Hi, everyone! The cast of this story is officially complete! Thanks to everyone who submitted a tribute!

Enjoy your reading :)

The day before the Reaping

Nyra Liberty (14)- Citizen of District 8

I'm watching my silly cousin Iora, while her mother Elvira is adjusting her dress. My aunt runs an important fashion magazine, and she has chosen her daughter as a model for her last collection… just for a change. Yeah, with her curly, blonde hair, blue eyes, fair complexion, and skinny figure, who wouldn't think that she's the perfect model, after all? Ah, bullshit! If people knew how spoiled, perfectionist, and irritating Iora is, they would see her in a whole different light!

"These sleeves have to be worn a little further down, Iora, your shoulders should be naked! You know, this style will be the last word in fashion, or my name is not Elvira Liberty!" explains my aunt.

"Yes, mum," replies Iora with a smile.

Oh, really? She's never so condescending! I'd like to roll my eyes, but I help myself. The last thing I need is a reprimand from my aunt or a silly comment from my cousin due to my "inappropriate behaviour".

"Okay, that's good! Wait here, I'll fetch a matching ribbon to tie your hair! I want to take as many photos as possible today! You know, tomorrow, with the Reaping… oh, if only we could finish the service today!" she goes on, while she's leaving the room, bouncing in her high heels.

Once she's gone, Iora addresses me: "Nyra, get me a glass of water, please. I'm really thirsty."

"Hey! I'm not your servant, you can do it yourself!" I reply, annoyed.

Who does she think she is? Not my boss, that's for sure!

"I cannot move from here. You know how angry mama gets, when you don't do what she wants," she insists.

"Tell her that she cannot always have whatever she wants!"

"Oh, come on, Nyra! It's just a little favour, I can't see why you don't want to do it!" she complains.

"It's a matter of principle! People like you are so used to being served that they completely lack in humility and treat others as if they were nobodies!"

"People like me?" she echoes me with a frown.

"Oh, please, don't pretend you didn't understand!"

"No, I didn't for real."

"Loyalists! That's what I'm talking about! It's because of people like you and your parents that tomorrow we will all stand in that damn square, and two kids will be taken away for the damn Hunger Games! But you don't care, right? You're still the lapdogs of the Capitol! Oh, supporting the Capitol is so easy, when your belly is full!" I blurt out all in one breath, so, when I finish speaking, I feel the need to breathe deeply.

"Quite the opposite, Nyra. Anyway, it's not my fault, if your parents died. They winded up on the wrong side, but this didn't prevent us from accepting you and Tag in our house. A little gratitude wouldn't hurt," she points out.

Oh, how much she likes judging others! Yeah, my brother and I moved to her house after the war, but it was her family who insisted on that… only to get on us for being their debtors, of course. They've never said that aloud, but I know they all think that we're their debtors to some extent. This doesn't mean, however, that I'll let them push me around! We don't need their help; Tag is twenty, he's old enough to look after me… if only he wasn't a damn drug addict!

"My parents believed in a better world, in a world without the Capitol scaring us with their Games! They wanted to make it also for people like you, so don't you dare insult them! You may be a privileged girl, my dear cousin, but you could end up in the Games like anybody else of Reaping age, and the money of your family wouldn't save your life out there!" I say, right before storming out of the room.

…...

4 years ago

Truett Wilson (12)- Citizen of District 8

It's a sunny afternoon, but I'm not going to spend it outdoors, as many would expect from a boy of my age. Actually, I think that nature is mocking me: the sun is shining in all its beauty, but I'm suffering. Yeah, I know it's nobody's fault and that nature is not mocking me, yet I cannot help but look for a scapegoat. The truth is that I feel immensely guilty. My father died of a heart attack right the day before my first Reaping. I was with him, but I couldn't do anything to save his life. I'd like to become a doctor, but I couldn't do anything… anything! But it won't happen again! Since then, I've devoted myself to reading as many medicine books as possible so that I'll be able to help my family, if necessary. I've got some books at home, but they're not enough, that's why I usually spend my free time at the public library... like today.

I'm heading to the library, but then I see a little boy sitting on the ground, all alone in one corner. He's whining, his hand put on his knee. He must have hurt himself.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, while approaching him.

