How does it feel,

To be without a home,

Like a complete unknown,

Like a rolling stone?

- Bob Dylan

Carlie Compton, District 10, 17

The evening before the Reapings had always held an anxious kind of tension; the spring air was usually pleasant and provided a cooling effect that eased the dry heat of District Ten, almost reassuringly bathing my skin in its relieving cold as I stood out on the porch of my father's ranch and looked out at District Ten's faint town center. The place where the Reaping would occur seemed like a bright star in the barren horizon, and I could only hope that tonight wasn't the last night that I'd be looking out and admiring it.

I wasn't too nervous - the chances of me going into those Games were slim. When your father owned one of the more successful ranches in the Districts and there was food in the table every night your chances of security were almost guaranteed in comparison to the children who had a ton of name slips in that glass bowl to escape the cruel clutches of starvation. I was not one of those people. I told myself that thousands of times as I looked out into the porch, hearing a pulling lull of chatter and pop-music in the house behind me. But the chances were still there, and those chances - those six name slips - were still nagging in the back of my mind.

"Carlie?" My mother's voice came from the doorway and I turned around and smiled at her. My mother was a mature woman with a great smile and full figure, epitomising the 'girl next door' kind of beauty District Ten loved. It always made me feel complimented whenever I was told I looked like my mother's clone. "You're supposed to be coming inside, the party is goin' on and Devon is here."

Devon. The guy who I had been dating for a year who I hated. It seemed medieval to be with somebody who you didn't even like, but I was a socially aware girl who was conscious of my duties as the daughter of a successful man. My family were a traditional District Ten business family: my father was a businessman with his beautiful trophy of a wife. He was constantly thinking about the future of his business and who is to inherit it and was always hoping my mother would give him a son. Unfortunately my mother had never bore him one and the fruits of her womb were beginning to shrivel, so the chances of them ever producing the heir they wanted has suddenly shrunk.

So my father, ever the strategist, had decided to find me a suitor. That suitor had come in the form of Devon. My parents had both seen Devon as the perfect husband for me: he came from a well-to-do family, he was well-educated, charismatic, polite and handsome. Even I was a little charmed on the first few dates, but my interest had began to wane and I suddenly found myself finding Devon to be egotistical and uninteresting. I was well-educated, but I didn't want to talk about economics, politics or the things he was interested in. And Devon was uninterested in horses, music or any kind of poetry; the kind of things that I found interesting.

I walked into my father's living room where he was holding a good luck party. He held it every year as a way to wish all of his rich friends and their rich children good luck as if it were a lucky charm from the Reaping - maybe it was. Nobody I knew had been Reaped before. But the party was also a place where everybody had expressed satisfaction and adoration for the Capitol; my parents had always talked about the rebels in a favourable light considering we had been descended from them, but they were mildly pro-Capitol and never really had any ethical qualms with the Hunger Games. In all honesty I didn't either, but that still didn't stop me feeling worried and pressured by them.

"Carlie dear," my mother collected a tray and thrust it into my open arms. I found myself looking down at refreshing, sparkling beverages. "Do make sure to hand all of these drinks to our guests, will ya? And even more importantly try to talk to Devon!" She winked at me a little. "You've been together for a year and you haven't talked to him for a whole twenty-four hours!"

"When we say we're together we don't mean we're Siamese twins," I replied curtly, provoking a smile from my mother.

She went away into the kitchen to cook something as some guests flocked around me for refreshments. As I had been trained to do as a child, I smiled charmingly at everybody while striking up some great small talk. I was so good at pretending to like every single snob that came and went and I wondered if all of the other happy little wives were as pessimistic as I was under their white smiles and displays of candour.

"Carlie," a husky voice said behind me, accompanying the trailing of a finger up my arm before strong hands rested on my shoulder. I turned to face my year long boyfriend. Devon's striking green eyes and silky hair that looked as if it had been sewn from golden corn had made my heart flutter for about half a second until I realised he had the personality of a catfish.

"Devon," I smiled and held out the tray. "Would you happen to like some lemonade?"

"Don't mind if I do," Devon collected a glass and I continued smiling widely until the muscles in my cheeks throbbed. "I'm more of a root beer fan though, looks like you don't have any." He winked in a way that would usually be charming but only instilled some kind of revulsion in the pit of my stomach. "Just a tip for when we're married."

