Wait a minute baby,

Stay with me a while.

You said you'd give me light,

But you never told me about the fire.

- Fleetwood Mac

Trojan Reid, District 3, 15

People had always interested me.

Granted, I found them kind of stupid and they meant nothing to me. But standing on top of the building of one of District Three's few restaurants and looking at people strolling through the black markets camped outside had filled me with interest. Beneath the black, sooty skies of the District they talked among themselves, bartering or holding onto children they worried they'd never see again. Considering it was Reaping day, I could feel all the anxious air being breathed from every single person as they bought the cheapest goods they could to cook a good meal.

What did I think about Reaping day? Not much. I kind of had this theory that when it came to living in Panem only the best survived. It was true that in the Districts there was the significant disadvantage of being poor, but that wasn't really an excuse. I came from one of the most cumbersome backgrounds; my mother was a rich girl who was disowned by her parents for marrying my orphan thief of a father. They tried to settle in normally, with low-paying, sluggish factory work, but eventually decided to settle for stealing. It was the best decision they ever made.

With their income we had gone from being a family with nothing in the bank to a family who had enough to survive and even enough for luxuries from the markets. I refused to acknowledge the immorality of their actions, because it was justified by one thing: survival. You fight, you survive. Maybe I should have been a little more nervous about the whole Hunger Games ordeal, but I knew that there were dozens of children in front of me, some playing and acting as normal, some carrying an anxiety with them. How many children in District Three were there? I was willing to bet thousands. Chances are that nobody here was going to be the person that'd be Reaped.

But the Hunger Games were irrelevant to me, so I focused on other matters, most likely the people who were in front of me with pockets pregnant with money. I found myself slipping from the top of the building onto the sign beneath – Ive's, I believed the restaurant was called – and so fluently nobody noticed my feet were on the ground of the marketplace and I could stroll into the crowd of buyers with a concealed knife to cut through any materials which would hold cheap jewellery, gold or credits. Though I didn't steal for profit like my parents did, I did it for my own material gain to build my own economy, and one day my parents wouldn't be here and I'd be the one who had to steal, so I knew I had to get used to it. I'd been stealing since I was around seven or eight, and was getting pretty good at it.

Survival of the fittest.

I diffused into the crowd and hoped that I'd be as subtle as possible. As I passed each and every person, my hand would snake into their pocket, snatch at a jewel around their necklace so quickly they didn't notice it snap or I'd cut through material that I could see was bulging with gold. Streaming through the crowd got me more and more stuff step after step. Sometimes it would be more difficult and the marketplace goers would be more attentive and alert but I'd avoid pickpocketing those kinds of people.

The reason people were so itchy in markets was because pickpocketing was kind of common in District Three – or any other District for that matter. When the average job the District barely made someone enough credits to pay rent and get a loaf of bread my parents weren't going to be the only people who conjured up the idea of stealing. All of the Districts were filled with beggars, whores, drug dealers and – yes – pickpockets, tainting our image further in the Capitol's eyes, but unlike the crying children or hapless adults surrounding me I admired those kind of people the most. They were the ones who were surviving, and risking anything to do so.

By the time I had cut through the market my pockets were filled to the brim with credits and whatever else I could grab. I was in the process of cutting through another man's pocket as he argued about the quality of his deer soup when I heard a grumble of complaints behind me. A fountain of gold slipped into my hands and I turned and hurried away as I heard the cries.

"Hey, where's my money?"

"Askia, have you seen my necklace?"

"What the-"

The crowd began to grumble together, thunder rumbling before the lightning of a riot while the pickpocketed only just began to realise what had happened and those who had been spared the wrath of being thieved watched them confusedly. In order to blend in, I slipped my hands and felt the satisfying coins in there as I grumbled:

"Who stole from me?" I said, looking around as if confused and offended. Soon shouting had erupted and fingers were being pointed, though no fingers were moved in my direction. Satisfied that I had gone unnoticed, I slipped from the crowd as quickly as I had entered and forced myself to speed through a damp alleyway.

The open air had turned into stagnant air. The graffitied alleyways were vague underneath what seemed like rolling steam. A man lay onto the wall, choking on his own vomit and not noticing me. Still feeling paranoid that I had been caught, I scampered through into another alleyway, making multiple twists and turns as my feet splashed through grimy puddles and cobblestone before I had finally reached a dead end.

And what a sight I had seen. A hooded boy, much taller than my small frame, stood tall with a spray-can in hand. He hadn't noticed me and was spraying paint over the bare, dirty wall hurriedly; I looked at what seemed to be a nursery rhyme:

Rock-a-bye baby when you are twelve,

The Capitol will take you and delve,

Through your fears, your hopes and your dreams,

And it will crush them to dust and seams.

