hear, is it? That I'm just another female volunteer with a lost cause and some hopeful ambitions?

Of course not.

They want me to be a patriotic volunteer. One that is doing it for the honor, for the fame, for the satisfaction of fighting and killing for my District. That's what everyone wants to hear in District Two, apparently. No one cares about some girl with a strange father and a screwed up family.

On the screen, Enobaria is about to engage in what she's known for – when she literally rips the throat out of a tribute. She pounces on him, pins his arms down, and just as she teases the boy with some words, there's a noise downstairs. At this point, Enobaria's mouth is already on the boy's throat, but then we hear footsteps.

"Girls?" The voice calls out, and I instantly know it's my father. Sometimes, I forget that it's only him left in the house besides Zelena and me; occasionally, Jayce will just stroll on in, but I forget that my mother isn't here anymore. She's gone now.

I just have to accept it.

Scrambling to get the remote, Zelena turns off the television, knowing that we'd get in trouble if he saw us watching the Hunger Games. He was never a fan of them – with his pacifist nature, and all, which just comes with being as holy as he is. Besides, even if he did see, he has caught me doing worse thing before.

Much, much worse things.

The door opens slowly, and as Zelena and I sit on separate chairs, my father stares back at us. "What are you two up to?" He asks, gripping another cross in his hand. He must've just come back from having another one of his preaching sessions – mass, that's what they call it. I've never really cared enough to learn the terminology.

It's embarrassing enough being related to him.

Being related to a man that refuses to accept either of us as his daughter, the idea of having children completely going against everything he stands for. It's his fault, anyway. I blame him for a lot; the way people treat me because of what he does, what people say, how people see us as a family.

Even though I've been spending more time with Jayce, people still don't see me as what I am today. Jayce has the money, the fame, the life that I always wanted. I tried living with him a few times, but Zelena was never comfortable, so we came back to my father's house. Still, I see him a lot, actually, but something still feels off.

Whenever we're in public, everyone's staring. I might as well give them a good show if they're staring.

"Just being girls, daddy," I say, making sure my voice is whiney enough. He nods his head, the look on his face showing no interest in actually talking to us. He's always worrying about what we're doing, especially in private. Whenever I'm alone, he usually catches me with someone, whether Zelena or not.

Usually, it's just some random boy of District Two. My father doesn't approve of that, either, but that's just hypocritical of him. He had me and Zelena by mistake, so he can't really judge me like everyone else does. I wouldn't get pregnant, anyway; I'm not that stupid.

I only do it to feel wanted. To feel like I actually have a place in this District.

It distracts me from what my life is really like.

"Behave, now."

The door closes behind him, and once I know we're in the clear, I make a face to Zelena. She laughs uncontrollably, falling off her chair and onto my bed besides her. She lies there, still laughing, her hands over her stomach. Looking at her, I realize that after today, she'll be alone with our father. All of his attention will then be on her – until I return home, that is.

Then, the attention will be all on me.

But, until then, I feel bad for Zelena. She doesn't think I'm being selfish by volunteering, even though I feel like it is. In a way, me volunteering affects this family. It damages the reputation of my father – the one who preaches nonviolence and opposes the Hunger Games – as well as my sister, the one who has only recently found her place.

The one I vowed to protect. To keep safe. She might be older than me, but I still find a need to treat her as something closer than a sibling… A friend? No. She's more than a friend and a sister.

"He seemed more antsy than usual," Zelena jokes, staring up at my ceiling. "Still haven't told him about you volunteering, eh?"

"What do you think?" I ask, smirking. "He'd probably prop me up on one of those crosses he has in his room on the spot."

Zelena laughs, pushing herself up from the bed and leaning on her elbows. She looks at me, her laugh silencing down, her lips turning into half a frown. "Yeah, you're right. He'd be mad."

Tilting my head, I stare back at her, not really knowing what she means. The way she said it, the way her tone was, just makes me feel even worse about it all. I don't want to leave her, but at this point, I don't have a choice. I have to volunteer for her, for me, for the District… I have to volunteer for a lot.

