Aspen Hayes, 15

District 7 Female

My dress puffed out around me as I floated across the marble floor. My future husband, his eyes alight with joy, was standing at the end of the aisle. Waiting for me. Waiting for our life together.

I held my bouquet tightly as I walked towards him. The sweet sound of District 7's wedding song hung in the air. My mom was in the front row, wiping tears from her eyes. Uncle Silas stood at the altar, an old book in his hands, ready to marry us.

"Aspen! It's time to get up! Breakfast is ready!"

I jerked awake, the sound of music and the smell of flowers fading. The scent of delicious pancakes and the noise Cora's heels made in the hall replaced them. I sat up groggily.

"I'm awake," I said, my voice scratchy from sleep. "I'll be downstairs soon."

"Alright. But be quick!" Cora called back.

I kicked my fluffy comforter off and stepped onto the worn wooden floors. Our house had been in our family for generations, passed down from father to son. Someday it would belong to my husband and I.

Marriage was very important in our family. My caregiver, Uncle Silas, wasn't married, and my grandparents nearly disowned him for never finding a wife. But my mother was even more of a disappointment. She got pregnant when she was 17 and died nine months later when she gave birth to me. Now I just had Uncle Silas and Cora.

Uncle Silas loved me, but he was a very busy man. So he hired Cora to take care of me. She was not just my nanny; she was my best friend. I had a teacher that came five times a week, but I had the summer off, just like the regular students. It was nice to have a break, though I did enjoy learning.

I changed into a gray shirt and black leggings and headed down the stairs to the kitchen. On weekends we had a formal breakfast in the dining room, but I usually sat at the kitchen island and ate with Cora.

Two plates of warm pancakes sat on the counter. Cora was squeezing oranges for fresh juice. I sat down and poured syrup over the fluffy confection before taking a big bite.

"These are amazing!" I gushed.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Cora lectured. "But thank you." She handed me my orange juice and sat down next to me.

"What are your plans for today?" she asked. "The house is tidy so I don't need your help with cleaning."

"I was going to practice…" I murmured. Cora nodded in understanding.

Uncle Silas wanted me to be a good girl. And I was. But I didn't like feeling helpless. I wasn't allowed to work on his tree farm with the lumberjacks because he didn't want me socializing with them. So I learned to use an ax on my own.

I couldn't cut down many trees because Uncle Silas would notice, but I loved to throw axes. I had targets set up in the woods behind our house and would sneak off to practice while my uncle was at work.

"You have about two hours," Cora said. "Your uncle had a meeting with the manager of the lumber mill, so he's gone."

"Okay," I said, getting up to put on my boots. "Thank you Cora."

"Of course," she said with a smile. "Be careful."

"I will."

Birch Paquin, 15

District 7 Male

The smell of smoke filled the air as flames licked at the sky. Everyone was screaming and the occasional gunshot rang out. I stood frozen as a man burst out of a small cottage, an adolescent boy slung over his back. Me.

I was living out the destruction of Hatchwood all over again. My childhood home, destroyed by vengeful Capitolites and violent Peacekeepers. As I watched, horrified, a Peacekeeper with a bottle of whiskey in one hand raised her gun. A silent scream was torn from my throat as the bullet went straight into my father's back.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as my father bled out in front of me. Younger me was crouched beside him, desperately trying to stop the flow of blood. But the Peacekeeper was closing in, ready to shoot again. And suddenly a man was there, scooping up 11-year-old me and running into the woods. I screamed for my father as I was carried away by Brancher, my savior.

My limbs unfroze and I lunged forward, tackling the Peacekeeper to the ground. The bottle smashed on the ground beside us and her gun fell from her hand. I ripped her helmet off as a hatchet materialized in my hand. With a scream of rage, I sank it into her forehead.

As blood streamed across her skin her face morphed into that of Vermeer Versailles. His blonde hair was streaked with red and his dead blue eyes gazed into my soul. But then the form was morphing again and Brancher's weathered face was looking back at me. His expression was one of pain and sadness.

"Birch," he whispered, his voice just as kind and gentle as I remembered. "Your prejudice will be your downfall. The world cannot survive off of hate." And as I opened my mouth to respond, his body crumbled to dust.

The razing of Hatchwood faded around me as a sharp kick caught me in the side. I groaned in pain and rolled over. And Enobaria Gould's boot slammed into my face. Crying out, I rolled away from her only to be struck by Caesar Flickerman's cane. All around me, Capitolites and Peacekeepers were swarming, weapons at the ready. I screamed as they charged, pain exploding through me.

"Birch!"

I shot upright, my white tank top soaked with sweat. I looked around wildly, but there were no attackers. Just my friend. Soil was kneeling beside me, a worried expression on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Just a bad dream." Soil nodded in understanding. Every member of the Martyrs' League had their pasts, and we knew to respect each others' privacy. Soil knew about the destruction of Hatchwood and my father's death, but he knew nothing of my betrayal of Brancher.

'No', I told myself. It wasn't a betrayal. Brancher was a moderate and had to be eliminated. Only extremists could be allowed to survive for Panemian Power to be achieved. The Capitol and the Careers deserved no mercy, and anyone who didn't want them dead had to die too.

