A Quick Author's Note: Thank you to all my lovely reviewers! (Hunger Games plushies to you all!) I really appreciate it, it makes me smile every time I read them, whether it be compliment or criticism. A ginormous thanks to you all! Also, a shout out to all my followers and favorites! If you guys want a shout out by name feel free to ask xP but I don't feel like putting it in here rn because I don't have internet, ya know?

Okay, two more things that I forgot to add loads of chapters before: 1. Calamity is snobbish, yes, but Tyler is not normally like that. He's only nervous for the Reaping. 2. You know the Wiki I mentioned a couple chapters before? I'll include the link again:

PLUS I have a poll on my profile if you want to vote on it. :)

Alrighty, I will quit talking and let you enjoy ze story.

XXX

Cornell Wheaton (D9 Male)

In Nine, it's something like no other, a vast, mysterious land where we make a living out of such simple things as wheat. Wheat which varies in height, in size, and depends on the amount of care it has received to nourish it into a healthy yellow-brown. The mills would then grind it up, and we would produce things like bread, oats, and grains.

It was very hot, the weather dry and containing a thick layer of dust in the air. Thin trails of the flecked gray stood out against windows, any form of clear material where you could see through was blocked by the infuriating grime.

I lived here with my parents, Andrew and Monika, plus my siblings, Prairie and Barley. I had had another sibling, a brother, who had been sixteen at the time of his death... My mind always tried to erase the last look of terror I had seen on his face: but you could not stop thinking of anything, could only prevent yourself from thinking it. So I procrastinated. I kept myself busy with my jokes, taking care of the family, all that, even as I woke up in the middle of the night, white-faced and sweaty, thinking about none other than my deceased brother Grayn.

The day of the Reaping dawned with blazing sun. Orange streaks pounced on a thick gray, yellow and blue darting in to create a wild painting worthy of prizes. The yellow rays from beneath the sun finally shot through and encompassed everything else, letting its silky strands curl around the orange and gray, light bouncing back and forth between them. The orange was the cat, but in the end, of course the yellow eagle won, its ability to hide and dive upon its prey a sheer advantage.

I yawned widely, not wanting to get up from my spot in bed, but I knew I had to. There was something called the Reaping, and I could not procrastinate through that, unlike Grayn. Peacekeepers would be bound to check every house until they made sure everybody was in the Square.

I slipped into the main part of the house, which still looked a bit smoked from the fire, but we had scavenged everything we could and rebuilt the parts that were broken, and this was what we had gotten in return. The room preserved every square inch of space, the table squeezed into a corner and chairs scattered all around it messily. A rug made of brown and cream thread covered half the room.

My mother stood stonily at the end of the table, not bothering to sit at the high-backed chair, a cup of watery coffee in her hands, the best we could afford. I cheered up because of it; it wasn't often that we got the stress relief.

"May I have some?" I asked lightly, careful not to tread on the teetering boards. Mother's temper had risen a lot these days, because my father had fallen ill recently and our whole family was getting desperate.

Mother nodded mutely, passing me the cup. I drank it quickly, the warm drink filling a hole in my heart. The bitterness was welcomed, its taste beautifully sour. I finished it apologetically, knowing that someone else might've needed it, but refused to let myself stay on the subject. Not now, not ever. Not in this world where the Capitol reigned above everything.

My mom had not said a word as I had drained the cup, only taking it back when I was finished and rinsing it out in the tub of dirty water we kept there for inconveniences, like now when we had run out indefinitely; who knew when Father would get better?

Prairie and Barley walked in silently, their eyes darting all around, thin figures quivering. They had not worked much in the relentless sun; Prairie sewed clothes and Barley tried to help, but it was mostly me that did all the work. Me, Cornell Wheaton.

"Someone's out to get us for sure," Mother muttered depressingly. "Someone's out to get us...all the way up to that fire, yes, it must be true..."

Prairie and Barley exchanged fearful glances, while I fidgeted. We had all thought it had been no accident when the fire had occurred, especially mom and dad, and now it had kind of wore off on us, what with their constant murmuring that had freaked us out at first.

"Mother," Prairie said pleadingly, reaching a hand across the table to touch her arm. She shook mom's arm firmly. "Snap out of it. We all know that already. Now focus on today. It's the Reaping."

Barley beamed at me. "You have any magic tricks to show us, Cornell?" His eyes sparkled with a young child's wide-eyed anticipation.

I smiled back, thinking of which ones would impress my little brother. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I said softly, "Hey, hand me something to use. Anything."

Barley searched around and passed me a spare hairpin, one of my mother's. I thought for a moment, asking Barley to close his eyes so I could pin it behind my finger without him seeing. Then, as his eyes fluttered open once more, I told him that I had nothing at all.

Barley's cheeks flushed pink. "No! You have the hairpin!"