Or, that's what they think. But, it's more than volunteering for my District. It's volunteering to prove myself, to show that I'm more than the priest's daughter. That I might have a dead mother and a disreputable aura about me in the District.

In District Two, people see me the wrong way. I know what they say about me; that I'm deranged, that I'm a whore, that I'm weird.

To everyone here, I've always been the weird girl.

The one that everyone judged.

But, they'll see. They'll see who I truly am and what I'm truly like. I'll be more than the weird girl, or the priest's daughter, or the promiscuous girl, or the thief's girlfriend.

I'll be the girl that turned out to be the victor.

Clara Peronne
District One Victor, 35 Years Old
Reapings

"As you all know, Gloss and I have been bestowed with the honor of mentoring this year."

Leaning forward from the chair, I make a face to Vanora, who makes a face back. She sticks out her tongue, and I tilt my head upwards, mocking the way Cashmere speaks down to us all. She's always so uptight, so sure of herself. Vanora begins to chuckle, the laugh growing louder and louder. She was never the subtle type of person.

Especially when it comes to people like Cashmere and Gloss.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Vanora?" Cashmere asks, her overly-dramatic tone putting a smirk on my face. "Please, share with us."

Vanora waves her hand, concealing her laughter well. Cashmere goes back to giving us one of her pep-talks that she gives us every year, even if she hasn't mentored once so far. Gloss won the 66th Games and Cashmere won the 67th Games, yet they haven't mentored once. Apparently, it wasn't the 'right time' to mentor.

Whatever that means, it's still bullshit.

"This year, District One will not be overlooked. With Gloss and I mentoring, a District One is bound to come – they have to."

They have to, I mock, rolling my eyes. They have to come, don't they?! They just have to!

Cashmere curtly nods her head, showing that her speech has come to an end. That was beautiful, really. It truly was. Vanora and I stand up in unison, catching the attention of Cashmere. She stands near the door that the two of us were about to go into, leading into the room Vanora and I usually hide away in. The mentors always meet before the Reapings, but when all of this filler talk is over, we like to get away.

I prefer it that way.

Just me and Vanora.

"Going somewhere, ladies?" Cashmere asks, batting her eyelashes. "The Reaping is about to start."

I debate telling that maybe if she didn't take up so much time, Vanora and I would have had time to go in there alone. But, Cashmere wasted too much time with one of her pep-talks, so now we have to stay with the rest of the victors. I look around the room, ignoring Cashmere some more, taking in every mentor and how much things have changed since the two siblings have made their way into the group. Nowadays Glass just sits there and withers away with his old age, Radaince is constantly applying make-up no matter how bad it looks, Pryce and Cavalier shove themselves into a corner and play silly Games, and then there's Adele.

I'm surprised she hasn't killed herself yet.

She isn't as bad as the siblings, though.

"And look at that," Cashmere says, looking at the clock. "Reaping time. Everyone, everyone! It is time!"

Who does she think she is? Ordering us all around, as if we're her battalion. She's the youngest victor we have right now, yet she acts like she's one of the most wise and insightful victors. This girl seriously does not know her limits.

Glass and Radiance are the first two to go to the stage, followed by Pryce and Cavalier. Adele sulks around in the back, and as she sees Gloss approach her, she makes her way out of the room. Cashmere and Gloss interlock their arms, placing their other hand on their hips.

So vain. So, so vain.

It's all about appearance to them. All about the way Panem sees them on a television.

Vanora and I walk out into the hallway, seeing the other victors already outside on the stage. Cashmere and Gloss are standing at the doors, the applause greeting them making the two of us snicker. We already that neither of us will get the applause they're getting, which is just sickening.

District One is too fickle.

"Introducing, Vanora Revery and Clara Peronne," I whisper to Vanora as we walk out onto the stage. Vanora laughs, and although we do get some applause, it's nothing compared to Cashmere and Gloss. "Looks like we're outdated."

