Crawley's screaming, Rebecca's out who-knows-where, Miranda's locked herself in her room. Most nights end in some kind of way that is very similar to this, nowadays.

Let me introduce myself. I'm Natalie Archer, and I'm 18 years old. When I was 16, I went into the unforgiving field of prostitution to make extra money for my family. It's gross and I've seen some things I could've very well been without, but it makes more money than I could in the mines, and keeps all of us alive.

Rebecca's been getting us extra food from some source she won't tell us. But every day she has something: if it's a loaf of bread, or a piece of cheese, or even sometimes meat. None of us have any idea where she gets these things from. But, hey, it's food, right?

Crawley works in the mines, but I think at least a quarter to half of that money goes toward his own personal alcohol fund. Not a night has passed in the past year or so that he hasn't been drunk as a skunk.

Then there's Miranda last, who works constantly and won't be stopped. I think, of all of us, she has it the worst, because she knew and loved both Dill and Cliff.

Crawley hates talk about Cliff. You just say the word Cliff and he has another bottle to his lips and just gives you a Crawley look of disappointment. I don't remember a lot from my childhood, but I do remember that Crawley never used to look like that.

The Crawley I remember from my childhood was clean, his hair always cut. When we were kids, Dill used to do this, but after he was gone, it was our Mom. He was always clean-shaven, always alert and attentive, always had a smile on.

This Crawley is so different. His hair's gotten shaggier and though it doesn't touch his neck quite yet, it might if he neglects to cut it any longer. He has stubble that he's Ok with. The alcohol's messed with his brain: he's not attentive and his reaction time's dramatically decreased. Not to mention that he's screamed at us more than smiled lately. And that's scary.

Today's a reaping day, and Crawley at least tries to stay sober for it. I'm the last of my siblings to go through it, and since I'm 18, it's my last year. Then the four of us that survived will watch from the audience portion and secretly mourn those that were reaped. Maybe some of us will start families: if by accident or not. Then we'll have to watch our kids go through the reapings and be able to do nothing but pray that they're safe.

But I don't want to think about the future just yet. It's too scary.

Miranda and Rebecca help me get ready for the reaping, Miranda evening out my pigtails, Rebecca actually making my slutty outfit almost presentable. Miranda adjusts the glasses on my face and then they both step back.

"Come find us after the reapings, Natalie," Miranda says. I nod.

"We'll see you then," Rebecca says. "Take this, too." She puts a hunk of bread in my hands. "Eat it all. You deserve it."

"Where do you get all this from?" I blurt out.

"Places," she says.

I eat and then decide to talk to Crawley before heading to the town square.

"Crawley-"

"Natalie. Do not do anything stupid, please."

"You actually think I would volunteer for the Games? Not in a million years."

"Good. We already have to live without Dill, we don't need you gone, too."

I have to admit that I don't know a lot about Dill. He was my brother, yes, but he died when I was three years old. I didn't exactly have all the time in the world to make memories with him and about him. I don't remember much more about Cliff. It's the worst, because all my other siblings remember both of them fairly vividly considering they were old enough to know both of them.

"I'll see you after the reapings, right?"

"That you will, kiddo."

"If I don't get reaped this year, will you stop drinking?" I ask. I know it's a long-shot but maybe I can at least get him to consider it.

"Why the hell would you ask me that?"

"I just thought maybe, because we're all safe from the Games, you'd consider it."

"Maybe."

Yes! It worked!

"Nat, I'm not making any promises. Besides, I'm addicted now, anyways. And soon I'll have nephews and nieces to worry about."

"What about sons or daughters?" I ask him.

"No. Never."

There's a long pause before I finally awkwardly walk towards the door. "I, uh, have to go now. I'll talk to all of you after the reapings."

I walk to the town square and I notice some of the many clients I've slept with glancing over at me. Some of them are lusting, I suppose, and I know that I'm being judged by so many people it isn't funny.

Our escort steps up to the stage, shows us the video, and before I know it, she's announcing the name of the girl tribute.

"Natalie Archer!"

I can't believe it. All those dreams about the future are smashed. All those realities of my kids going into the Games have disappeared. I'm almost positive I'm going to die in that Arena, leaving three Archers alive, and three dead.

Then again, if somehow I do come back alive, I could be a Victor. The three of us would never spend another night awake starving, the whole District would get food and I would redeem myself. None of us would ever have to work again: I'd get real clothes and fame, and they'd all be taken care of so well they'd never dream of going back into those mines again. That sounds pretty nice, and I decide to make that my goal.

Guess I'll be talking to my siblings after the reaping in a different way than I thought.

Nick's POV

"NICKOLAS!"

My father forcefully shakes me awake. My eyes open to see the cold, unforgiving, dark green eyes of my father glaring down at me. "Come on. Get up. You're volunteering today and need to get in extra hours of training."

He grabs me by the ear and tugs me awake. I stand up and groan, "I'm waking up!"

He yanks me by the shoulders out of bed and then promptly leaves.

