Zachary Chandler, District Five Male

The sun rose like it was any other day, but it wasn't anything of the sort. Today was day of the Reaping.

The day when Zachary Chandler, of District Five, would volunteer for the Seventy Fourth Annual Hunger Games.

Zach hadn't always loved the Games. Like many children, he'd been terrified, and sickened by the blood and violence. He didn't understand then what the Games meant. But as he grew up, the Games followed him. Moments of the Games shone bright like gems in the dull morass of his childhood

Zach was four when Faraday won the Games. He remembered the celebrations and sweets and everyone being happier than he could remember

He was eight when Cashmere Golding clawed her way out of the arena despite everyone writing her off, getting a consecutive victory for District One and returning to her fellow Victor twin.

He was twelve when Ryder Layton received a three in Training, and then outlasted everyone in the brutal tundra.

But it was with Johanna, roaring over her kills as the trumpets sounded, that it really clicked for him.

That could be me.

He'd thought things like that before. Everyone in the Districts had the Reapings hanging over their heads until they aged out. But this time, the thought didn't bring Zach fear.

It brought hope.

He could never become a scientist or an overseer. Science and math always made his head spin, and you had to know someone to become management in the plants. He would always be a nobody in District Five. But the Victors weren't nobodies. They showed the world they were the strongest, and the world acknowledged them in return.

And if tributes from One, Two and Four could train for that glory, why couldn't he?

Three years later, it was time.

Zach quietly opened the door to the family apartment after his early morning run He wasn't worried about waking his parents; after fourteen hour shifts at the plant, they were dead to the world. But they weren't the only ones living in the cramped quarters-

"There you are."

Zach suppressed the urge to jump at the sudden noise. "Angie-"

"Don't you 'Angie' me! I know what you're doing."

He took a deep breath and turned slowly, standing as tall as possible. He was about to volunteer for the games, he couldn't let himself be intimidated by his younger sister.

Angelica was standing near the window, glaring at him with her big blue eyes. They were one of the few features the two didn't share, since both of them were pale, lean, and slightly freckled with curled, sandy blond hair. They only had a year separating them, leading people to assume they were twins at first sight. Growing up, Zach had felt as close to her as if they had been. HE'd shared his deepest fears and feelings. But now…

"You don't understand, Angie," he said with a sigh. They'd had this conversation what felt like hundreds of times over the last two years. He'd started to see progress in his training, and wanted to share it with her. Maybe even plan together. She was the smart one, after all, the one who aced all her tests and was expected to attend university.

That hadn't happened. Instead, she'd fought with him about it every step of the way. And things only got worse closer to the Reaping each year. This time she'd been quieter though, and Zach hoped she'd came around. Judging by the anger on her face, she hadn't.

Angie's tone was icy as she replied. "No, I don't understand why you're so eager to throw your life away on something so…" She threw her arms up in frustration. "So stupid!"

Zaxh clenched his jaw reflexively. "Tell that to the kid I'll be volunteering for. Just like Joule." Angie's jaw tightened, same as it always did when he brought up her Reaped friend. "And what about his family? Tell them you'd rather me just ignore their pain."

She growled in response. "Don't even try to pretend this is about saving anyone. Besides, what about us? Don't you care about how we'll feel watching you die?!"

"I'm not going to die." Zach retorted. And if I did, Angie would be the only one who'd really care. Besides, if I do die, it's not like I'll be around to see any of it afterwards.

At this point in the argument they'd had so many times before, Angie would usually bring up their parents, his friends, and the bright future that he would certainly have if he didn't volunteer. Either that or storm off. This time, however, she did neither. She instead got in his face and asked a different question.

"What about making us watch you kill?"

This time, Zach did jump back slightly. Angie must have sensed weakness in this movement, as she pressed forwards and continued. "You know that's a part of the Hunger Games, don't you? Killing? The Capitol doesn't let pacifists win, because they like to pretend we're all savages eager to tear each other apart. And you're playing into that! Jumping at the chance to rip a twelve-year old's head off! Is that what you want, Zach? To be a murderer?"

Zach could feel his throat getting dry at her words. That wouldn't do ;he had to gulp several times before replying as evenly as possible. "Victors aren't the same as murderers, Angie. The Hunger Games are a sacrifice for Panem. No matter what happens, twenty three tributes will always die. The tributes just carry out the sentence. If it's up to me-" Zach paused to steady his voice again. He absolutely could not show any weakness here, "I'll do it as cleanly as I can."