We take our seats, with Vanora sitting right next to Gloss. She might have mentored Gloss when he was a tribute, but that doesn't change anything; he's still the deluded, narcissistic, perverted boy he always was. People like that don't change, especially when they rise to fame by killing children.

Call me a hypocrite, I suppose, but I am nothing like Gloss.

"Now, District One," the escort says, raising her hand in the air, wanting to entice the crowd. "It is time to choose the two tributes who will represent us in this year's Hunger Games!"

The escort saunters over towards the girl bowl, but we all know that there will be a volunteer. There are two volunteers nearly every year, except for some exceptions. After Vanora won, there was a lull in volunteers, but then Gloss volunteered. He changed the direction of where District One was going, and I'll give him that.

But, he doesn't deserve anything else.

"Do we have a-," the escort is cut short before she can fully open the card, being interrupted by the female volunteer this year.

"Yes, it is I," the girl says, strutting right down the center of the aisle. She sways her arms side to side, attracting the attention of every person here – especially Gloss. His interest is already piqued just from the way she's walking; boys, what will you do with them? "Ines Maiva at your service."

"Hello there, Ines," the escort says, watching Ines ascend the staircase and take her place next to her. Ines leans over to the microphone, and as the escort pulls it away for a moment, she slowly gives it back to Ines.

"It is my honor, District One," she says snidely, quickly glancing at us victors. "To represent the luxury District in the Seventieth Hunger Games."

In the audience, most of them have a smile on their faces. This girl is telling them exactly what they want, to make them all look good in front of the camera. All of Panem sees this, and clearly, Ines knows what she's doing. As Ines gives the escort back her microphone, the escort goes to the boy's bowl.

But, before she can pick the boy's name, the volunteer is already making his way to the stage. It's a skinny boy, his blonde bouncing up and down with every step. He smiles as he walks past everyone, and the look on his face just makes me laugh. I've never seen him around before.

"Hi, hi," he says, grabbing the railing to walk up the stairs. "I am Larron Arlett."

Larron Arlett, eh?

Well, Larron and Ines, I wish the two of you luck with Miss Cashmere and Mister Gloss over here. They're a handful.

And you know what, I wouldn't mind these dying, no matter how morbid that is. It would teach Gloss and Cashmere a lesson; that even though that this is their first year mentoring, they won't bring home a victor. That no matter what they try to instill in their tributes and what advice they can come up with, they still won't be able to bring one home. It'll show the two of them that they aren't what everyone else believes they are.

They are most certainly not as perfect as they want everyone to believe.

They should leave that up to me.

Henry Wadell
District Five Victor, 23 Years Old
Reapings

"Henry?"

Raising my head from leaning on my forearms, I look up, seeing Holden standing there. His arms are crossed over his sheet, a disapproving look on his face, directed right at me. Cynthia and Brites are at the other end of the table, who are all staring at me too, as is Ameren.

"Yes?" I say, wanting to know why they're all looking at me. "Is there something you want?"

"Must I repeat myself?" Holden snaps, his voice edgy. "Now, Henry, for the last time: Are you still up for mentoring this year?"

Leaning back in the chair, I lean my head back a little, staring up at the ceiling. I refrain from saying something too brusque or hurtful, since all of us are in here. If it were just Holden and I, I wouldn't hold back as much – he doesn't deserve the same respect as the others do.

He never has.

"What gave you the hint that I ever wanted to?" I question, not wanting to raise my voice too much. "I said I would think about it, not that I would."

"And have you?"

"Yes."

"So, what do you say?"

"No."

Holden puffs his chest out, a deep breathe following it. He puts his fists on the edge of the table, shaking his head as he looks down at his reflection from the clear table-top. Cynthia, Brites, and Ameren all look at each other, but I keep my attention on Holden, knowing that he isn't done with me. He never gives up that easily.

"It's been seven years, Henry," Holden says under his breath, but it's loud enough for me to hear. "What are you scared of? I'm not too old to do this, and Cynthia or Brites shouldn't have the responsibility every year."