Devon had talked about lots of topics I hated. Whenever he talked about politics and economics with that same old condescending tone I usually felt indifferent, able to bare the boredom. But when he talked about our future marriage and children my fight or flight instinct automatically kicked in even though I maintained the facial expression of a brick. I forced myself to smile, letting out a tinkling laugh as if I were excited for the day. Devon wasn't wrong, we would inevitably marry for social status, but it was still a kick in the gut that I'd have to marry him and bear his children. But I kind of continued accepting the whole ordeal begrudgingly; marriage had always been a business transaction throughout history, and my future marriage wasn't going to be any different. I'd still have money and be free to do the things I loved while he ran businesses, maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

"So Devon," I swept my hair back and noticed the desire in his eyes. "What have you been doing tonight?"

"Oh, just talking to your father about who he'll be electing as the next Mayor," Devon grinned. "We were both agreeing that electing Wade would be the best idea, because I know you don't like talking about it but you're obviously intelligent enough to know why District Ten shouldn't introduce a minimum wage. Not just is it economically stupid, but to pass such a radical policy we'd have to go to the Capitol for-"

I paused, same old boring conversation, same old pedantic tone. I had almost detached myself from the world completely and kept my facial expressions on autopilot according to Devon's words which refused to sink into my head. But then I suddenly noticed those all too familiar dimples and charming blue eyes, laughing at me beneath the tinted windowpane behind Devon. Awkwardness had seized me and my facial expression dropped, but there was also that feeling of excitement I felt whenever I had seen him.

"Devon, I really want Wade to be Mayor too," I thrust out the tray of drinks and forced him to seize them. Devon seemed incredibly out of place now that he had to actually do something other than talk about his meaningless opinions. "But I also really need to feed the horses." He looked incredibly dejected and I joked: "But hey, why don't you talk to the men about that kind of stuff? They'd understand it a lot better than I ever could."

"Yeah, of course," Devon said as I scurried outside.

An ocean of cool air had hit me again. I closed the door behind me, hearing the wind force multiple notes from the wind chimes, the tinkle had continued for a few seconds and then there was silence. I paced from one end of the porch to the other, waiting to see his face again.

"Jared," I spoke out loud after a brief moment, my voice followed by multiple chimes as the wind blew. "No more games, come on out!"

He seemed to come out of nowhere, hopping over the porch and making me jump. I fell back into the wall and felt my hair go out of place as Jared had held onto my waist. There was a tense silence again, devoid of any wind or noise as I was looking into Jared's eyes and he was giving me that same old grin. I huffed and pushed him away lightly, though he was pretty strong from farm labour, so I wasn't too successful.

"You know I hate it when you do that," I said, trying to sound more angry than I felt. "You're not supposed to be here! It's the day before the Reaping and if my pops-"

"You know I don't care," Jared said, as silent as ever behind his rambunctious expression.

I had kind of forgotten the main reason I had ever lost interest in Devon. The flat personality was one reason behind my new indifference, but the appearance of Jared had mostly catalysed the whole thing. I had met Jared about six months ago when he had become a temporary farmhand for my parents ranch and somehow some kind of romance blossomed. My father's hopes of me being the ideal wife would be crushed if he ever discovered I had been cheating on Devon throughout most of our relationship.

Guilt and shame were always the disadvantage of being with Jared. As were the fact he was the antithesis to my thesis; both in class, gender, likes and interests. But still, Jared's love for country music, his bad-boy nature and the way he could kind of bring out a side of me I never knew... it was incredibly refreshing.

"Come home with me," Jared said, kissing around my neck and sending chills down me that weren't related to the night air. "You need to loosen up a little."

"I need to be home for Reaping morning," I said, more tempted than ever. After a few brief kisses I suddenly smiled. "Or maybe I need to think about my parents a little less..."

Jared held onto my hand and grinned. "I think you do. I have the horses ready."

The fact Jared enjoyed riding horses as much as I did was a big appeal. Also the fact that he allowed me to spread my wings a bit, to know there was more to life than social duty, family and money. He encouraged me to actually act on what I wanted and not what was socially accepted of me. I was too cautious to ever say for certain but I think I actually loved Jared, or had the potential to. As we linked hands and rushed off through the fields, our giggles accompanying the night as we disappeared, I knew that whatever we had it was certainly better than my false relationship with Devon.

"Goddammit Jared," I hissed, slipping into last night's dress and inspecting myself in the mirror to ensure that what I was wearing was socially acceptable for the Reaping. The simple, navy blue shift dress seemed appropriate enough, and it didn't look worn out even though I had worn it for a few hours the night prior. To try and make myself look a little more formal I tied my hair into a tight bun and removed my grandmother's pearls from my cardigans' pockets. My thumb traced the pearls as I remembered my grams, wishing that she was here to give me some well needed advice. "My parents are going to kill me."

