2.

District 2

Nona was excited.

More excited than she'd ever been in her life. She gave her mother a tight hug when she came to visit her before the train departed.

"Your father would be so proud of you," her mother said. At her words, Nona marveled at her face. All her life everyone had told her that the two of them looked alike, the same dark hair, honey skin and heavy lidded dark eyes. Her mother, however, was just an inch or two shorter than her but still had a similar, albeit more pronounced muscular build from all her years as a stonemason. "I'm so proud of you."

"Do us proud," Grandfather, who was, even all these years later, still bigger than both of them due to the evenings he worked voluntarily in the stone quarries as a way to lend an extra hand, said encouragingly as he gave her a big hug of his own. "I know you will."

"I prayed for this," she whispered in his ear, feeling giddy at the thought. "I actually prayed and it happened. Can you believe it?"

Grandfather stepped back, hands still on her shoulders, and smiled like the two of them shared an exciting secret, like they were planning her mother's surprise birthday party. This smile somehow smoothed out the wrinkles on his face, making him look several years younger.

"What are you two whispering about?" her Mom asked suspiciously.

"Nothing dear," Grandfather answered, clearly faking innocence. He looked into Nona's eyes and that proud look became even brighter.

"Words," he said. "Words fail me right now, Nona. You will win. I can feel it."

"Well," she said, trying to be humble and fair to her district partner, Servius, who she'd trained alongside of and had even been friends with growing up.

"No," he cut her off insistently. "No, no, no. No modesty. You will win. And I know that you will fight honorably. And Nona, this is very important. Please, please, please promise me that you will not take a life unless someone is threatening to take your own. You must promise me that. Please. I beg of you."

This was serious. And it was clearly important to him. Very important.

So, she straightened up, gave him a serious expression and a solemn vow, the gravity of which very few that she knew of besides the two of them would understand.

"I swear to God," she said. And she meant it. Then he brought his forehead to hers and kept it there for a little while, and she knew with utter certainty that this would be a vow she would rather die than break. Vows to her, just like they did to Grandfather, didn't always mean something.

They meant everything.

District 9

Both of his parents were dead. His father died of an infection he got in his leg when he was working in the fields one day when Emmer was twelve. His mother died a year later when a terrible flu that was affecting all the districts finally hit Nine. This had made his decision easier. A lot easier. The fact that he was alone in this world.

It was because of this fact that he wasn't really expecting any visitors. Not now, anyway. What happened at the reaping had cured him of any delusions that he would have a line of grateful citizens waiting their turn to tearfully tell him how much they appreciated his sacrifice. Maybe a girl he'd gone to school with his whole life who was secretly in love with him and saw this as her last chance to tell him so. Something. Anything. But no. Instead it was just him in an empty, barely lit room, fully creating the experience of what it must have felt like to be a caged animal. Then and only then was it finally starting to occur to him what he was doing, where he was, what was about to happen…

The room felt smaller, almost like he was being suffocated. Emmer pressed a hand on his chest and tried to force himself to calm down and not think about any of this. Trying not to think about how he was dying for nothing but moderate, pathetic, forced applause and nothing more…

That's when he heard the door open, causing him to jump. He looked up and narrowed his eyes, still not fully convinced that he was seeing who he thought he saw.

"Hello, Mr. Skadsen," Mayor Wells courteously greeted him with a warm smile.

"Mister Mayor," Emmer stuttered out, awkwardly. "What are–I mean, why—?"

"I'm here because I don't want you to be discouraged by what just happened out there. I can assure you that everyone in the district is grateful for what you did and said up on that stage. And frankly, it's what we all needed to hear at a time like this."

"Oh," was all Emmer could think to say for some reason.

Mayor Wells just continued to smile sadly at him.

"Yes," he said. "The games themselves are already bullshit. But this, asking us—no, demanding that we do this to each other. That was too cruel. I don't know what they expected. After this I'm going to tell Maizie Nanahara the same exact thing."

"Okay."

He should say something profound. He should ask him questions, ask for some advice. He knows he'll regret it later, but for some reason nothing was coming to mind.

"What made you decide that you had to do this, anyway?" Wells asked with a curious tilt of his head.

"I just…it just made sense. I thought…I thought they'd…"

"Appreciate it in a more extroverted way?"

Emmer was too embarrassed to admit this to be true. It sounded so, so stupid, especially now.

"I appreciate it," Wells tried to assure him. "I appreciate anyone who's willing to volunteer, and that's exactly what you did. It takes a special kind of bravery to do that. Listen, you're about to do something very, very dangerous, and if I'm not mistaken, you're allowed access to previous games tapes as a way to help you. Study lucky number twelve."

"Why?"

"Because that's the year we finally won, remember? Demetria Langford's year. And besides—"

He stopped himself for some reason. Emmer raised an eyebrow at him, but he just waved it off and said, "I have to go see Miss Nanahara. It's only fair, no matter what she's done. Good luck to you, Emmer Skadsen. We're all rooting for you. And, may the odds–well, you know the rest."