The trapdoor in the corner of the basement creaked open and Lotus's head poked through the opening.

"Raskul wants to talk to us," she said. Soil shot her a thumbs up and she retracted her head. I grabbed my torn jeans and sneakers and pulled them on as Soil got dressed too. Then we climbed up the ladder and into Raskul's living room.

Raskul Bryant was the leader of the Martyrs' League. He formed the group after he lost his little sister in the 10th Games, and had amassed quite a large following throughout District 7. I owed him my life, and it was only fair that I would dedicate it to him and his cause.

I joined Raskul, Lotus, and my other friend Henry at the kitchen table. Soil pulled up a stool as Raskul began to speak.

"A shipment of ammunition is coming in by train today," he said. "The Peacekeepers want to be well-supplied for Reaping Day tomorrow. Today, you four will be joining Caroline in setting up explosives on the railway."

"How will we get to the tracks?" Henry asked.

"We have an initiate on the inside," Raskul explained. "He'll get you through the gates. And if anyone catches you… leave no blood unspilled."

Nero McCormack, 24

District 7 Escort

Purple was the color of kings. It was only fitting I wore it today, as I stood before the people of District 7. A hero could be stepping into the spotlight today and it was my job to make them shine. After all, even kings served the gods.

"Nero," a firm voice said from behind me. I turned away from the window to face Acacia Steele. Her gray hair was tied back in an intricate bun and her glasses were perched on the end of her nose in the way the elderly always seemed to wear them.

"If you're quite down ogling yourself, I have something I'd like to discuss." I frowned at her, unimpressed by her comment, but nodded.

"What is it?"

"I will be mentoring this year," she said. I barely bit back a scoff. Acacia was old. Not as old as some victors, but she was in her 70s. That was far too old to mentor.

"Why?" I asked. "Can't Hollie do it?"

"Hollie has mentored for the past three years," Acacia said. "It's only fair if I take a turn. And I'm not a fossil yet."

"Fine," I said, crossing my arms.

The other victors filed into the room shortly after. Blight was eyeing me warily, but everyone else paid no attention to me. But Blight was cautious around everyone. He still hadn't warmed up to me and this was my third year as escort.

"Good morning," I said coolly. Casper returned the sentiment as Hollie helped Dexter into a chair. If Acacia was old, Dexter was ancient. He won the 4th Hunger Games and was at least in his mid-80s. I was relieved he wasn't going to be accompanying us to the Capitol.

"Excuse me," a Peacekeeper said, stepping into the room. "I hate to interrupt, but it's time."

I nodded crisply and straightened my long coat as I waited at the door. On a queue from the cameraman, I marched out onstage.

"Hello District 7," I said after I reached the microphone podium. "I am pleased to be back and to have the privilege of selecting a courageous young man and woman to represent your district in the 66th Hunger Games." Half-hearted applause followed my short speech, but I kept my expression neutral. Their lack of enthusiasm didn't bother me.

I introduced the district's past victors, who solemnly filed out onstage. The mayor followed them, taking a seat beside Blight.

"But before we reap our representatives, we have a short film to share." I nodded to one of the Peacekeepers, who turned on the screens behind me. A monotonous voice began to narrate the history of our country, and when it was done I led the crowd in another round of subdued applause.

And then it was time. Just to change things up, I decided to select a slip from the boy's bowl first. I took my time selecting the paper, then carried it delicately back to the podium.

"Birch Paquin!"

After some shuffling, a blonde boy with freckles stepped out of the 15-year-old's section. His brown eyes burned with rage and his fists were tightly clenched. He'd be a fighter; I could already tell.

He was dressed in torn jeans and an old leather jacket, but they suited him. And as he got closer I noticed a horizontal scar on his right cheek, and another on his throat. He came to stand silently beside me, his jaw clenched.

Not bothering to give him a chance to speak, I walked over to the other bowl to select his district partner. This time I chose a slip from the top, the excitement to meet my female ward outweighing my desire for suspense.

"Aspen Hayes!"

A pretty girl with long blonde curls was ushered to the front of her section. She was also 15, but was wearing a soft pink dress that made her look younger. She rubbed at her big brown doe eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay.

She sniffled a little as she joined Birch and I on the stage. Birch stiffly held out his hand and Aspen shook it hesitantly. I turned to the crowd.

"District 7, I give you your tributes: Aspen Hayes and Birch Paquin!"

Hi all! I'm back with another chapter! Thank you to 03ibradley for Aspen, Very New To This for Birch, and Carlpopa707 for Nero! I hope you enjoyed reading about them. Please leave a review and let me know what you thought of these three!

Also, further updates will either be really fast or really slow because I'm spending this upcoming week in the hospital. I'm okay though, don't worry! I have continuous treatments throughout the day, but in the gaps between I'll probably be writing. Unless I'm too tired. So yeah, either lots of writing or none at all. We'll see.

Questions

1) Which District 7 tribute did you like better? Why?

2) Any alliance predictions so far?

3) Out of all the tributes introduced so far, who would you most like to be friends with?

Have a nice day, be kind to each other, and never stop reading!

- Fiona