He looks up. "It's nothing, just…"

I kneel down. "Let me see…"

He reluctantly gets his hand off his knee. There's a graze on it. He's bleeding, but the wound is not serious.

"Umm… nothing serious, don't worry," I remark with a smile.

I pull a handkerchief and a bottle of water out of my bag. After wetting the former, I use it to clean the wound. The boy doesn't resist.

"How did you hurt?" I ask him, while I'm working.

"It was just a stupid race with my friends. The first to get to the river wins. My friends ran faster than me; I tried to catch up with them, but I fell down," he explains, without looking at me.

By his tone, I can tell that he feels ashamed. In fact, he has some scratches also on his hands. I clean them as well. Once all his wounds are cleaned, I take another handkerchief and tie it around the boy's knee, thus making a makeshift bandage. I tie it tight in order to stop the bleeding, but not too much tight, of course. It's a bandage, not a tourniquet, after all. Besides, bandages should permit some freedom of movement.

"Okay, it's done. But when you go home, ask somebody to change the bandage, if the wound starts bleeding again. If not, you can just remove it. Remember that your skin has to breathe, it will heal faster, okay?" I instruct the boy.

He nods in response. I help him to stand up.

"Are you a doctor?" he asks me.

I smile in response. "Sort of."

"Well, thank you."

"You're welcome. Try to be more careful next time, and don't mind your friends, you'll outrun them sooner or later."

"I hope so," he says with a smile and then walks away.

"You did a good job," comments a voice from behind my back.

I turn around. It's a woman in her seventies, with grizzled hair combed in a low bun and deep hazel eyes.

"Thank you, but I did nothing special, Mrs. …"

"Springer. But, please, call me Ruth. And you're wrong, kid, not everyone would have stopped to help that boy, and in the way you did it. You've got a talent," she replies.

"Talent?" I echo her.

"Keep me company for a walk, please."

"Well, my mother always tells me not to trust strangers," I say.

I feel uneasy.

"That's a wise suggestion, kid, but what harm could this old lady ever do to you?" she rebuts with a wide smile.

I consider her words for a moment, and then I decide to follow her.

"You told the boy that you're a sort of doctor, right?" she says at some point.

Now, I feel chills along my spine despite the sunny afternoon. Does she want to report me for acting as a doctor? Is she a peacekeeper under cover or something of the sort?

She must have understood that I'm scared, because she immediately adds with a cheerful voice: "Don't worry, kid, I'm just curious. If you don't want to answer, feel free to keep silent."

Now, I feel somehow reassured. There's something in her voice and smile that suggests that she's a good person, not someone I should be afraid of.

"Well, I'd like to become a doctor, but I'm not a doctor, of course… not yet, at least. I've already read many books, anyway," I explain.

"Well, that's a starting point, but you'll need to study hard and gain practical experience to realize your dream," she replies.

"I know you have to study medicine at university to become a real doctor, but my family cannot afford paying fees," I point out with a sigh.

"Sometimes, scholarships are offered to the brightest students. You take an entrance test, when you're of age, and with a reference letter… I could help you with that."

I light up. "Really? How?"

"I was a doctor in the past, before retiring," she answers.

"Wow! That's great!" I say, excited.

"Tell me… why do you want to be a doctor?" she asks me.

This question saddens me, and Ruth notices that.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be indiscreet…" she apologizes.

"It's okay. My father died, and I couldn't help him… so I thought that... I thought that I couldn't let it happen again to someone else I love," I say, trying to hold back my tears.

"That speaks for you. I'll be glad to help you."

"Thank you, Mrs. … erm, Ruth. But my mother doesn't want me to study medicine; I can read in peace only when she's not around."

"You shouldn't let anybody clip your wings! Listen… if you want, I could train you in secret until you start university. What do you think?"

…...