"What have I told you about your parents?" Jared chuckled. I inspected his toned physique from the reflection behind me, pretending that I was examining my pearly white teeth and deep brown eyes when in reality I was being a little more perverted. I cleared my throat, fawning over my hair for a few more seconds.

"I haven't moved out or gotten married yet," I said, sounding so much more traditional than Jared's liberal attitude as I slipped into last night's shoes. "They have the power. So are you getting out of bed?"

"No," Jared groaned, rolling onto his back and forcing me to frown.

"You seem to forget you're eighteen years old and you're eligible for the Reaping too," I said bluntly. Whenever the Reaping was mentioned there was that same old nervous feeling in my stomach even though I couldn't help but acknowledge that my chances were small. Next to impossible. When Jared refused to stir I beamed. "Or you could just come along purely for the purpose of accompanying me before I'm sent off to be killed?"

Jared perked up a little. "Don't say that."

"You sound serious for once in your life," we both chuckled and I leant in for a kiss.

Jared quickly fumbled around for clothes and before I knew it we were back out into the streets of District Ten. Luckily for me Jared lived in the town center so we didn't have to use a vehicle, horses or walk miles like many of the poorer children in the District did. Considering how close the Reaping was many surrounding families walked in sync with their scared or stony faced little children, all of them feeling the same faint despair as I did. I tried to retain or be inspired by Jared's optimism and carelessness, merely linking hands with him and smiling.

If I had to be honest there were worse things I had to worry about. My parents would probably ask me where I had been the night previously and I obviously couldn't give them or Devon the actual explanation. They'd be angry at me for wearing yesterday's clothes even if I looked immaculate, especially in comparison to the sluggish children surrounding me with their rags and grimy faces. One talent I did have was lying or deceiving people with my facade of being a good little family girl - maybe I could tell them I had to stay with a grieving friend or something like that. After all, I did have a lot of friends, even if I wasn't particularly close to any of them.

I winced a little when we reached the newly-constructed gates leading to the town square. All around us Peacekeepers had flocked, and a little girl in the gate next to me was screeching as a Peacekeeper pricked her finger to take a sample of her blood. I winced, though I had been used to the same old treatment for the past year. I gave Jared one last smile as he approached the Peacekeeper too, and then quickly hurried into the seventeen's section where I'd be split from Jared until the Reaping was over.

"Bonjour tout le monde!" The escort's voice reverberated around the wide space which was slowly being filled by children who flocked the square in the same way our cattle flocked the abattoirs. It was time to see who would make the best meat. "It's wonderful to see District Ten again!"

Our escort, Geonova, was pretty okay as far as escorts went. His newly styled hair perfectly accompanied that friendly yet oblivious smile most Capitolians had, though I couldn't really make out his face through the bright spectre of a sun above him that cost a burning light across the squinting faces of children. Around us were our family, and I knew that my father and mother would be there somewhere. They knew that I'd come to the Reapings, right? I lolled on my anxieties while the Mayor read out the treaty and talked about how wonderful the Capitol was, stressing that we were being punished for the ungrateful actions of our ancestors.

When it was finally over Geonova rushed back to the microphone, relieved that the history lesson was over. "Well, we all know the history, but lets also remember the Games' traditional meaning also accompanies the fact we're all here to just have fun and unite with the Capitol over some kind of common denominator!" There was silence, and the disillusioned escort strutted over to the glass bowl which contained some of my name slips. "Anyway, enough of all that, right? Lets pick our girl!"

His hand fished around the bowl for a few seconds, the slips like butter in his hands, purposely being let fall as soon as he clutched them. After a few seconds of messing us around and leaving us in tension, probably grabbing the name slip of every girl in the District, Geonova settled with one of the slips in the bowl. I closed my eyes, praying to whatever god out there that he hadn't picked my name. He wouldn't pick my name right? I mean, the chances of that happening were just...

"Carlie Compton!"

I paused for a second, unable to believe that my own name was called out. Some of the people surrounding me cast me a sympathetic glance, and for that moment all television cameras on the sidelines and all the eyes of my peers were fixed upon me. It was a very numbing and debilitating experience. I didn't know how to react, setting one foot forwards before I realised I was literally walking to what could be my death. What was most likely my death. To my humiliation I burst into tears and almost collapsed onto the floor in the process.