My sister Sydney got lucky. As soon as she was born, she was sent off to live with our grandfather from or mother's side. She was almost aborted, but Grandpa offered to take her, so they went through with it.

Trust me, I'm reminded every single day that I'm a mistake. I'm reminded every day that I was never supposed to exist, and now I have to make it up to them by making myself useful. How to do that? Winning the Games, of course.

My uncle Elijah died in the first Games when I was Three. So, lately, I've been terrified of the Games. I miss him like there's no tomorrow, and wish I could've gotten to know him.

See, what happened was my mom, his sister, Valentina, messed around with my father, Trevor Kensy. When I was put in the equation, my mother forced my father to marry her. Then I was abused a lot and then the Academy was built and my Dad became an instructor. Soon, he became Games obsessed, while both of them are stuck in an unhappy marriage, and they both abuse me and each other. Today is the reaping day for the 16th Hunger Games, and I'm expected to volunteer. If I don't, well, bad things will happen.

I get dressed, thinking about my Uncle Elijah. Man, I really wish I would've been able to know him, just for another couple years. I wish someone would answer the questions I have about him. I can't bring him around without my mother giving me at least a bruise, and nobody will ever talk to me about him! It's the worst.

After I get dressed, I walk outside in the foggy, dewy, cold autumn morning. I walk down the old brick road, until I see the large stone square that says, in sophisticated capital letters:

THE NATE MCIALWAIN ACADEMY OF FUTURE TRIBUTES

It was named for District 2's first ever Victor, of the 2nd Games. I think I overheard someone say once that he was my Uncle's best friend. I wish he'd still be around for me to talk to, but he committed suicide after being a Victor became too much.

What if that happens to me, too? What if I win the Games just to go insane and put a sword through my head?

I sure hope it never comes to that. But, then again, nobody around here ever showed me any love. It'll either be my fatal characteristic error or it'll give me strength. I guess the only way to figure out which is to just face my fears and volunteer. Then win the Games and see how much it ruins my life.

I train until it's close to reaping time and I have to go home and get ready for my big moment. I put my bow away and walk back to my house down the sidewalk. I slip in quietly, hoping to get by unnoticed by either parent. My mom looks extremely frazzled as she yells at me, "Nickolas! You're late!"

"Calm down, Mom."

"Get dressed! You have to look nice if you're fucking volunteering. Even though you SHOULDN'T!"

My Dad appears in the doorway almost immediately as she says it. "WHAT?!" he roars.

I sit on the bed and massage my temples. Listening to them fight is exhausting.

"Your own flesh and blood could DIE out there!"

"He's not going to!"

"What if he does!?" she yells.

"You think I fucking care about EITHER of you!? Ha, you'll both be fucking lucky if I let you ENTER the house in the Victor's Village!"

"Hey, it's technically mine!" I say, not standing up to challenge him to a physical fight. He yanks me up by the shirt anyways and holds his fist up to my face, "I dare you to say something like that one more time," he growls. "You think I'm afraid to give you a black eye on your volunteering day? YOU THINK I'M FUCKING AFRAID!? I'LL STILL PUNCH THE SHIT OUT OF YOU!" he says with an angry laugh.

"Dad, don't! Please!"

"HE NEEDS TO GET READY!" Mom says, "PUT HIM DOWN!"

He shoves me backwards and she leaves the room, him soon following. I take a bath and wash my hair when I suddenly hear Mom screaming from the kitchen. It's a combination of swear words and yelping and screaming of pain. Soon his yells echo through the room, too, bad words and lots of Games shit. I hurry up and get dressed, barely taking time to dry my hair before running back out to them to stop the fighting. They're screaming at each other just as I run in.

Dad has a big gash down his head and nose, gushing blood, and Mom is cowering in the corner, bleeding and bruised. Neither of them stops screaming at each other, even with me there.

"HE'LL NEVER VOLUNTEER!" she shouts, "NOT IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT!" He tugs her up by the shirt and swings at her jaw, screaming, "YOU'RE JUST UPSET BECAUSE YOUR BROTHER WAS A FUCKING FAILURE THAT NEVER DID ANYTHING RIGHT! YOU'RE UPSET BECAUSE HE'S A PUSSY, AND HE LOST! HA, IT WAS A GOOD THING, TOO! HE WAS GOOD FOR NOTHING EXCEPT FOR BABYING CATS AND MAKING GOOGLY EYES AT MCIALWAIN LIKE A FUCKING CREEP!" He lets her go, and swivels on a foot to face me. "If you don't volunteer, I promise you'll die," he growls, before exiting the house.

Mom cries into her knees loudly and I kneel next to her. "It's Ok, Mom-"

"GET OUT OF HERE!" she shouts, slapping me across the face, "GET OUT OF HERE NOW!"

I obediently get up and run out of the house, making my way towards the square for the reapings.

The reapings come and go, and I suddenly volunteer myself as tribute.

I'm going into the Hunger Games.