Present day

Iora Liberty (14)- Citizen of District 8

I look at my reflection in the long wall mirror of my room. For the Reaping, I've decided to wear a sleeveless, orange dress with a white sash around my waist, high heels, and a white headband with a little ribbon on it. But there's something wrong: since I'm wearing high heels and a sash, I should look not only taller but also thinner than I am, yet I don't. I feel a wave of frustration and anger bubbling inside of me. I'd like to take a chair and use it to smash the mirror, but it would be useless. Besides, I don't want to risk hurting myself with shards of glass. The Reaping is broadcasted on live TV, and what if a camera framed me right when my face is scarred? There's no way I'll let it happen!

At some point, my mother enters the room to see if I'm ready. She clasps her hands together and smiles as soon as our eyes meet.

"Oh, dear, you look great! I'm glad that you've decided to follow my advice about naked shoulders," she says, kissing my cheek.

"Mum, do you think I should lose weight? I'd look better in pictures, don't you think?" I reply, gazing again at the mirror.

"Oh, dear, no! I've tailored my collection to your current size! It would be a disaster! Now, come have breakfast, and don't think of losing weight! That's ridiculous!"

"Well, I'm not that hungry, to be sincere. I'll stay here to make up. I want to look my best at the Reaping!"

"As you wish," she replies and then leaves the room.

My cousin Nyra makes her appearance on the threshold immediately afterwards.

"You're so skinny that you risk disappearing," she says.

"Eavesdropping is impolite," I retort, but she just walks away with a shrug, without adding anything else.

When everyone's ready, we head together to the main square. I've never taken out tesserae, so there are only three slips of paper with my name in the Reaping ball. Nothing compared to the situation of many others. I'm neither scared nor worried, because I know that the odds are in my favour. I join the other fourteen-year-olds in our section along with Nyra, who doesn't utter a word. Some girls turn to me to watch my dress. Outfits give you many clues on social status, especially if your district is specialized in textiles. I wonder what those girls feel for me right now. Envy? Anger? Or admiration?

My thoughts are interrupted by the mayor, who fiercely mounts onstage but limits himself to read the Treaty of Treason, without adding any personal comment. Despite the second rebellion, the text hasn't been changed. The Hunger Games haven't been changed neither, I suppose. When the mayor finishes reading, he leaves the word to the escort- a man who's wearing a costume made of pieces of different kinds of fabric- and takes his seat.

"Welcome to the 76th annual Hunger Games, District 8! Seventy-six years of glorious tradition that we're going to continue! Aren't you excited?" begins the escort, but the crowd keeps silent.

He resumes his speech, nonetheless: "I'm sure we're all curious to know who the tributes of this year will be, so let's call them onstage! Ladies first!"

He approaches the girls' ball, while the whole square is staring at him, mesmerized. "Iora Liberty!"

What!? No, it can't be, I must have misheard the name! Nyra turns slightly to me; her facial expression is unreadable, but, when our eyes meet, I understand that I haven't misheard anything. The escort has called precisely my name!

Courage, Iora! Pretend you're just parading! Spine straight, chin up…

I make my way through the crowd and mount the stage.

"Oh, we have a little queen here! But, dearie, let me say that you should eat more, you look like a skeleton! But, you'll see, once in the Capitol…" comments the escort.

How dare he? How annoying!

He approaches the boys' ball, but I clear my throat: "Ahem… you should ask for volunteers, first. No passage should be skipped, or this is not a proper Reaping, right?"

Someone in the crowd giggles.

"Oh, dearie, believe me, if someone wanted to volunteer for you, she would already have done it. I've got a certain experience in those things," he rebuts, a little annoyed due to my interruption.

In fact, he picks up a slip from the boys' ball without any further ado. "Truett Wilson!"

A boy emerges from the sixteen-year-old section- dark blonde hair, blue eyes, thin, tall for his age.

"Welcome onstage, Truett!" says the escort, but Truett ignores him.

His eyes are fixed on me. I'm used to being looked at, but his gaze disturbs me somehow.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes of District 8, Iora Liberty and Truett Wilson! Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

We enter immediately the Justice Building, where we're assigned a separate waiting room, which is just an empty room. Actually, there are only two couches, if you want to sit down. This room is the last place tributes see before leaving for the Capitol. They could furnish it in a better way, after all. I can't believe I'm here! Three slips out of thousands, and the escort picked up one of them! I'm going to the Capitol, the fancy city that rules our country. I must admit that I've always dreamed of visiting it, but definitely under different circumstances.