Something broke in Angie's face that Zach couldn't quite place. She took a step back and took a deep breath of her own. "That's really what you think? About what the Hunger Games are?"

The question puzzled Zach. What else could they be? The Hunger Games were a punishment and a warning to the Districts. That's what their parents had taught them, and what they taught in school History was literally the only subject Zach was good at in school. "I don't understand what-"

"Of course you don't." Angie replied coldly. She started to turn away.. "I don't know why we're even having this conversation if you think that's what the Hunger Games are."

A chill ran down Zach's spine. He was used to Angie being angry at him over his volunteering, but this was different. "Angie, wait!" He reached out to grab her shoulder. "Why are you bringing this up now?"

Angie didn't turn. "I don't know. Maybe I hoped you'd change your mind, or maybe I didn't want to think of my brother volunteering to kill people and trying to excuse it."

Zach's stomach dropped. He knew that they'd grown apart over the last few years as he dove into training, but this was something completely different. He tried to remember what she'd been doing, and who she'd been spending time with recently, but drew a complete blank.

He'd be saying goodbye to his sister without really knowing her.

Zach shook his head hard. He was being ridiculous. If he wanted to be a Victor, he needed to think like one. Now was not the time for doubt. Not when he was so close. Not when a future of pushing buttons day after day loomed over him. "It'll all be worth it, you see."

His words sounded lame even to Zach, and he wasn't surprised that she stormed off to her room without that didn't mean it wasn't true.

It had to be.

Everything started with the Reaping. The first impression a tribute made on the Capitol could make or break the Tribute's chances and every detail counted. Even if the tribute was only shivering from the cold rain or sweating from the heat, it might be enough for the bettors to write them off. Zach really couldn't have asked for a better day with the bright blue sky and a light breeze and thick, puffy clouds keeping it from getting too hot. Perfect

And better and better, his future District Partner also seemed aware of the importance of impressions. Zach couldn't see her initial reaction from the pens, but by the time the red haired girl, (Finch, he needed to remember that if he didn't want to look foolish), was calm and self assured despite her average-atbest size. When their Escort introduced her to the crowd, a sly smile crept onto her face, like she knew a secret they didn't. It was clear to Zach that Finch was ready to play, and he was all for it.

"And now, for the Gentlemen!"

The announcement shocked Zach out of his musings. It was time. His heartbeat picked up.

All of Zach's planning and preparation could mean nothing if the Capitol didn't like him, and he intended to be liked. He was wearing his best white shirt and slacks, he had positioned himself right next to the aisle so when he volunteered, the cameras would be able to find him immediately, and see how ready Zach was.

He was ready. He was so completely ready that the Escort, Energa's (yes, that was really what she called herself) habit of drawing out each moment of the Reaping grew from irritating to maddening.

Rummaging in the bowl…

Please… hurry up.

Grabbing a slip, and pulling it out,

Why was he so lightheaded? He was just excited, right?

reading the slip,

He was the only one who wanted this-

and then announcing the tribute went .

He just wanted to get this done.

"It looks like Lysander Watts will be our lucky boy today!"

Distantly, Zach could see a crying boy from the Fifteens making his way to the stage. Good. He'd be a hero for saving him. No matter what Angie said, volunteering was the right thing to do.

Not just yet, though. He needed to be calm and composed when volunteering. Strange, it had been a nice day, but as the scared kid made his way to the stage, the sun was shining too brightly right in his eyes. Zach felt the sweat pouring from his body, He tried to take a calming breath, but his throat was constricted. That was no good. He needed to compose himself if he wanted to get through this.

Wanted to be a Victor. Wanted to live. Wanted to prove himself more than just a factory drone. He wanted this.

Was this really happening? Was this a dream? He felt disconnected from things like a dream.

Do you dream of being a killer?

Why was he thinking of Angie right now? She was just wrong. The Hunger Games weren't about killing, they were…

They were…

"Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes for the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games."

The sun faded, the clouds drew in. Zsch felt like he'd been plunged into a bucket of ice water as the realization that he'd failed, he'd been too late, too caught up in his own fears and now his one chance to be someone was gone gone gone. He was a coward.