Through my sobs I could hear my mother also crying loudly and shouting my name though at that moment that wasn't what bothered me. A Peacekeeper grabbed me and forced me to my feet as the surrounding children hurriedly cleared the area. Then, to my dismay, the Peacekeeper's strong grip was my vehicle to the stage. My tear filled eyes managed to acknowledge the shocked looking children, my crying mother on the sidelines as she stood beside my ashen faced father and a remorseless looking Devon.

Then I was led up those steps onto the stage where Geonova patted my shoulder lightly.

"There, there dear, I know it's a little scary," his smile was warm, though he didn't understand. His kind would never understood - hell, up until this moment I never really comprehended the bloodiness of the Hunger Games. Forgetting me immediately after he strutted to the boy's bowl with an enthusiastic smile. "So here's your girl! Lets applaud her and make her feel a little bit better about this whole ordeal!"

I stood fixed, watching the motionless audience not applaud at all but instead focus on the floor remorsefully now that they had witnessed what was most likely the death of their fellow citizen. A collective intake of breath was taken as Geonova fished in the male reaping bowl in the same manner as he had earlier, withdrawing a slip of paper, uncurling it and then reading it to us all:

"Aurochs Vierra!"

The friends of the boy called gasped and turned to look at him, prompting everybody else to repeat their motion. I understood how he felt, and felt almost threatened that the stocky, strong jawed guy in front of me didn't burst in to tears like I did. Still feeling the crusted brine on my face, I watched as Aurochs made his way to the stage looking shocked, confused but calm overall. I knew he was scared, but he did a much better job at hiding it than I did as he marched to the stage.

"No! No!" I heard screaming from the sides and the Peacekeepers tactically intercepted the boy's mother. Even though Aurochs was as unlucky as I was I felt this immediate jealousy for two reasons: his family actually cared about him enough to fight and scream for him, and though my family looked miserable they hadn't reacted quite as emotionally and had remained composed. Almost as if I were an object. And he had appeared much more competent than I had, but I knew I still had abilities. I could use my social skills, I was fit enough to struggle through the Games if I really set my mind to it.

"Shake hands," Geonova reminded us as we both made our way to the stage. I looked up at the taller boy, our hands clasping without forethought. I even smiled at him politely, and though I hated murder with every inch of my being I knew that he had to die for me to survive. So did many others.

No more polite little girl that listened to daddy's every order. No longer would I let myself slip into the background and become an object. I was prepared to throw that aside because ultimately I had to fight, manipulate and ultimately kill to get out alive. And that included the much stronger boy who stood in front of me, his mind still blank as he processed the situation.

"District Ten's tributes for the two-hundredth and fourth Hunger Games!"

Sebastian Keating, District 6, 17

District Six was located in a part of the country that was usually pretty dry without the faintest trace of humidity, but something had changed today. The citizens rushed through the streets, covering their heads with newspaper or tatty jackets as the rain had forced itself down the sky violently. When the downpour had started I was lucky enough to have gotten to my door, opening it and glancing behind me at the storm which sent torrents down the streets of District Six.

"Seb?" My mother came into the bland hallway, noticing my wet clothes. "Where have you been? This morning you told me you wanted to just catch up with friends for five minutes before the Reapings-"

"I did want to catch up," I said earnestly.

My mother looked at me with a little bit of scorn, but it faltered when she had laughed a little. "For a few hours?"

"I didn't catch a glimpse of the time," I chuckled.

She gave me another scornful look, though it was ruined the the subtle amusement across her face. When she turned I followed her into our simple kitchen. Inside the pan something delicious was brewing - my mother had spent her whole life providing and cooking for everybody, and to say she had become a competent cook was an understatement. I just hoped that whatever she was cooking didn't have meat, something that I hadn't been too fond of eating ever since I had developed an affinity for animals. I watched my mum scoop soup up with a ladle and pour it into a bowl, almost thrusting it into my arms.

"No meat," she said knowingly. I sat down at our shoddy kitchen table while she hurried back to the kitchen sink to continue cleaning the substantial pile of plates left to float in the kitchen sink.

I retrieved a small spoon and sank it into the soup, staring into the contents contemplatively for a few seconds as the sounds of the children running, playing and screaming through the corridors was audible, merging with the pattering of rain against the window and the clattering of washed dishes. It was funny that for such a grim day, Reaping day was the one day where we usually managed to get treated. The prospect of losing their children made my parents more mild: if we did something wrong they didn't dare shout at us, they'd ensure that our meals were well cooked and that we had been given extra large portion, they'd put us in clothes that actually looked well maintained.