I read his poem, the words sending goosebumps in me for a second, or maybe it was the cold. Poetry or political messages didn't really affect me. When the boy turned and noticed me, the can immediately slipped from his hand and rolled downhill so that it rested at my feet.

"I never expected to see the famous 'Tide' before," I commented, setting my foot forward so that it crushed the can and paint came spraying out like blood sprayed out of a wound. "Pretty interesting rhyme, did you make it up?"

Not one for small talk, the hooded boy looked at me, his face remaining anonymous underneath a creepy looking mask. There was a moment of recognition beneath his eye slits before he ran past me and down the alleyway into the unknown. I stood, reading the message over and over again and thought about its message, wondereding whether the Capitol were really that bad or if the message was exaggerating. At the very bottom read the signature left at the bottom of the verse:

– The Tide

The Tide wasn't exactly famous, and he wasn't going to be the next leader of the rebellion, but he had garnered a fair slice of attention in the local media. He had left multiple scrawls over monuments, businesses, houses and restaurants. Sometimes he would gain the most attention by scrubbing the graffiti onto important political edifices such as the Mayor's house or the Justice Building. People would try to catch him, but he was always anonymous and always got away. Peacekeepers would scrub away his paint, but the words were always remembered by those who read them.

I was one step ahead. The Tide was my classmate, Creek Brent. I knew it because he had the same stature and eyes as Creek, and though Creek was quiet and kept to himself the one conversation I had with him involved Creek cussing the Capitol out. Creek may have seemed silent, and there was a reason for that: the only way to be caught was to not speak. I knew that as a thief, and he knew that as a rebel.

I didn't know if I thought Creek was stupid or brave. The Capitol seemed like an indestructible fortress, and risking your life to scrawl paint on walls seemed like a silly attempt to pull it down. Though, as I turned and walked down the alleyway at a more casual pace, I couldn't help but admire Creek's passion.

What was my passion for? Living, stealing, money?

I didn't quite know.

When I arrived home I greeted my mother and father as if nothing had happened. Really, nothing had, though they may have been interested in the fiasco at the market and how I had bumped into the Tide. My mother was cooking in our grimy kitchen and reminded me that I had to be ready for the Reaping. We weren't one to follow rules, but avoiding the Reapings had severe consequences and my DNA was subject to the Capitol, so I grudgingly went as if I was one of the other kids every year.

In order to get ready for the Reaping I went into my room, changing out of my usual thieving attire. The dark clothes and hood went off, and when I inspected myself for the briefest of moments in the mirror I was surprised to see how conventional I looked, in my hoodie, brown jeans and sports shoes. My hair was naturally a bright red, as shown in the contrasting roots of my hair, but I had used cheap dye from the black market to subdue the colour into a darker shade of brown. That, along with my small, nimble physique, made stealing come pretty easily to me.

After the five minutes of getting changed into something more casual, I yanked a satin carpet away from the floor and opened the trap door which was in my room. My house was incredibly small and defunct due to its age – it was hundreds of years old and was important during the rebellion. While District Three wasn't an important battle point during the rebellion, many used it to hide important rebels who had fled from District Six, which had been seized, or District Two, which was one of the last Districts standing at the end of the rebellion. My parents used it for something else completely: on the off-chance a guest would visit they'd think we were a poor, defunct District Three family as all the rooms were bare, rotting and full of the most basic of survival equipment.

But when I opened my trap door I was looking into a treasure trove, mountains of coins and miscellaneous objects I had acquired over the years were all piled up. And that was my personal stash – my parents had collected even bigger savings, even more valuable goods and luxurious foods to feed us. I admired my collection for a minute before closing the trap door and quickly rushing out of the room in time for breakfast.

"We have a full chicken," my mother proudly announced. My father sat on the table, looking out of the window longingly as she set the steaming meat down on the table. "I went through a lot to steal this from the market, so you better enjoy it."

My father used a large carving knife to take a huge chunk from the chicken, sliding a plate over to me as he began to slide some more for my mother and I. Most people assumed that a family who lived off stolen goods would be inoperative and crumbling, but away from all the stealing we were a pretty regular family. My parent's marriage was still going strong and I had a good relationship with both of them. I went to school, too, and got okay grades, though I planned to follow in my parents footsteps once I had to provide for myself instead of some flimsy academic root.

"I saw something interesting today," I said through the silence after swallowing a mouthful of chicken.

"Oh, what's that?"

"There's this guy called The Tide – have you read about him?" There was no response as my parents wolfed down the food. It was delicious, no denying it, but I only saw food as a means of survival. "He always writes anti-Capitol stuff. I kind of bumped into him today after stealing from the market."

"You were stealing today?" My mother said, ignoring the conversation at hand. "We thought you'd had a social life for once!" There were a few chuckles and my mother continued: "What did you get?"