And there was his sister, running from the pens with the biggest smile on her face. She probably thought he'd agreed with her in the end, not that he was a stupid useless coward who they were all better off without…

It was all too much. He didn't even feel himself passing out from the heat.

It really served him right.

Sorghum Hill, District Eleven Male

Sorghum was born under a lucky star, his brothers used to say. His father never liked talking about it in those terms, saying it was good to acknowledge your fortunes, but not to rely on them. Hard work and kindness was what mattered, as those could be relied on when sheer luck failed. Sorghum always nodded and agreed, as he tended to do in conversations. Privately, he knew that some things you just couldn't work through.

Take the Reaping. People could talk about the odds, and the number of slips from Tesserae increasing, but when it came down to it, either you were unlucky enough to get picked, or you weren't.. Sorghum's odds were better than many, only taking tesserae for three people at twelve and thirteen, but that didn't matter if one of his slips made it into the escort's hand. In a District as large as Eleven, the odds of any one kid being reaped were low, but in the end, someone had to be Reaped.

Or a person's job. Almost everyone in District Eleven did what their parents did. It didn't matter if you were the most brilliant person in Panem, if you were a kid born to a pair of field hands,you'd be a field hand too 99 times out of one hundred. And even for those who defied those odds, they'd've never gotten the chance without a heaping dose of luck.

Sorghum Hill was the son of two field hands. He had three older brothers and a sister, and they were all field hands. He never really expected or even wanted more than being a field hand. The fact that instead of picking carrots every day, he was breeding them in labs still felt unreal to him.

Not being an intern at the labs made everything perfect for was fully aware his position was only temporary, that unless he proved himself he'd be thrown out of the program. He also was keenly aware of the wedge his new position had driven between him and his neighbors, who he had looked on as family before everything started. His parents and siblings always said they were proud, and they were happy to receive the extra money, but a part of Sorghum still wondered…

But in addition to that, because of his luck, rather than celebrating surviving his last Reaping with his family, he was attending an office party at the South Eleven Labs with a cup of punch surrounded by people he barely knew.

Honestly, calling it a party was a bit much. It was just their largest conference room with the table shoved to one side and a few streamers hung up haphazardly. But the room was packed, the music was playing a bit too loudly, and Sorghum was hiding in the corner behind a (plastic, ugh) plant hoping nobody would notice him until he could get away with leaving.

"Hill, is that you? What are you doing all the way in the corner? Get over here!"

Luck wasn't on his side there. He inched out and tried to look happy to be there as he greeted his boss Lyra Strong, and her companions.

The first one was a man he didn't recognize. He was tall, with a thin face and lips. He looked Sorghum over with a dispassionate eye. Under his gaze, Sorghum felt like one of his new carrot strains, waiting to be watered or discarded. Sorghum himself liked to save the "failures" but he doubted anyone would save him here.

Ms. Strong's second companion was a stern, dark woman with her hair pulled back in a tight bun. The only ornamentation she added was a plain gold wedding band, and a single crystal hair clip.

The third he recognized, to Sorghum's own surprise. It was his old overseer. Still the overseer for his siblings and mother, and the last person he expected to see here.

Nor did he expect him to break out into a grin upon seeing Sorghum. "Little Hill! Good to see ya!" Suddenly, his arm was around Sorghum's shoulder, pinning him in place. This close, he could smell the alcohol on his breath, making Sorghum slightly ill.

The overseer turned to address the tall man, while keeping his grip on Sorghum. "This here's Sorgh'm Hill, the surprise of Sector 23. Tha's my section, y'know."

The tall man lifted an eyebrow. "Indeed." He replied flatly.

Apparently, the overseer took that as an invitation to continue. "I was the one who found him. Got word that someone was selling carrot seed in the shanties, and went to remind the field rats who's boss." Sorghum stiffened at that description, but didn't interject. "Wassn't expecting a kid to be behind it all. Had a full illegal garden, with carrot tops flowering in old glass jars of all things."

Sorghum remembered that garden well. Most of his life he'd lived on hand-me-downs, but the garden was his. The carrot tops that had been thrown away as trash. He loved rescuing them, helping them thrive again. The carrot was the root, and would never grow back, but the greens would. It had helped his family through the hard times, but Sorghum loved them for their own sake as well.