After the Games, I always had these horrible nightmares. Sometimes it's about my Dad, or Mom. Sometimes, it's about Natalie, the girl from District 12 who saved me, who I killed the next day. God, that hurts me every day, especially going to District 12 for the Victory Tour.

My Mom and Dad fight every day about who gets to stay "with Nickolas" in the Victor's Village. I don't like having either of them, alone or separate, in the house with me. True, Dad doesn't abuse me half as much as he did before the Games, but my Mom's still awful when you ask about Uncle Elijah, and Dad never rejects an opportunity to slap me.

The other reason I never stay at the Victor's Village is because I found people that love me. When Talon isn't out sleeping with some random person for fun, he's fun to drink with. But my best friends are definitely Platinum, Dutch, and Osmium. He took me in as a son, and Uncle Platinum's a good Dad. He's never hurt me before (except once he accidentally smacked me in the face with a door, but then he got ice cream so it was alright again) and he's so… Loving.

Dutch is more like my best friend, and Os is like my little brother. I spend most of my time with them, as opposed to hanging out in District 2. And when Dutch goes into and wins the 20th Games, we grow closer together. We help each other, which is something I need. The thing is that I didn't know how much of my help he needed until I found him with… It. I eventually wrestled him for it and now it's currently laying on my nightstand, across from the desk in my room. I write a letter to Dutch quietly, like I do when I need to clear my head. After fits of screaming, Dad went out to drink and the house is to myself.

"Pssst… PSSSSTTT… Niiiiccckkk…"

I stare at the contraption lying on the counter and it stares back at me.

"Hey Nick… Hey…Nick…"

I try to look away, to get back to the letter I was writing to Dutch.

"You're going to have to face me sometime, Nickolas."

"Stop it. Stop it now."

"It's inevitable."

"No it's not!"

"Why don't you ask your little Uncle Platinum? Why don't you ask your best friend Dutch? Why don't you ask the ever-so-famous-and-loved Talon Davenport? Why don't you even ask your Uncle Walt?"

"You're messing with me! You're messing with me! Talon and Walt don't have scars!"

"Not on their arms, they don't. It's something that every Victor has to face someday. Today's your day, Nickolas Kensy."

I try to ignore it. I really try.

"Nickolas… Nick…"

Finally it becomes impossible to ignore it any longer. I put down my pencil and stiffen as I finally turn and face the razor.

"I know you have regrets. I know you're carrying guilt."

"You're right."

"I can help."

"No you can't."

"Everyone does it."

"Well I'm not everyone."

There's a pause. "Dutch does it. Your best friend."

"He did it. I'm determined to save him from it."

"It'll feel good, though."

"No it won't."

"You've taken so many lives… And yet you're here unscathed. I can help you to punish yourself, Nickolas. Wouldn't that be nice? Then you won't be so guilty."

"I'm not unscathed," I growl, "I have scars everywhere and they're certainly not from myself!"

"That was before you took lives, though. It doesn't count."

"It won't make anything better!"

"How do you know that until you try? Think, Nick."

"Thinking is dangerous."

"Think about District 12. Remember meeting Crawley Archer?"

My voice quivers but I do everything I can to keep it steady, "I remember meeting Crawley. He hugged me."

"Do you know how hard it must've been? For him to hug the man that killed his little sister?"

"Yes. I know. It must've been hard."

"Do you remember the look in Natalie's eyes when she let you go?"

I bite my lip hard to keep from crying. "Her death was her own fault."

"I think you're in denial, Nickolas."

Maybe I am. But I won't admit it.

"It was her own fault. She should've killed me."

"But she didn't. She decided to have mercy on you. If only the favor was returned."

"It's a fight to the death!"

"That doesn't change anything and you know it."

"How do you know it doesn't!?"

"I'm not just some blade, Nick. I'm in your head. I know you."

A chill runs up my spine. My hand touches the handle of the blade and my fingers wrap around it.

"There you are, Nickolas."

No. No, I can't do this! I make my fingers let go of the razor and it hits the table with a loud clatter.

"I can't! I won't! I don't want scars on my arms!"

"You won't, if you just roll up your shirt a little bit…"

"I can't! After all I've been through, everyone who's died so that I can be alive, I can't just throw away my life!"

"All those people that died-"

I cut it off with a loud growl, "They gave me all the more reason to live."

"It's not like you'll die from cutting!"

"I could!"

"Very unlikely of a risk."

With a shaking hand, I pick up the razor again.

"Now you're cooking with oil. Why don't you let me be acquainted with that stomach of yours?"

That was one of the things some Capitolite said to me on the night I was forced to lose my virginity. Except the word "stomach" was replaced by the word "dick." Would you expect anything less for a Capitolite to say to a Victor that's their prostitute?

I walk to the recycling bin, open my fingers, and drop the razor in it. Then I double bag the infernal contraption and put the bag outside to be collected. Then I turn around and walk away, away from the pain, the blood, the eternal suffering, the scars, forever.