"Oh, a lot of credits, just stuff," I said dismissively. "But this guy-"

"Is a nutcracker," my dad interrupted. "I don't really get all the anti-Capitol sentiment. And this is coming from an orphan. The Capitol leave us alone enough, bar the Hunger Games, we should just let them play their silly Games and just... live life," I nodded, though when you noticed the Peacekeepers or the Capitolian businessmen who dominated District Three I wondered if the Capitol really 'left us alone.'

"I guess," I said defeatedly, finishing off my plate. "It'll be the Reaping soon."

"That's great, my mother smiled. "Well, you better be heading off then, when all those parents are out there'll be so many vacant houses that we can plunder."

"Good luck with that," I said, smiling. I know most children would be a little insulted when their parents didn't come with them to the Reapings, but my parents knew that like most of the other parents in the District they'd get away from the cruel clutches of Capitolian entertainment. Any thief with a logical mind would know that everybody in the District had trooped off to the town centre during Reaping day, either with their families or just to witness what was going on.

"Yeah," my father smiled. "We'll be knocking on the door and pretending to be salespeople of a Capitolian television merchandise – 'Get it while the Hunger Games plays!' – if someone answers, we'll pretend to sign their names and say we'll see them later. We won't. If no-one answers the door they're off at the Reapings for the next thirty minutes, so we'll break the door down quickly, take what we want and skip the street until we find another suitable house."

"Pretty smart," I said.

"Tricks of the trade," my father ruffled my hair proudly. "Learn them quickly." He checked over his watch. "Anyway, it looks as if you need to set off to the Reapings."

I grumbled something, tried to shake my mother away as she planted a kiss on my cheek, and then quickly rushed out into the streets. There was some kind of folklore that it was always sunny on Reaping day, but in District Three that would be impossible to observe. The skies were always covered with a coating of pollution, and though the sun had managed to soak through sometimes it had never really become hot. We lived somewhere dreary and rainy too, so even if we had clean air I doubt it would ever be sunny on Reaping day.

I lived in a slum. Surrounding me were similarly old, run-down houses with poor children being marched out like ducklings by their frustrated, worried mothers. The whole District poured down the streets like a current, and as the streets grew wider and the buildings fancier we soon became an ocean of people being marched into what could potentially be death.

I had to wait for a good ten minutes at the gates to be let into the town square. I wondered if my parents had managed to get anything nice, or what they were currently doing. Beside me mothers and fathers gave goodbye hugs and kisses, though some of the kids around me watched them with some envy. They were probably orphans, as the orphan percentage in Panem swelled more and more every year.

A boy in front of me who had been parentless had his DNA scanned and was let through, I stepped forward as a thick browed Peacekeeper acknowledged me for a brief second before taking a sample of my blood. There was a flash of pain that was gone before it had arrived, and I indifferently passed into the town square where I settled among a flock of fellow fifteen year olds.

There was about another ten minutes of waiting for the last of the children to rush into the square and find their places. Peacekeepers chatted among themselves, looking at lists of the few children who hadn't attended and what should be done for another five minutes and then the Mayor had made her way onto the stage.

The recent Mayoral elections had given us District Three's first ever female Mayor, an ageing woman in her fifties with a kind smile and tied up greying hair. I didn't listen much to all the political gobbledegook of the District, but I knew that last years Mayor had lost a lot of support after he had passed some unwise economic policies and was caught having an affair. A liberal sigh had crossed everybody when the new Mayor had been a woman and had shifted our economy from being made shit by the Mayor to an economy that was shit thanks to the Capitol. She was the same as any other upper-class person to me; all the highest thieves of all, managing to steal more than any of the petty and looking respectable as she did so. I repeated that again and again in my head with contempt as she read out the Treaty of Treason miserably.

When she was done, she bowed, thanked us and made her way from the stage where she was replaced by our escort, Marukilla Ambumzilla. Was there anything to say about Marukilla? His name was insulted and he had the most feminine strut you could ever imagine. Some people even gossiped that he was once a girl who had transformed into a boy, and though I knew the Capitol had been full of technological miracles I didn't know that it happened to that extent.

"Oh my goodness!" He smiled at everyone cheerfully. "I forgot how beautiful you all were, District Three!" There was a silence, though Marukilla giggled when a few of the boys made joking cheer noises. "I mean, you should have seen the two tributes I got last year, Karble and Dannielle... too bad Danni got her intestines torn out before she was blown up, oh, and her hand was burnt off," he cleared his throat. "B-But Karble got it easier, his throat was slashed..."

There was a piercing silence.

"Anyway, my point is we're all beautiful here!" Marukilla rushed over to the girl's Reaping bowl. "So it's time to select another wonderful tribute for another wonderful Games!"