As I sat there eating for those few seconds I pondered the possibility of me being Reaped. They were tiny, but still there. I was seventeen so there would be six slips of paper in that bowl, and the escorts hand could withdraw it. But my older sister - now age twenty-one - had survived it. Most District children had survived the Reapings, so I should dismiss any paranoia. I was usually a happy carefree person, and I wouldn't let the Reaping change my demeanour.

"Tag!" There was a fit of giggles as my twin sisters rushed into the room, breaking me out of my stream of consciousness. "You're it!"

"No way Scarlett," the other sister turned, verging on a tantrum. "That is not fair!"

"Liar, liar, pants on fire!" Clara taunted.

My mother turned to the twins and lectured them about leaving her alone in the kitchen as I sat by, watching and laughing. I could see why my younger twin siblings were a pain when it came to my parents, but I just kind of saw them as a barrel of fun.

"Now come on," my mother grabbed both of their hands. "It's time to get a tub. We have some hot water today, and it's the Reaping so we think that it's time for you two to go and wash."

"No!" They both protested. My mother tried dragging them out the room but they kicked and writhed with vehemence, Scarlett even striking my mother lightly in the process. By the time I had finished my meal my mother had returned with a weary, tired look.

"They finally got in the tub?" I said, laughing. When they were older a bath, especially a hot one, would become a luxury. But every young child preferred being painted in dirt than shoved in a tub that had to be used by every other family member; that was how I was when I had been young.

"Your father is watching over them," my mother said, scooping up my bowl. "You should be washing your own dishes at seventeen, Seb. It's the Reaping in an hour, so I suggest you get yourself ready."

Following my mother's advice and wanting to escape more complaints about how many chores I did in the house, I scurried out of the room and up my stairs. Though our family weren't particularly rich we were lucky enough to rent a two-storey house with three bedrooms. Inside my room was my younger brother Ashton. He sat inspecting his worn-down suit in the mirror contemplatively as I walked over to my bed and slumped on it, letting silence stir by as I relaxed for the next five minutes.

Unlike the rest of his wild family, Ashton had always been quiet, but he never sat there just looking at himself in the mirror for minutes at a time. I could tell he was worried, but not for himself. Everybody but me in the family was too old or young to be Reaped, and at ten Ashton himself was two years off being one of the Capitol's potetial victims. I found myself leaning up, resting against the wall and watching him as he turned and smiled at me.

"You should get ready," he said. "You're the one who needs to attend the Reaping and you're not even dressed. Have you gotten washed yet?"

"Yes," I lied, slipping out of bed and rushing to see what my mother had prepared me for Reaping day.

Unlike everyone else, I requested to not be dressed up too formal. I hated formal wear, and hated how boys and girls in the District attempted to look decent on Reaping day, as if they were trying to impress the Capitol. Ultimately they looked silly too, swaddled in torn dresses or ancient suits in an attempt to look on par with the glittering and glamorous Capitolites.

After slipping into some clean, untorn jeans and a shirt with a nice jacket I inspected myself in the mirror for a few more seconds, debating on whether it would be beneficial to comb my black hair. My hair was naturally straight anyway. After smiling at myself brightly in the mirror, almost for reassurance, I turned back to Ashton.

"You look great," Ashton smiled. He had always been an affectionate brother.

"Thanks," I said, ruffling through his hair and knowing that he was lying. Not that I was ugly, but my love life had always been stagnant in comparison to my social life. There was nothing particularly good, bad or definable about me - no scars, everything was average. I had kind of accepted the fact I wasn't the best looking guy in District Six, often telling myself that my personality and all the friends I had kind of made up for it all.

Knowing that my dad had taken my twins out of the tub, I moved into the empty space we liked to call a bathroom and used the leftover, relatively clean water to scrub away the faint traces of dirt on my face to avoid any complaints for my mother. I didn't feel I had time to put in the effort to bathe or do a full body wash, but I looked suitable enough for the Reapings, so with that I rushed down the stairs where my family waited by the doorway for me so that we could go into the streets of District Six and head off to the town center.

My parents had waited for me hand in hand, the twins sitting in front of them also linking with intertwined fingers. My father had always been an austere, more quiet man like Ashton, which was why I hadn't connected with him as much, but everybody was particularly quiet today. Even the twins barely made a noise as I smiled enthusiastically at them. We were all an incredibly loving, caring family. I was blessed to have them. I was also blessed with incredibly slim chances of even being Reaped, so I didn't understand their paranoia, their fear that it would be my name being called out and the silence that replaced conversation.