Mayor Wells walked out the door and Emmer was left feeling, not more optimistic, per say, but a small part of him was starting to feel like maybe this wasn't all for nothing after all.

District 1

Alexandrite really didn't want to hear anything that anyone in her family had to say. Her two older brothers and older sister kept trying to tell her that Mother and Father had the best of intentions. It was very easy for them to say considering that they weren't the ones in her shoes. They would never be in her shoes since her sister Electra had had her last reaping two years ago, her brother Jett's the year before that, and Jasper three years before that.

They'd all managed to avoid being reaped in the Games, yet somehow Alexandrite was the one whose head was on the chopping block after all these years. Now, everyone was trying to say something to her, but all she heard was the sound of buzzing in her ears. She was furious. And she was going to die. She was furious because she was going to die. And being trapped in a tightly packed room that was wall to wall with her desperate and painfully naive golden haired kin certainly wasn't helping.

The very same kin who were trying to give her advice on how to win the games, but what did they know? None of them had been in a reaping in their lives (not really) much less the games. Growing up, they had all been forbidden from talking about them or even acknowledging that they were going on. In fact, when they were kids, they'd all been prohibited from participating in the training sessions in school. They'd gotten notes from their parents, always insisting they were sick, injured, or had to focus more or catch up on their studies. And whenever one of them, mainly Alexandrite, had asked why that was, they had coolly cut her off and insisted, This is not for children.

"It's unbelievable," her mother was now saying to no one in particular. "We give them our loyalty, our surrender, and what do we get in return? We're better fed than the other slaves. It's perfect. And now they're going to take my daughter because, why? Because we said 'no more'? What more do they want from us?"

"Mother, shut up!" Alexandrite shouted, unable to take it anymore. Everyone looked at her in shock and disbelief, but she just let out an exasperated sigh and tried to explain, as calmly as she could, "We're in this situation, because we cheated. We're cheaters. We're all cheaters. We all knew what we were doing was wrong and illegal and could get us all—I don't even know what. What I do know is that I pretended like I didn't know because I didn't wanna die. But maybe, just maybe, if you'd at least pretended to play by the rules, to do what the Capitol wanted, let me train, then maybe I wouldn't be a…I might have had a chance in case the thing that's happening now ever wound up happening…"

She'd started sobbing. She didn't want to, but there was nothing she could do about it. All she could do was sit there and fall apart. And when her family circled in on her, each wrapping their arms around her in an attempt to comfort her, against her better judgment, she didn't push a single one away.

And really, why should she? What was done was done and this could be the last time she would see any of them, let alone be with them all together in the same place. Her own family, who had, in their own misguided way, done their very best to try and keep her out of harm's way, regardless of the fact that they had ended up failing miserably. Even still enraged, she could see that clearly enough.

"To hell with them," came her father's husky voice. "That's why we did it. All of it. For all of you. Why should we give up our lives, our babies' lives for the sake of this so-called peace? To hell. With. Them. Damn them all to hell. Especially for this. Especially now. I wish we'd risen up and burned their city to the ground. I really do. Damn them all for this…"

District 8

Patch's first visitor was Tassel. He hadn't really been expecting a "thank you" for what he did, but he really hadn't been expecting a lecture.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, towering over Patch. Staring down at him the way he was, his jaw square, eyes a bright blue and his hair strawberry blonde, he looked like a younger version of his father, save for the grey in Mayor Spalding's hair and thick beard, it was almost unnerving. Pretty much all his life Patch had been listening to girls giggle about him in the hallway. Giggling in a way that he knew for a fact they never would for him.

"What do you mean?" Patch asked, trying desperately to keep his voice steady and even, despite the fear that was starting to creep into his heart.

"What do I mean? Oh my—do you have any idea what you've done? My father is furious—"

"Did you want to be the tribute?" Patch asked, not quite sure where the courage to speak was coming from.

Tassel looked at him like he was a lunatic. "You think that matters?"

"So no," Patch guessed. "He made you. I knew it."

"Congratulations," Tassel groaned, turning his back on Patch, who was actually starting to get annoyed by his attitude.

"I saved you," Patch argued. Tassel quickly turned around and narrowed his eyes at him. Though tempted, Patch didn't back down. "I saved you. You can't tell me any differently."

"Don't you understand?" Tassel asked. "Do you? This was our one chance to actually pick someone who could win. Someone who could win us a year of food supplies and luxuries. I could have won—"

"But did you want to enter?" Patch pressed on. "Or did he make you? Was it even a discussion?"

"You're not even listening," Tassel groaned again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"And you're not answering my question. And that's telling me all I need to know. And what makes you think you would have even won, anyway? You could have gotten killed and it would have been for nothing. Especially if that crazy girl is in the Arena with you."

The girl who had been picked had been someone named Inga, a fifteen year old who everyone knew had a habit of sticking sewing needles in other children's eyes either because they annoyed her, or for the fun of it.