Unlike other escorts, Marukilla didn't let his hand linger in the bowl. He snatched the slip of paper up hungrily, though what was time consuming was how long he took to open it. Slowly, slowly, until a name was ready out...

"Elizabeth Korrapati!" He paused. "I said your name right, didn't I, dear? Korra-patti? Korra... Patey?"

There was no silence, just some of the people in the crowd surrounding me moving aside to give a girl the room to move. She was around my height and of a different ethnic descent to me. I didn't know the labels they gave to different ethnicities in Panem, because ethnicity wasn't really an issue. In Panem you weren't really an individual or from a culture, you were either a rich Capitolite or a poor District kid, and this poor District kid made her way to the stage with trembling knees as she fought back tears.

"Dear!" Marukilla smiled, giving her a quick hug. "You're wonderful, the Capitol will love you."

She didn't say anything, she just turned to face the cameras, trying her best to remain indifferent. While she did, someone in the audience sobbed and screamed loudly. Marukilla knew that it was a concerned mother, and I saw the sympathy cross his powdered face for a few seconds as his stomach tied itself in knots. I didn't care for people too much, but even I felt bad for Elizabeth.

"Is that your family dear?" Marukilla asked. "Go on, give them a wave!"

Elizabeth didn't react, so Marukilla strode over to the boy's Reaping bowl.

"Okay," he tore the paper as if it had come from thin air, strutting to the microphone as he fumbled with the paper. When he got to the microphone he announced: "Let us have a handsome Mr. Trojan Reid up on the stage, please!"

My heart froze.

My name?

People among the surrounding crowd mumbled. Either they were confused because an unknown name had come up, or they were talking about how the quiet kid in the class got picked. Trying to remain as unnoticeable as possible despite the many cameras probing their way towards me from the sidelines, on the buildings and on the stage, I forced myself to walk through the audience where I slowly made my way up the steps and onto the same platform as Elizabeth.

I had reacted slightly differently to Elizabeth, who stood there silently. I was impressed at how she had managed to not cry. But I was managing to not shake, to not make any noise or talk. There was no bedlam in the audience because my parents weren't there to see that I had been reaped. Would they see me in the Justice Building? Would they even know what happened and only find out I'm in the Hunger Games when our compulsory television projects my face?

This could be an exciting opportunity. It looked that way on television, and we were always told it was exciting, but I didn't know how I felt. I just wanted my parents here. For the first time ever I felt aware of my own mortality and for the first time ever I felt very, very scared.

Lorelei Draven, District 2, 17:

I smirked as the fifth knife in a row made its way into the dummy's head, resting comfortably aside the jutting handles of numerous other knives. When I lowered my arm I gave a small, cocky smirk to my trainer, Joana, who nodded with some kind of approval.

"Pretty good Lorelei," she grinned. "You should be going into the Hunger Games at this point."

"I've been considering it," I admitted as I moved over to the dummy, pulling the knives out of the plasticine and torn material. Joana followed behind me as I strutted to the knife rack, sliding some of the knives back into their places. "I don't know – after kind of being involved in all these media scandals recently I guess it would make my dad happy to see me do something, to make him proud..." I paused, feeling something in my stomach as I thought about going into the Hunger Games and my father. Thinking about what I had discovered this morning had also made me nervous. "But I can't leave Jessie and risk dying on him."

I was the Mayor's daughter and it was pretty crap. Once upon a time I was a normal girl who trained with friends and had a dad with a lot of money, but since he decided to be elected I had felt jailed. Rebelling against him had been my coping mechanism – I'd go out and sleep around, smoke, drink, take some kind of hallucinogenic on occasion. I guess I just totally transformed.

Having the media at your father's door did that to you. And it only got worse when the media turned their stupid cameras from your father to you in embarrassing situations. At one point I couldn't handle it, but then I had met Jessie. We'd been dating for about a year and a half or maybe even two years by this point. I guess he kind of kept me to earth and kept me a little bit sane. I could go so far to say that I loved him.

But... After today... I don't know what or how I felt.

"Seriously, you're worried about losing?" Joana leant on the knife rack casually. "You can throw knives like a pro with your hand behind your back – literally."

"It's not just that," I said, almost glumly.

There was an awkward pause. "Lorelei, is something up?"

I smiled weakly. "Everything is fine."

"Well if you do decide to volunteer, get up on that stage as fast as you can. You know District Two isn't quite as sophisticated as District Four, who pre-select their tributes, or District One, who are told to shut up once the first person manages to shout that they've volunteered. You run up to that stage before the others. If anyone even tries to get up there before you, elbow them in the face and make sure they're cold. The Capitol loves that."