He also remembered the day they were discovered. The day everything changed.

It was in the middle of summer, and it must have been hot, but he only remembered being cold with fear. The sweat rolled down his face as he was held in place by the Peacekeepers, his hands bound. The town was mostly silent, with everyone still working in the fields, but he saw a ragged curtain twitch at the neighbor's. Old Mrs. McKinnon might have been shot in the leg by a Peacekeeper back in the day, but even she knew better to get involved.

At that moment, Sorghum was certain he was going to die. Even if he had scavenged the original carrot tops from the trash, it was still the Capitol's trash.

Looking back, he knew that wouldn't have happened. Even the Peacekeepers wouldn't execute a ten year old. He was too young to be whipped, so his parents would take it in his place. Or worse, since they knew about his garden the whole time. Sorghum was glad he didn't know that then.

"So, we found these things, and I 'membered Sis-" The overseer nodded at the woman with the bun, "Telling me how these days, kids weren't going through the schools long enough. Most of them dropped out to work, and her school was getting less kids who wanted to make new plants 'stead of picking 'em. And there was this kid growing carrots in a jar. I asked him 'bout it, and he started talking his head off bout' carrots and hydo.. Hyo.."

"Hydroponics." Sorghum managed to interject. That was a mistake, as all four of them turned to look at him. Sorghum dropped his gaze and tried to look small.

The overseer seemed to appreciate it, though. "Tha's it! Toldja! Smart kid" He clapped Sorghum on the back. The force of the blow nearly bowled Sorghum over, but it was also wild enough that he was at least able to escape his grip. Still, he knew he couldn't leave yet, so he waited for them to continue.

This time, the woman picked up the narrative. "I remember that. I also remembered you calling me up out of the blue telling me you had a kid who needed additional testing and I needed to drop everything and arrange it."

His boss smiled at this. "That must have been so exciting for you, Hill."

Sorghum nodded, trying to look as appreciative as possible. The way he remembered it, he was still scared to death throughout the interviews and testing, terrified that if he didn't do well enough, they'd drag him out to the gallows. He supposed he must have, because a week later, he was riding the bus for an hour each day to attend District Eleven's premier agriculture school, studying all kinds of crops and the best ways to grow them.

The overseer's sister continued. "I admit, I wasn't expecting much from a former field hand, but he passed every test he set in front of him, and never caused any trouble either. I expected to have a standing appointment with him in my office, but I think the first time we met was when he graduated a year early."

Yes, Sorghum had always done his best to keep up. That was what his family taught him, that was why they were skimping on their own meals to ensure he had books and clothes suitable for school. He wasn't going to waste their sacrifice by acting up or failing out. And he did genuinely love school, learning about all sorts of plants he'd never dreamed of. The other students hadn't really liked him, but fortunately, they'd mostly stuck to taunts. He could live with that.

For only the second time in the conversation, the tall man spoke. "Yes… I remember. You were the one who created Snow Carrots." Unlike the others, the man looked Sorghum in the eye, directly addressing him as he spoke. Sorghum didn't know whether to be pleased or terrified, but he managed a nod.

"I'm aware that to graduate from Eleven Agricultural Academy, students need to put together a Senior Project showing their skill in breeding plants. You went a step further and created an entirely new strain of carrots. One sweeter than the ones Eleven was producing."

Sorghum didn't know how to answer that, so he just shrugged and looked away. He was just trying to do his best, and pass his final year. He hadn't meant to completely change carrot production in Eleven. It just happened.

"You are a remarkable young man."

Sorghum's head shot up. The man's eyes bore into Sorghum as he continued. "I've received a number of comments concerning you. About what to do with you. You are past Reaping Age, correct?"

Sorghum nodded. "J-Just had my last one today." He managed to choke out

The man nodded. "Good." He paused, then continued. "I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Cornwalis Gaines, Director of Agriculture in the South Sectors." He held out a hand.

"And I would like to offer you a permanent position as Junior Researcher here."

It was a Sorghum had been struck by lightning. A stable position. Money for his parents to retire. A chance to keep doing the work he loved, and making great vegetables for all of Panem.

All this, because one Overseer decided to spare him instead of punish him. Call it luck, or a blessing, or whatever you want, Sorghum thought as he reached out to shake Director Gaines's hand. He was just grateful it happened.