"It's going to be like every other year," I said, rolling my eyes.

My older sister Vallerie, a pretty girl in her twenties, flounced into the corridor with a tinkling laugh. "What are we all so worried for?" Everybody turned to face her as if she were stupid, their looks reminding her that today was Reaping day. She rolled her eyes. "You guys are really that bothered that it's Reaping day? There are thousands of kids in District Six," she ruffled my hair as she passed and gave a large smile to my parents. It didn't seem to cheer them. "He's not going to be Reaped, and even if he does it won't be that bad."

"Just me getting killed and stuff," I joked as my mother had gotten two large, thick woolly coats from the makeshift coat rack. Vallerie turned to me, understanding it was all a big joke.

"Oh wait, you'll die if you get Reaped? Hey, maybe I can tell the escort to just call your name anyway," I laughed. Funnily enough, Ashton also laughed.

"Maybe I can get a room to myself!"

"Oh yeah, you'd love that, wouldn't you?" Vallerie bent down at her knees so that she was at his level. "And then we could hold a party. And it would be the best party ever - even better than all of the lame parties he's tried holding."

"Hey! I hold good parties!" I joked along.

I knew Vallerie joking about my death was just a joke and took it in my stride. Vallerie and I were incredibly close; we were pretty similar in the way we both looked at things optimistically, enjoyed a good laugh and socialising with our friends. We also held great parties whenever our parents had worked late shifts or gone out at night, though recently it had stirred into a bit of a rivalry. We always joked about who could hold the best parties. Considering I had managed to snag enough cheap wine from the black market and nobody had even remembered what had happened during my last party two months ago, I was kind of in the lead, though Vallerie was a close second.

"Stop joking about these things," my mother said. Though usually warm, there was a frost that had been caught in her throat that chilled the room as she spoke. She slipped into her own coat and forced a smile. "The Reaping is going to be okay, we've gotten through it with Vallerie and we know we're going to get through it with Seb... it's just nothing we joke about lightly, parents lose their children every single year." She looked at Vallerie, Ashton and I. "Are you understood?"

"Yes," we all said guiltily.

"Good," my mother smiled and opened the door. "To the town center we go."

We all went into the rainy streets. Though my mother and the twins had coats, the rest of us had to bear the feeling of cold rain pressing into our skin, hair and clothes, though it was much lighter than it had been thirty minutes previously. The rest of the Districts trudged along in their drab, makeshift formal attire and the nervous or depressed looks on their faces. I almost felt sorry for them. District Six had always been one of the more bleak, grey Districts. It had always been poor and miserable and I had always felt out of place for making the best out of my situation and trying to tell myself that everything was going to be okay.

I mean, though starvation was common and you'd always expect to see the fleets of homeless people and corpses in the street where people had starved to death, I had heard from rumours that our District was nowhere near as awful as Districts Eleven and Twelve. So that was a bonus, as was the bonus that my dad had a wage that was enough to provide - and even during times where his wage wasn't enough my mother would find some kind of work that would help out.

After a twenty minute walk the twins had eventually started to complain and my parents had to pick them up. Soon the network of people trudging through the streets grew more thick and dense and people waited outside the gates that led into the town square. I stood in the crowd and my mother gave me a quick hug and a kiss.

"We'll be going into the sidelines," she told me. "Meet up with us after the Reaping and we'll have a nice, celebratory dinner prepared, okay?"

"That's fine," I smiled. "No lamb?"

"Lamb for everyone but you," in her arms a giggling Clara forced her body forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

I grinned a little, stretching out my arm to tickle her before my mother hurried away and I was left with a crowd of worried looking strangers. After another fifteen minute wait I was finally at the gate where a Peacekeeper was chatting to another as he pricked children's fingers, marking down their names and letting them diffuse into the town square.

"We need to be on high alert this year," one of the Peacekeepers said, pricking a sobbing twelve-year old's finger and letting her through. "The President has placed District Ten and District Four on red alert, it will only be a matter of time before District Six revolt."

"Wouldn't surprise me, this District did revolt pretty recently," his female counterpart said, scribbling down the name of one of the many thousands of children. I knew what she was talking about; District Six's main industry used to be in transport, which was why our District was so big and why it had so many road and rail networks, as well as large production centers where hoverboards and planes were produced. When the Capitol had made living standards incredibly low they had restricted the workers so tightly we revolted, though the revolt had failed and we were punished. The transport industries were nationalised and conditions made even more brutal. In protest we had slowly monopolised a medicinal industry, though that had only led to more access of drugs, hence District Six had a high proportion of morphling (and other addictive substance) addicts. Even around me I could see people who held the telltale signs of morphling takers: jaundiced skin, bloodshot eyes and sunken features.