I smiled patiently. "Yes, I do. But I can make it disappear and reappear." I showed him the pin, my fingers curled in a fist, making the illusion that the pin was clutched in my hand, though in reality, it had been pinned behind my thumb.

Barley's pale blue eyes widened incredulously. "Do it!"

I swept my hand across in a series of magical gestures, then showed him my empty hands. "Where do you think it is, Barley?"

"Tell me!" begged Barley, as he always did when he gave up.

I grinned. "It's behind my finger." I showed Barley the pin, who dissolved into mirthful giggling. Prairie looked up from her breakfast, brown eyes like pools of syrup. She was the only one of our family who had inherited dad's brown eyes; the rest of us had mother's sky-blue.

"Oh, Cornell, I'm not gonna get chosen, am I?" she said plaintively, her high-pitched voice cracking at the end. She was twelve years old, and this would be her first Reaping where she was eligible. I could see the struggle to stay calm in her face.

"No, you won't," I reassured her. She cast her gaze down, blinking continuously to dispel the tears of doubt.

"I will not," she echoed. "I will not be chosen." She let a small hopeful smile cross her face, but it didn't look so genuine when her eyes were red and her skin flushed.

"Come on," I said, trying to cheer her up. "It's no big deal. Just another Reaping." I gave her a stern look. "And besides, it's almost time to go anyway. You all ready?"

Prairie sniffled a, "Mmhmm."

"Good." I gathered up the rest of us, and we set off. The sun was a burning beacon of light, throwing its harsh rays down upon us, and I squinted through the endless brilliant stream. If only the sun would just weaken for a bit, so that we could at least walk the half mile in shady coolness. But I had never experienced that kind of pity, and all year long the sun was the same, whether it be summer or winter.

I saw my friends and we all went there as a group, footsteps echoing off one another. Mom had been too out of it to come, so it had just been my buddies and siblings. Prairie was letting out occasional squeaks as her feet stumbled across the rough terrain, while Barley bounced along after, not plagued by the same thing which had fallen over his sister and brother. I sighed- Barley was very happy and optimistic, it would just be so heartbreaking when he found out the reality about...well, everything.

Prairie's pitiful treble squeaked, "Cornell, I think I just pricked my finger." She swallowed hard. "What if my finger's broken..."

"Don't be silly," I said, though I shared her fears. Not about her finger, but about the Reaping. As the oldest sibling now, I had to be brave for the whole of them. And for Grayn, too. "It'll take more than just a little prick to break your finger."

Barley piped up impishly, "Prairie, you don't need your little brother to make you feel better, do you?"

Prairie shot a glare at her younger brother. "No, I don't." Her gaze hardened, partially from embarrassment, and she stared stonily forward. They trotted briskly in the direction of the Square, sweat dripping down the faces of them all as the heat pounded down upon them.

I had three friends with me, Sawyer, Gwenith, and Rye. Rye and Gwenith were twins, sharing the same angular faces, dark shadows under the eyes and unruly black hair. Sawyer didn't talk too much, but we both had a common understanding with each other about certain topics, plus he was generally a good listener, someone to give you advice.

Sawyer wasn't that rich; his shoes were scuffed and the soles were almost ripped off from all this walking. Rye and Gwenith lived in the better part of town, where they didn't grow wheat like the rest of us, but instead belonged to a family that sold shoes of all kind. They were strictly forbidden not to sneak some shoes out to poor Sawyer, as they needed every scrap of money they could get.

Sawyer's shoulders were trembling, looking pale as if all the mirth had leaked out of him, leaving just a cold shell behind. I put a hand on his shoulder, saying softly, "Hey. You're not going to get chosen. You're eighteen this year- it's your last year anyway."

Sawyer took a shuddering breath in, then let it out slowly. "I suppose," he concluded timidly, giving a nod of thanks.

I reassured the boys around me that they wouldn't get picked. Rye and Gwenith were filled with a sixteen-year-old's confidence, eyes flaring in indignation at the escort. Then a younger boy of thirteen, who had stepped in beside us some time before, began quivering, shaking uncontrollably so that he attracted plenty of attention. The older kids scoffed at him, remarking with a roll of the eyes, "Toughen up," and I shot a nasty glare at them before getting out my cards.

Bending down to look into his scared hazel eyes, I fiddled with my deck of cards, thumbing through it to find the ones I needed, and did a brief card trick to cheer him up. He sniffled slightly, blowing his nose and wiping his eyes. His breathless murmur, "Thanks for the trick," was barely heard over the roar of the crowd.

I smiled encouragingly at him, my heart swelling with a protectiveness. I really sincerely hoped he wouldn't be picked. "No problem."

My thoughts still lingered on the little boy, praying that he, Rye, Gwenith, Sawyer, and Prairie wouldn't be chosen. I let out a giant sigh of relief when I heard the name.