"Thanks," I said, thinking about how volunteers had been stagnant anyway. Training and loving the Hunger Games seemed to be done out of pure patriotism and social-conformity. Last year there was only one volunteer, the year before there were none and some innocent girl was the one who was Reaped. I spotted Jessie at the training centre door, giving me a sheepish grin, and turned to Joana. "Anyway, Jessie's here. Thanks a lot Joana, I needed some time to just throw knives into things."

Joana chuckled. "Don't do anything too stupid, Lorelei."

I winked at her lightly as I made my way to Jessie. We barely said a word as I approached him, I merely felt my hand meet his as I leant up and kissed his cheek, butterflies still fluttering in my stomach after all this time. It was amazing how a lot of the time we didn't have to talk, we could walk and just enjoy the silence and the atmosphere of each other's company. I guess that I kind of enjoyed that.

"Do you want a smoke?" He asked.

"Nah," I said, sliding my hands into my pockets. I wasn't in the condition to smoke, even though a cigarette was the one thing I felt like I needed.

When we were out of in the training centre and in District Two's dark streets Jessie kissed me passionately and then said: "So, Reaping Day. Are we going to do anything special? Maybe I can take you out for dinner."

"You don't have the money for that," I said, stroking down his chest. "But I'll be perfectly happy to pay."

"Hey, I may have a single mother for a parent, but that doesn't mean I can't treat you on occasion," Jessie smiled.

"You need that money," I kissed him again. "I have money to blow. Let me pay? Please. And can we go straight after the Reaping, that way the local journalists and photographers will be transfixed on the girl and boy who are going to be sent into an arena to kill people instead of me for once. That'd be kind of nice."

Jessie laughed. "At least you're not planning to go into those Games. When I saw you talking seriously to Joana, I had some worries."

I laughed, kissing him again. Jessie had often trained in the training centre to get some of the extra income, food and fuel the Capitol promised the poorer District Two kids who trained. He kind of hated it, and especially hated the sense of obligation it gave him to the Capitol, so I was worried he'd crack and volunteer every year like all the other boys who either died of came out of the arena as some kind of savage.

Whilst we kissed some people in the street would turn to look at us, some giving us looks that were kind of disapproving, but I just flipped them the bird. I was kind of used to dirty looks after all of the pictures of me circulating, the rumours and just being the daughter of a political figure kind of got you some pretty bad press.

Just wait until the media found out about a secret I had been harbouring for about two months now, a secret that had been confirmed this morning. What if Jessie found out? It was Reaping day, and I couldn't leave him in the dark. And if my father found out he'd probably kick me out. Years of being one of the most recognised people in the District had meant I could always live under a façade of happiness and kisses with Jessie, but underneath I suddenly felt like a wreck.

"Can we talk?" I admitted seriously. "Like, you know, an important talk."

Jessie smiled. I had acted nonchalantly before now, so this new and sudden side to me must have been weird. "Yeah, is something up?"

I paused. The sun-bathed District Two streets were suddenly affected by a sweep of wind, sending torrents of leaves streaming across our feet as I glanced at him and was consciously aware of the crowds.

"We need to be alone."

"We can go to Crinpin's Wall?"

"Yeah, that's alone enough," I said weakly. Jessie suddenly seemed on edge, and I guess my manner gave it all away; the news I was going to give him wasn't going to be good news.

The sojourn to Crinpin's Wall was long, uncommunicative and pretty awkward. Crinpin's wall was a section of District Two which had been built around one-hundred years ago. District Two wasn't enclosed in one city or a bunch of networked towns like the other Districts, and was instead a bunch of spread out villages. This often helped rebels out during any potential uprising, so the Capitol, instead of forcing the rich and poor villages together and creating social tensions, decided to define District Two's borders clearly.

The wall was about fifteen feet and it rose high above our heads, decorated with moss and numerous crevices where the old wall was beginning to crumble. The winds let the long grass surrounding us wave to and fro as I looked back at District Two, so far away it seemed like a speck of dust, surrounded by the many hills that steepened and rose around us.

As I was admiring a picturesque mountain in the background, Jessie finally spoke.

"This isn't a break up, right?"

"No!" I said defensively, turning to him. His affronted look filled me with guilt, so I elaborated: "I just... I... There's news."

"What news?" He looked as nervous as I did. "Lorelei.. If there's something you want to-"

"I'm pregnant."

The pause was so tense. Jessie was really silent, and he turned to admire the view with me for a second. The only response I got within the next five minutes was the wind blowing harshly as I eagerly awaited my boyfriend's reply.

"Are you really?"

"Yes," I said, surprisingly calm. "Do you think I'd lie about that?"

"And you're keeping it?"

Of course I was. I knew I had to keep it the moment I had taken the pregnancy test and found the positive result; abortions were illegal in the Districts, and to look for one illegally could result in me turning to a doctor who would practice an unsafe abortion which could do more harm than good. When I thought about it, even if abortions were legal I didn't think I'd have one. I mean, there was half of me inside there, and half of Jessie too.