"What am I scared of," I scoff, but as I open my mouth to say something else, there's a knock on the door. That means that it's Reaping time now, and as Holden scurries out of the room, the rest of us are left alone. They all give me a look, one that I can't really describe what it's like. It's like they agree with Holden and that they think I'm scared of something.

I'm scared of nothing.

What would I be scared of? I got out of that arena, I didn't die. What else do they expect from me?

Mentoring was never going to be a part of my victory. Mentoring is a choice.

Stepping through the doorway, I pause for a moment, staring right back at the Peacekeeper next to me. I can't see them through their dark visor, but I know they're looking. They probably hear everything we were talking about too. I roll my eyes, walking away and giving up with being in a mood today.

It's whatever.

None of them really get to me, anyway.

No one ever really has.

Once I reach the doors, I shake my head, not really wanting to go through with this for another year. It's the same thing over and over again; a child picked, crying parents. A scream or two. It's all repetitive.

Sitting down next to Ameren, I feel more relaxed. Ameren never speaks to me much, unlike Holden and Cynthia; they're always on my case. I don't understand why Ameren can't mentor by himself, either. He's never showed any defiance to mentoring and has never had a problem with watching his tributes die. So, why do I have to do that now? Why is all of a sudden my job?

It's a job I don't want.

As the escort starts the Reaping, she walks over to the female's bowl, dipping her hand right down into it. I inhale slowly, letting out a deep breath as I exhale. I'm not even nervous for the Reaping, I'm just fed up with being here. With sitting here with the other mentors, seeing the look on their faces as a tribute is picked.

"Clara Novisont!" The escort calls out, looking out into the crowd. My eyes follow reluctantly, but I admit, I'm curious as to see who will be the tribute this year. Then I see her, standing in the middle of the aisle.

She has her held high, not a single tear in sight. Usually, tributes from District Five are always tearing up, always crying out to their parents. This girl is different. What she does next surprises me more; as she walks past the cameras, she puts a wide smile on her face and waves at them.

There seems to be an edge to her.

And that's always good to have.

"Shall we choose your partner, Clara?" The escort asks, walking over towards the male's bowl. Dipping her hand in, she swirls it around, finally picking up a card. "Garret Orson!"

I find the boy standing in the aisle, staring down at the ground. He walks up to the stage slowly, not wanting to look up at the cameras or at the escort. The crowd is quiet, except for the sound of his footsteps tapping on the ground. When he does look up, though, I see that there's a blank expression on his face.

One that reminds me of me.

That's what I looked like when I was reaped.

And maybe that's why I don't want to mentor; because I don't want to live this all over again. I don't want to go through the Games with another tribute, but this time, I'll be looking from the outside in. I won't be in the arena, but I'll still have to watch the two of them in there.

I know what it's like to be in an arena.

They have no idea what's coming for them. The arena is nothing like I would have ever expected, something that no mentor could ever help you understand. It's a whole new world.

One that I already have went through.

One that I don't want to have to go through again.

I saved my own life and I shouldn't have to save theirs too.

It's not my responsibility to save their lives. It was my responsibility to save my own.

And now they have to fight for themselves.

Trent Ethillion
District Four Male, 18 Years Old
Goodbyes

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

Just from the voice, I know who it is. It's no surprise that he's my first visitor – and only, probably, at the rate I'm going. Turning around from the window, I greet Triton with a handshake, and as he pulls me in, it's a side I have never really seen before. I pry him off of me, not wanting to get too mushy right now.

If I didn't think I'd return and see him again, I wouldn't have volunteered in the first place.

"No parents yet, huh?" Triton asks, a smirk on his face. He already knows the answer, but neither can ever pass up a time to poke fun at my so-called mother and father. I'm not even really offended that they won't show up; I'd be more offended if they did, anyway.

Defying them is one thing, but blatantly ignoring them at the Reaping is another.

"I'm over it," I say, shrugging, sitting down on the couch. Triton sits down next to me, playing with the little dish of sand on the end-table next to him. "But, let's not talk about that; it's a waste of time," I interject, wanting to change the topic of the conversation. "Have you figured out who's mentoring this year?"