Tassel closed his eyes and gently rubbed his temple in frustration, but it was clear to him, somehow, that he was finally considering Patch's words.

"And now you're going to be in the Arena with her," Tassel pointed out to him, his expression dark. "You're going to be the one facing off against who knows what, and don't tell me you did this to save my life, you and I barely know each other."

"I know enough," Patch said softly, catching him off guard. "I know your father's not a good man. I know he was going to sacrifice you on the chance you could win. You against Inga, who he had to know would be brutal if her life was on the line. Or she was bored. Then there's the possibility of you against a career tribute. Don't tell me that you would have been content with being in that position. Not that it matters, like you said. It's done."

"You're just a kid," Tassel said, a little more softly this time. "You shouldn't have done this."

"We're all kids," Patch responded simply with a slight shrug. "Whether it's a thirteen year old getting stabbed to death or an eighteen year old starving to death, what's the difference? It's all the same. All of it. They all just kind of blur together, haven't you ever noticed that?"

Tassel narrowed his eyes at him. "You don't even think you're gonna win, do you?"

Again, Patch just shrugged.

"You…do you have any idea how selfish…we could have had a chance with me. But you couldn't have that, could you? You…"

"Inga could still win," Patch offered. "We might still have a chance. Not that that's why people chose her…"

"You're going to regret this the minute you walk into that Arena," he informed Patch. "The minute you enter that city. You will. You know you will."

"Oh yeah," Patch agreed. "I know I'm probably gonna die right away. But it was the right thing to do. You can live your life now. All that about living for the sake of the rest, that's horseshit. One life matters as much as a few thousand others. You dying in the games wouldn't have been a sacrifice, it would have been an execution."

Tassel just looked at him with an expression of pity, and it seemed to be both for Patch and himself. "Forget about the chance you took from everybody else. What about me? How do you think I'm gonna live knowing that you gave up your life for me? If I see you die? If I see Inga kill you? How do you expect me to go on?"

Patch hadn't thought about that. In fact, admittedly, he hadn't really thought that far ahead. He swallowed at the realization.

"I…" he stammered out.

Tassel just shook his head and told him, "It's selfish. All for glory. Another pointless death, like you said. Mine might have amounted to something. I would have gone out fighting, I could have had a chance. But with you, we'll never have a chance. And I'll be the coward who had a little boy rescue him from the Arena."

Without another word, he walked out of the room, leaving Patch all alone again.

Patch had been orphaned when he was eight years old. Both his parents had died from the flu that had swept over the districts some years ago. Ever since then, he'd been the apprentice of a seamstress named Satina who had become, for all intents and purposes, like an adopted mother to him. And now as she was standing stiffly in front of him, her expression critical, arms folded across her chest, he drank in every detail of her as if this was the last time he was ever going to see her (which, he would be foolish if he thought for a second that it wasn't); her shaved head, long sleeved ankle length grey dress that was almost identical to the half a dozen others that she owned and kept inexplicably spotless all the time, and her tired, slightly wrinkled face despite the fact that she was only thirty years old.

"What is this?" she asked calmly. "You're putting your life on the line for no reason. You were safe, for now, it was already decided. Why—"

"I'm not gonna waste any more time explaining it, okay? I'm not. Look, he has a chance to live a long, happy life because of me. I don't care what he says, and I don't care what you say. I did the right thing, and if Spalding wants to come in here and yell at me for that then he can kiss my—"

"Spalding is off somewhere collecting himself," Satina said with a groan as she rolled her eyes. "You better hope they drag you off before he does."

"What's he gonna do to me?" Patch asked. "Kill me? The Capitol might just beat him to it."

"This isn't funny," she said, her tone cold and severe. "It's not. What the hell would possess you to do something like this?"

"You don't understand, oka—" Patch was cut off by a slight tickle in his throat, which led to a small cough that he covered up with his fist.

"Are you alright?" Satina asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Patch responded. "Look, just lie to me and tell me that you think I have a sh—"

He started coughing again, this time it was a little harder to control. It was louder and hoarser and it hurt coming out.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," he insisted bitterly. Then he started coughing again and this time felt something wet hit the back of his hand. He hoped that it was saliva, but he knew from past experiences that it was likely—"

"Is that blood?" Satina asked slowly. "Patch?"

He looked up at her, suddenly feeling exhausted, but he straightened up anyway, not wanting to let it show. "Like I said, Tassel has a chance to live a long, happy life. Tassel does."

She looked at him and her expression became softer. Then, before he knew it, she was across the room, scooping him up in a hug and holding him close to her for a long time. Eventually, he wrapped his own short arms around her as well, letting himself be comforted by the act. It was actually through this gesture that he began to feel the full agonizing weight of his situation for the first time, and because of that he was more than grateful that she was there. And he especially tried to cherish that she was since he knew she wouldn't be for long.

Pretty soon he wouldn't be here at all.