But I was risking everything. There were serious consequences to my pregnancy, which was why Jessie was looking out silently. If I was lower class like Jessie it wouldn't be so bad, it wasn't taboo to have a baby young there, it just happened and I'd be expected to work and provide for it – that was that. But being the daughter of the Mayor... first the media would demonise me. Then my father would disown me for getting pregnant, throwing me out of the house and into the dark world of being independent where Jessie and I would scrape a meagre living trying to provide for the new infant.

Was that a life I wanted? If I had Jessie at my side...

"It isn't mine."

I looked at Jessie, not sure he had just said what I thought. "What do you mean?"

"We used protection," Jessie frowned. "That wouldn't happen. You've been sleeping with someone else, haven't you?"

"No," I stood up, anger flashing in my eyes. "How the hell can you say that? You know I only have eyes for you. Only you. I wouldn't even consider touching someone else."

Jessie stood up and stormed towards me. I could usually hold my own, I wasn't afraid to fight or make a sarcastic remark, but when he grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards him I suddenly felt timid and afraid. Jessie wasn't as good as hand-to-hand combat as I was, so even if he was stronger I could probably floor him, but I only whimpered as he pulled me close.

"Who is it?"

"Jess-"

"Who is it?" He roared, looking at my teary eyes.

"I told you," I said, forcing myself away and looking at the sore red marks that enveloped my wrist. "This is yours Jessie. Why are you doing this? Are you scared? I'm scared too, I don't know what to do," my lip trembled and it suddenly became hard to stay upright. "B-But I thought I had you, I thought w-we could pull through this together, we could do something."

He became more gentle, his look almost sincere. He then turned away and I used a pile of rocks close by as I seat, I needed to sit down, I needed to actually inhale the plentiful fresh air blowing around me. I needed to learn how to breathe, I needed to hold in all of the repressed tears.

"We can't pull through this together," Jessie simply said after a while. "I still think it isn't mine Lorelei."

"But Jessie-" The tears began to slip plentifully.

"No. It's... we're over."

I don't know why I didn't protest, I just saw him stand up and then disappear into the horizon, trailing up and down numerous hills and slopes until he had disappeared. At first I looked at my own trembling hands indifferently. I expected things to take a turn to the worst, but to this degree? No matter how hard I tried the tears were impossible to hold in, I watched them slip onto the rocky ground beneath me or onto my own hands, where they'd trickle down my wrists like small canals.

I was alienated. There was nobody there for me now. I thought Jessie would be there. I didn't ever expect him to react the way he did, to just storm out on me. The shock still settled as I tried to comprehend why Jessie, who had always been loving and affectionate, would do that to me? The tears grew more militant, and as I fell to the ground and shook with tears I guess I couldn't hate him for what he had done. He had been born to young parents too and that had led to an unfortunate upbringing so reacting negatively to the whole situation seemed... natural.

But I was still alone and I needed to do something. My dad wouldn't support me, I'd be known as a whore around the District for getting knocked up and not even the father was willing to support me now. Not usually one to cry, I wiped my tears and internally scolded myself, though they still continued to leak as I stood up and glanced at the town centre. I couldn't afford to fall from District royalty to destitution. I couldn't let that happen, not for me, nor my baby.

And that was all I cared about now. Jessie had grabbed my heart and smashed it into a thousand tiny pieces, and though those pieces inside still ached for him, there wasn't any love like a mother's love. All I could bare to think about right now was the baby inside me who needed a mother to be strong, to take risks and protect it.

I think I knew what I had to do.

"Oh Lorelei," my father frowned as I charged downstairs in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. My face was still blotchy, but I had reapplied my make-up and managed to make myself look a little more decent. "Your mother had ironed and set out a dress for you, you're supposed to be formal for a Reaping occasion, the media are right outside my door."

By the doorway my older sister Piper stood in her cute, frilly pink dress. Gage, my brother, was also dressed formally in a tuxedo that made him look like a more sensible Capitolite. Fashion had never really been my forte, nor something I was particularly interested in. I just enjoyed what was practical and accessible unless it was a party or something.

"Hey, I might not necessarily make you look bad," I smiled at my dad. Usually his challenges filled me with anger, but knowing that he'd probably hate me if he ever found out, knowing he was right about Jessie and just knowing that I might not ever see him again had given me a new appreciation for my father. "After all, I may just be volunteering this year."

My father looked surprised, but pleasantly so. I saw him look at Piper, then at Gage, before he had beamed at me. I had never seen that smile before.

"What do you mea-"

"I mean I'm volunteering."