"I tried," Triton says, kind of defeated. "Finnick got it, though. Go figure."

"He always gets what he wants," I say, mocking the words he said at his Victor's Interview. We all know that interview too well, everything he said being etched into our minds in District Four. "And he is what everyone wants, after all."

Triton laughs, and as he begins to quiet down, he stares off into the distance. He looks like he's reflecting on something, but I don't know what. I don't want him to doubt me, either, since that won't help my chances. I want him, as well as all of District Four, to have confidence in me.

If I didn't have confidence in myself, I wouldn't have volunteered, either.

"Is Evadne?" I say, breaking the silence. I want the conversation to keep going, especially before it's too late. Since Triton isn't mentoring this year, I won't have any more time other than this to talk to him. "She seemed pretty set on mentoring."

"After that Victor's Banquet, of course," Triton replies, looking back at me. "She has to prove herself in some other way, yeah? Bringing home a victor would be good enough."

"Guess I'll have to kill Darya, then," I deadpan, only half-kidding. But, I ignore my own statement, not wanting to bring up any form of death just yet – that's for the Games. And for now, I'm still in District Four.

When there's a knock on the door, a Peacekeeper comes in, but Triton shoots him a glance. I can't see what face Triton makes, but the Peacekeeper nods his head, closing the door again. I guess being a victor comes with special privileges.

"Don't worry about Darya just yet," Triton says, and by the tone of his voice I can tell he's going to begin one of his inspirational and insightful talks. "It's too early for that."

"Have any of the other Reapings recaps been shown yet?" I ask, knowing that Triton is always on top of things like that. Whenever he can, he tries to help, and not just by training. It started out as physical training, but then he began to give me advice and insight that I still remember to this day.

He's helped me in ways that I'm still grateful for.

Triton shakes his head. "No, but once they do, I'll watch them. On the train, make sure to discuss them with Finnick. He's young, but he's got a good head on those shoulders of his. He knows what he's doing."

I nod my head, looking back out the window. It's probably almost time to board the train, and then Triton will really have to go. And even though I won't admit it, I'll miss him and the talks we have from time-to-time. But, as we still are here, I continue the conversation.

"So," I say, racking my mind to bring up something else. "Any gossip on the victors? I'm sure you've heard all about the one from Two, Spike."

"Caught with another prostitute," Triton says, chuckling. "That's the third one this week."

"They never learn, do they?" I reply, laughing as well. I know for a fact that if I win, I would not turn out like Spike. Drugs, prostitutes, gambling – he's going down the wrong path.

I'm not even sure why he's throwing his life away like that.

The next knock on the door is more forceful, and Triton knows that he has to go this time. He stands up, brushing the sand off his fingers and back into the dish on the end-table. The Peacekeeper opens the door, waiting for Triton to leave. It seems that no one else is waiting outside for me, and Triton knows it.

I didn't expect much, anyway.

At least Triton came.

"Trent, just promise me one thing," Triton says, placing his hand on my shoulder. "Don't mess up."

"I'll try not to."

As I watch Triton walk out of the door, I lean further back in the couch, kicking up my feet onto the table. The door shuts, the sound having more of an impact than it should. For every other tribute, they'll have one more visitor, their doors closing only after someone else came in to say goodbye.

But, for me, that was it.

All I have is Triton.

And maybe that's why I volunteered. Why I want to win. Why I want to claim the title of victor, and you know what, all of the money and fame that follows wouldn't be so bad.

People would at least respect me then.

I wouldn't just take up space like my parents think.

I'm worth more than that, and now, I just have to show them that.

I just have to prove it to them.

Author's Note:

Reaping Part One: Complete!

Okay, so this is what the next chapter will be like too. Reapings can get tedious and can drag out, so I try to sum them up and condense them. Either way, there's one more Reaping chapter and then it's Capitol.

What did you think of the tributes/mentors shown here?

Who stood out?

And some general comments on the POVs and tributes would be great to read. The next chapter should be out somewhat soon, but I'm trying to finish my other SYOT before I get too into this one, so I'll see.

Well, that's it!