"Yeah, wouldn't surprise me if they tried again."

"It'll all calm down in a few years time," I listened through the trivial chatter and crying children to hear what they were saying. "Anyway, have you seen these kids? Not like they can do much."

I approached the female Peacekeeper and she gave me a blunt smile, barely acknowledging me as she pricked me finger, scanned my DNA and scribbled down my name. The barriers in front of me were temporarily let down and I hurried into the town center as the Peacekeepers changed their conversation to a recent Capitolian scandal.

After a few minutes of wrestling, I found my way into the seventeen's section. The stage was currently empty and after a few minutes of shoving and searching, I managed to find my best friend Ethan. Other friends of mine surrounded him - Clark, Melisa, Lan, Tarrik... They all acknowledged me and waved, and I waved to them all back and stepped closer so that we were close enough to clap each other on the back enthusiastically.

"Hey!" They all greeted.

"Hey guys," there was a few minutes of hand shaking and catch ups. We tried to distract ourselves from the fact that we were waiting for two kids to be called to their death and that we were potentially one of those kids had made the atmosphere a little nervous, even when we did distract ourselves with topics such as last week's party, who had done what and what we planned to do once the Reaping was over. Ethan was unusually silent, looking out at the empty stage.

I didn't need to ask him why he was worried, it was kind of obvious; behind us in the congregation of sixteen year olds his girlfriend, Skye, was standing. I liked Skye, she was one of those girls who rarely spoke ill of anyone else and I had known her since infancy. I would be almost as sad as Ethan if she were to be Reaped.

"It's okay," I said to Ethan, grabbing his shoulder reassuringly. "She won't get picked."

"I know..." Ethan said, sighing. "I'm just worried. Not for myself, but-"

We jolted at a sudden, large banging noise. In the sky fireworks sprinkles, not made mild by the cracks of sunlight through the clouds. When they descended as smoke our escort, Markoz, made his way onto the stage and grabbed the microphone. Markoz looked much more modest than most of the other escorts on television, but the way he held the microphone, his pearly smile and charismatic demeanor held more life than the children that surrounded me and the adults who waited nervously on the sidelines.

"District Six!" He clapped as the Mayor made his way to the podium. "Now, we all know it's time to prepare for the two-hundredth and fourth Hunger Games. So many Hunger Games, and will District Six have their best tributes yet?" When I thought about it, there wasn't much competition on the boy's side for the past few years, though the District Six girl last year was pretty tough and had done well for herself. "So, we will go through the procedures which you're all familiar with after the treaty of treason is read out!"

I could recite the treaty with my eyes closed, it was nailed into our heads every reapings and at the beginning of history lessons. Rebellion, rebels losing, District Thirteen being destroyed and the Capitol punishing us with the Hunger Games. I always found the Capitol's story a little flimsy, especially considering District Thirteen had been revealed to survive and were now at war with the Capitol. Still, every Capitolite fell for it - I could see Markoz with his eyes closed, reciting the Mayor's words to himself with his hand proudly tightened over his heart.

Markoz wiped tears of marvel for his eyes before composing himself and striding back to the microphone with that same casual smile. He seized the microphone and moved his hand above a bowl full of slips, a glint in his eyes:

"So, now it's time for the procedure," he said. "Hold your breath, it's time to select our girl this year!"

Baited breaths seized everyone, but not due to excitement. It was linked to the fact that a girl, a daughter, a friend, a girlfriend, a sister, a cousin... somebody out there was going to be selected and most probably killed. Both of the District Six girls had endured nasty fates in the past two Games, crushed and decapitated. I almost hoped this year the Games would be more merciful and that the girl selected would endure a quick, near-painless death in the Bloodbath.

"Brandy Gripen!" Markoz announced.

A concoction of gasps and relieved sighs made their way through the audience. A stern second struck by, Markoz's voice sinking into everybody's mind for that second. On the sideline a modest-sized family burst into tears, the mother's wails shaking the air for those few seconds. I tried to hold back my guilt and sympathies, looking at the gravel beneath my feet like everybody else. The girl who was selected as screaming out and crying as she dragged up onto the stage, my peripheral vision catching sight of a girl who couldn't be older than fourteen. It was always sad when younger people were selected.

"It's not fair," she sobbed on the stage, her voice nothing compared to the wails of her mother. Markoz practically ignored her cries, moving over to her and shaking her hand enthusiastically.