My father paused and glanced at me, not quite believing his luck. I had always felt like the useless, rebellious child. The only reason my dad probably coped with me was because I was the only kid in the household who followed through with training. Gage was a little genius who did well in school and Piper was always the sweet, respectable and pretty elder sister. My dad seemed jubilant at the prospect that I would do more than be in the local newspaper throwing my guts up or arguing with everyone I came into contact with.

"What inspired this?"

"Just figured this District needs a little more District pride," I lied, shrugging lightly as I moved to the front door.

That was a bullshit excuse. I was doing this because I had a chance of winning the Games, I wasn't too heavily pregnant so the foetus growing inside of me wouldn't be too much of a detriment. I needed to win these Games because it would give me the financial independence I needed to provide for my child so that I could cope with being kicked out of home or disowned by my family. Maybe my father would even keep me and show me some affection, the respect of being a Victor outweighing the stigma of being a teenage parent.

We had waited for my mother and had finally come. She looked as made up as a Capitolian as she strutted down the grand wall with a glimmering blue dress, well made hair and powdered face. She had a bright beam on her face but suddenly grimaced when she looked at me.

"Steele, Lorelei isn't-"

"I know, I know," my father walked up to my mother and kissed her cheek affectionately. "But she'll be volunteering this year, so it doesn't really matter. And anyway we're going to be late, I'm needed at the Reaping, considering the Mayor's job is to read the Treaty of Treason."

We exited into the street and upon walking through our pretty garden, out into the gates, we were attacked by the paparazzi. My mother, Piper and Gage were usually ignored, but the media would always taunt me with their questions or ask my dad about the political climate and the Reapings. Eventually, when they began to get closer and prevent us from walking efficiently, Peacekeepers intercepted them where they continued to shout and take pictures like hungry coyotes.

When we got deeper into the town centre I realised that though I usually hated the slab mason like stone that had infected every building and monument in District Two, but on the Reaping day to the end of the Hunger Games it was almost bearable. Balloons floated around us and disappeared into the atmosphere, bright banners were strewn across and a new life had been added to the District. Too bad that the only time we came together it was about death.

As we got closer to the prepared stage and the gates surrounding them my mother seemed to finally process what my dad had said. There was an anxiety in her that contrasted the carelessness and confidence my father held, so as the large crowds of children that waited to be permitted into the town centre she turned to me once with a frown.

"You know what you're putting yourself in for, right?" She asked.

"Yep," I replied. Death was the thing that came with losing, no biggie. I tried to push the prospect of losing at the back of my mind, but I'd rather die in that arena than have to cope with raising a child in a slum outside of it. The prospect of dying didn't bother me as much as I thought it would – I just didn't want my baby to be harmed.

"Good," she kissed my cheek. My father had already made his way to the stage he loved and Piper was getting her finger pricked and her DNA scanned. "If you have faith that you can win this thing, I have faith too. I love you, Lorelei."

My mother didn't usually say that. I didn't know if the baby was kicking or if my stomach had compressed into itself with emotion. Trying to not let the tears come back, trying not to think about the secrets I held from her or Jessie, I kissed into her cheek I hugged her close. Sometimes it was difficult to remember how much your parents were really there for you.

When I pulled away I quickly skipped over to a male Peacekeeper who jabbed my finger with the most bored expression. As I was let through I noticed Gage, who had waited for me at the other side.

"You never told me you were volunteering."

"Don't pretend to be concerned," I said, ruffling his hair. "Holy Panem Gage, I really need a cigarette."

Before he scolded me for talking about cigarettes I skipped past him and made my way to the seventeen's section. Thanking my blessings that Jessie would be in the eighteens section and therefore far away from me, I prayed to god that he didn't bump into Piper and start a conversation with her. Even then I had the awkwardness of seeing some of his friends in the seventeen's section, including his best friend Max.

I wasn't aware if they were glaring at me or if they were just ignoring me. They would usually talk to me, but their ignorance had told me that they knew me and Jessie weren't an item anymore, so I therefore wasn't worth talking to. I glanced at my own feet nervously and hoped they didn't know the motive behind our separation, because if that happened I'd be judged, a pariah.

I tried not to think about it as my dad made his way onto the stage enthusiastically. He had always held pro-Capitol sentiment, and it was apparent in the way he had delivered the Treaty, with such conviction and love. I personally didn't get rebels or people who were anti-Capitol and anti-Hunger Games; it was something that had happened hundreds of years ago, and was really irrelevant nowadays. If I had lived around the time when the Hunger Games was introduced I'd have been pissed, but they're just something that always happened now.

They weren't a big deal.

Hence why I'd volunteer.

"Lorelei, I've been looking for you everywhere," I turned to the flash of auburn that suddenly appeared besides me. Some of the more awkward people surrounding us glared at my best friend, Fiona, as she spoke through the Treaty and broke the silence. I personally didn't care.