Then realized it was me.

Zahava Doita (D9 Female)

I watched the boy tribute as he stepped forward, clearly trying to look intimidating. His fingers twitched like little spiders nervously, however, and that was what gave his inner turmoil away. He was one of the few in the District who I didn't know- I looked on as he straggled forward, almost in a dazed way, coming to the front to stand beside me.

He seemed to have worked in the fields an awful lot, hence his bleached blond hair and darkly tanned skin. A few freckles dotted his nose, and I could see a tiny scar next to his ear. I wondered what that was all about.

Maybe we could be friends, I thought hopefully, pushing away the doubt about the Hunger Games. Mom and dad and Lizzie always said bad things about it, but it wasn't that bad...right? It couldn't be..

We shook hands; his palm was clammy with sweat. I put on an unfazed expression on my face, trying to cheer him up because it was quite obvious that he was not all right, but was trying to tell himself something, I did not know what.

We were led into a wide building to say our goodbyes. I couldn't help but notice how beautiful and richly colored everything looked, how much things transformed once you stepped over the threshold. The carpet was a mossy, darkly green color, kind of like the forest floor, and it cushioned my feet just fine, unlike the plaid ones at home. The walls were decorated so extravagantly you wouldn't believe your very eyes, complete with navy wallpaper and sharp white lights.

It was all so interesting, I thought as I was ushered into another room to wait for my parents and Lizzie, and all my friends. The room was set perfectly, to make a sort of cozy feeling in it, and there was a strange blue haze over everything, because of the blue walls, velvet sofa, and a crackling blue fire.

I sighed, relaxing on the couch. It was so soft and comfy, I wanted to stay here forever. I focused on the good sides, on how wonderful this all was and the amazing experience I would have in the Capitol. I would get to see the amazing advancements that Nine didn't have! I would have fantastic meals and actually know what it was like to be full! I would be dressed in the most beautiful of costumes! I envisioned a beautiful cream dress, layered with tons of fabrics, and a jeweled diamond collar.

Lizzie came in first, twenty-year-old Lizzie with her shiny black hair and lilting chestnut eyes. Now, they were filled with concern, regret, everything I had thought she would never express aloud. My sister hugged me tightly for the first few seconds, neither of us speaking, before she clutched me by the shoulders and looked directly into my brown eyes.

"You have to win this," she whispered, breaking the hug. "You have to win this for me. For Mother. For Father."

I nodded vigorously. "Of course I will, Lizzie! You don't have to worry!" Jaw clenched, I assured her, "I'll win, no problem."

"But you're only thirteen!" Lizzie wailed. I'd never seen her wail before. "Whoever heard of a thirteen-year-old winning the the title of 'winner'?"

I had to admit she was kind of right... Usually the sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen year olds won, not somebody so young as me. I had not seen much of the world yet and I was already forced into this brutal Games, probably doomed to my death.

But I mustn't think of that now, I thought frantically. I'll think of that later. Later, I will. But not now.

My mother, Sable, kissed my forehead lightly. "Oh, darling," she murmured, her soft, sweet honeyed voice soothing my ears. I had always loved her comforting presence, the knowledge that she was always there when I needed her. But now, when I went to the Games, I would be alone...

"You must try your very hardest," Sable pressed tearfully. "Zahava, dear, you must come out alive." Tears pricked her eyes and she cried softly, in a rather pretty way as she did everything else. Sniffling, she continued, "Th-think...we couldn't b-bear to see you d-d-d—" She hesitated on the word, its full meaning coming over her. I felt my heart twinge with pity.

"Mother, don't cry," I said forlornly, brushing the tears away.

Sable nodded, sniffing, and retreated back to stand in sorrowful silence with Lizzie. It was so much, so heavy with feeling, that I'd rather they just outwardly sobbed and be done with it. It was at least better than this thick, emotional silence..

Father simply stared at me, trying to keep a detached coolness. His eyes roved over me, taking in the last glimpse of his youngest daughter for...for maybe forever. Then he spoke in a grave, heavy tone, "Zahava, we love you. Know that in the arena."

Lizzie then stepped forward once again, taking something off her finger as she did so. My heart twisted. It was her emerald ring; it only contained a little part of the sacred jewel, and we had considered selling it multiple times, but Lizzie would always defend it, saying that it was precious to her. How she had gotten it, none of us knew, but we just accepted it as a part of our family, however much out wanting to put a high price on its head might be.

Now I looked at the ring through different eyes, not eyes of longing, but eyes that pushed her to set it back on her finger, to do anything but give it to me. Lizzie slipped the ring on my own finger and said in a breathy whisper, "For you."

I looked down at the ring. I dared not hope, for only heaven knows what might happen, how many ways it could jinx, and instead sat staring at the ring, until their visiting time was up.

8/13/17