"Brandy, do you have a nickname?"

Brandy looked up, shocked at the lack of empathy. "P-People call me B."

"Well, our female tribute is B!" Markoz said, trying to sound enthusiastic even if the girl's age and Reaping reaction had practically screamed Bloodbath. He strode to the other Reaping bowl and I analysed Brandy for those few seconds: she was a small, freckle faced girl who looked extremely young and weak. Her messy hair and empty eyes had told me that the girl in question had possibly taken morphling. Her physiology had all the symptoms of taking the addictive substance, and though it seemed stupid a girl so young would take it, it did happen. "Well, now it's time for our male tribute!"

There was another silence in the area as Markoz rummaged through the Reaping bowl. Even Brandy had stopped her crying, possibly out of respect, and her eyes were fixed on her sniffling family with a longing gaze. My fingers crossed for those few seconds, not expecting to be Reaped when -

"Sebastian Keating!"

All of my friends turned to me. There was a collective gasp, considering I was well known in the District whether that be friends from school, family friends or people who I had worked for in an attempt to scrape money for my family. Ethan and the other guys turned to me, their jaws almost unhinged in shock. I noticed Ethan tried to say something, but everything slowed down as I froze.

There was a sudden conflict of external emotions and internal expressions: I understood why Brandy had burst into tears. There was a sense of devastating shock that rocked my soul to the core. As I stood there, it slowly sunk into terror and the prospect of death hung around me like a nasty stench. Trying to keep brave and composed, I forced one foot forward, making my way up to the stage with a brave face. I tried to condition myself to think optimistically. I had a chance, someone could volunteer, at least I didn't cry like Brandy did-

When I made my way onto the stage I almost cried when I heard the sounds from my family, lingering in my mind like an eternal haunting. My father and Ashton didn't react, I knew they wouldn't, but my mother had almost collapsed with shock and devastation. I could only look to the floor, continuously reminding myself to be brave as I heard the loud wails of the twins - they didn't even know what they were crying for, but they knew that most kids who were called up to the stage didn't come back. My fists clenched as I tried to bite back the inevitable tears... I could cry when I was away from the cameras.

I wouldn't have much time away from the cameras to cry or to be myself. As I was forced to turn and shake the hand of the small, blotchy faced Brandy I reminded myself that everything was an act now. And unlike the little girl in front of me, with her innocent face and black headband, I didn't plan to let my act falter anytime soon. I couldn't let the sobs of my family stop me from seeing them again, or from growing up and doing all of the things that I had hoped and dreamed of doing.

First chapter!

By the way, I still need a District One character. There's one space so if you don't have a tribute, try to submit a good Career for me! I'm sorry if you don't get a spot this year, spaces are really competitive, and there'll be a 4th Games so if you stick around for another year and a half you'll get your opportunity.

I want to address some things I didn't address in the prologue, so bare with me:

1. I speak in British English, sorry Americans, but I write in British English too as much as I want to make you guys happy xD that means mum, an omission of your love for the letter 'z', the return of 'u's' etc. You might even get some British slang in there, but if there is any do criticise me for that because I think Panem would be devoid of all slang that existed hundreds of years ago.

2. I usually update once every 5 days, though it could be a week late. However (IMPORTANT) I will be taking a hiatus before the summer, possibly late-April/early-May for exams. I will be back in a month or two, so don't just think I've left and given up on the story. Hell, even if I'm gone for 6 months it's best to stick around. People who have been with me from the start know that I'm way too stubborn to abandon stories.

3. I come to fanfiction to improve, last chapter (which was unedited) some people criticised me and apologised or asked for my permission. Unless you're being cruel or just plain rude, don't apologise or ask for permission. Just do it... I'm making a conscious effort to actually attempt to edit my chapters, though I seldom edit them because reading through my own writing drains me.

4. I'm going to try my best to respond to reviews! I used to respond to every review, but my fan base kind of inflated since KobK and that's been more difficult without being time consuming, especially since I like to discuss things in depth. I won't respond to every review, but I will respond, especially if you have a query.

5. I usually post quotes that are thematically linked to the chapter. For the first 12 chapters where I introduce tributes, I'll post lyrics that I feel relate to them. This one was 'Like a Rolling Stone' by Bob Dylan, and describes Carlie pretty wonderfully.

Anyway, that's all, I hope you liked!

~Toxic

P.S - Capitol Commentator Questions (Questions linked to the Hunger Games) and Interview Questions (trivia about yourself) won't start for another good few chapters.