"I was here all along."

"Yeah, I know that now," she smiled a little. "I thought you'd be with Max and stuff but they didn't say anything about you when I approached them. They seemed a little icy. Is everything okay?"

"Just fine," I said, no enthusiasm in my cracking tone. Applause deafened us as my father finished the Treaty, bowed and left. Fiona could only look at me for a few seconds, but I thought of my dad, of Jessie, of all the misfortune that had suddenly caved in on me and threatened to crush my sanity bare unless I did this.

"You're crying-" I wiped the tear from my face.

"No, I'm not," I denied.

Our escort, Fi-Fi, had made her way onto the stage with her silver hair trailing to the floor and her malicious smile intact. She introduced District Two's only Victor, and the most famous Victor of them all, Jynx. Jynx Blackthorne was the pinnacle of Careerdom, having won three Games: her own game and the last two Quells. As you can imagine, she was a pretty big thing in the Capitol, her dyed purple hair and constantly bored expression were both iconic.

"So, we'll start with the girls," Fi-Fi said. Usually the procedures seemed boring and slow on Reaping day, but already she was moving to the girl's reaping bowl and rummaging her hand through it. I had been so distracted in my own thoughts, in my own misery, in trying to avoid Fiona's concerned glare and fighting the tears that made their way onto my cheeks.

I had to volunteer.

Now.

"So, we'll have a lovely Miss Delilah-"

"I volunteer!" I shouted along with another two voices. The people in the audience seemed to look around excitedly to see their potential female Careers; we had been lacking with Careers lately, and some tributes had managed to even find themselves reaped into the Hunger Games instead of willing Careers. This year things had gone a little differently.

But now there was competition, and I had to win. Unlike the surrounding girls I was in it for my baby, for someone else. They were in it to satisfy some superficial desire for fame, beauty or money, or they could have simply been sociopaths. The audience diverted around me as I rushed away and tried to avoid Fiona's shocked expression, and I assisted them by shoving anyone who remotely blocked me.

As I reached the stairs one of the Career girls had made it through, the third hadn't even managed to make it to the stage. The platinum blonde locks of Metella Lipton, a prissy, popular breed of Career, linked a name to the face. She was faster than I was, but I had managed to make it up the stairs with her. As she was in front of me I managed to latch onto a large clump of her beautiful hair.

No chance, I thought as I launched her backwards by her tresses. The audience gasped and cackled with glee as the screaming girl was launched back into the dust and I made my way onto the stage, greeted by an impressed Fi-Fi.

"Wow, that was a wonderful exhibition," Fi-Fi clapped lightly. "So dear, tell us something about yourself?"

"I'm Lorelei Draven," I said as Fi-Fi held a microphone in front of me. My stomach lurched as I improvised. "Some of you may know me. I'm the Mayors daughter. And this year I'm finally going to win."

The adoring audience screamed with glee enthusiastically as I tried to support myself and keep upright, my knees shaking with nervousness. I kind of felt bad for Metella, who was having dust cleared off her by a generous Peacekeeper as she fought back tears.

Fi-Fi eventually shushed the audience and made her way to the boy's Reaping bowl, her spindly fingers snatching a piece of paper and raising it. She didn't even try to create any tension; it was useless in the District where the boy called out would only be a temporary puppet before he was ousted by a hulking Career.

"Okay, let us take in a Damon-"

"I volunteer!"

The boy who volunteered was lucky enough to be the only volunteer this year, meaning he didn't have to beat people up in order to make his way to the stage. As the people surrounding him moved away, I noticed the familiar face of the boy who made his way up to the stage nonchalantly. I didn't know him personally, but I think his dad owned the butcher's shop that my father often went to.

I just hoped that he didn't have experience with butching. But who was I kidding? This way a guy who was huge, standing at a few inches over six foot and packing more muscles than I could ever hope to have. And since I recognised him hanging around the training centre silently that also meant he had some kind of weapon experience. Nothing good could come from that, but I still held the belief I had a chance close to my heart.

"Ooh, another promising tribute!" Fi-Fi strutted over to the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder as she towered above her. "Well dear, do tell me your name."

"Jericho," he said, tone blank. He looked silent and deadly. "Jericho Aylin."

"How wonderful Jericho!" Fi-Fi pulled away, storming to the middle of the stage as cameras and lights flashed down on us. "Give a roar for these brilliant tributes!"

On Fi-Fi's command audience roared and cheered loudly, as did the sudden worry in my stomach, the worry that rested beside my growing baby.

That's the Reapings over – if you're sad your tribute didn't get a Reaping, I'm sorry, but I'll more than compensate for it. Reapings can just be tedious for everyone, including me :)

And wow, you're all reviewing wonderfully! So keep that up!

~Toxic