My parents enter the room. I rush to them. They hug me.

My mother speaks first: "Oh, Iora! You… you were great… if only…"

She's stammering, because she's trying to hold back her tears. Tears are a sign of weakness, and they ruin your makeup. I feel somehow reassured by this realization: my parents will stay the same, whatever happens.

"Our family is loyal to the Capitol. Tell them that," recommends my father.

He's about to cry as well.

They talk a bit about strategy, about what I should and I shouldn't do, then they leave me alone. Nyra and Tag won't come to say goodbye, I know it… I just wonder… what have I done to be hated so much? I just want to be loved. If only my parents were less cold, if only I could let myself be vulnerable with someone…

…...

Truett Wilson (16)- District 8 male tribute

I can't stop thinking about my district partner. She's so skinny… anorexia, no doubt. She wore fancy clothes, so it's not poverty the root of her condition, but a deeper, psychological distress that makes her reject food. I've heard that anorexic people eat, and then they stick a finger down their throat to throw up what they've just eaten. It must be horrible. I wonder how I can help her. To be sincere, I know more about physiology than psychology. But I'll manage to help her somehow, I cannot abandon her! A true doctor wouldn't, right?

My thoughts are interrupted by my first visitor: my mother. She immediately hugs me, teary.

"Oh, Truett!"

That's the only thing she can say, since she bursts into tears immediately afterwards.

"Don't worry, mum… e-everything… gonna be okay," I stammer, as tears starts flooding from my eyes as well.

I try to sound self-confident but in vain, my voice is actually quivering.

"How can you say that?"

"I'm good at identifying plants, and I can run fast thank to my long legs. If I find a good hiding place, I'll be able to stay out of danger. See? There's still hope. Besides, if I get hurt, I'll be able to self-medicate, because…" I start explaining, but she breaks our embrace of a sudden, thus interrupting me.

"Yeah, because you've disobeyed me, you've continued seeing that woman!"

"She's just helping me to realize my dream! Something that you're not doing!" I rebut, but then I bite my lip.

This could be the last time I talk with my mother, I shouldn't behave like that. "Sorry," I immediately apologize, looking down.

She puts her hands on my shoulders. "You want to become a doctor out of guilt, Truett, but it's not your fault, if your father died! That's what I want you to understand!"

"You're wrong, mum," I retort, watching her right in the eye.

She sighs. "A boy of your age should have fun with his friends, not study all day! You've got no friends, Truett! You spend your free time only with that woman! But what do you know about her? Why is she helping you? Nobody does nothing for nothing, Truett! Besides, she's not a good friend to you! She hates the Capitol, and it may be dangerous!" she goes on.

I've never asked Ruth why she's decided to help me, but just because I don't want to appear suspicious after all she's done for me. She's a good person! Why can't my mother see that?

My thoughts are interrupted by a peacekeeper, who enters the room while shouting: "Time's up!"

"No! I cannot leave my son like that! Truett!" my mother shouts back, but the peacekeeper shoves her unceremoniously out of the room.

I rush to the door, but he slams it in my face. "Mum! I love you! I'll come back, I promise!" I scream, my sight blurred by tears.

My second visitor is Ruth.

"Oh, dear kid, what a terrible situation!" she says, handing me her handkerchief to wipe away my tears.

"Thank you for coming, Ruth."

"I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye," she replies with a sad smile.

"Don't worry about me, I'll do my best to make it," I say.

"I know you will."

We sit on the couches. All I need now is taking everything out, so I just burst into tears, burying my head in Ruth's lap. She keeps silent, while stroking my hair. When we run out of time, I'd like to give her handkerchief back to her, but she shakes her head.

"You keep it," she says and then leaves the room.

I look at the handkerchief, because a detail catches my eye: there's an image of a bird- a robin- on it.

So, the tributes of District 8 are Iora Liberty (by santiagoponcini20) and Truett Wilson (by OrdinaryChildOfTheKing). What's the root of Iora's distress in your opinion? Do you think that Truett will be able to help her?

Thank you a lot for reading and reviewing :)