Vignette Cawthorne, 18

District 1 Female

Beautiful cello music floated through the warm morning air, gently pulling me from the land of sleep. I stretched and rolled over, watching the clouds outside my open bedroom window. The music was breathtaking, but sad and haunting. My father must be missing my mother more than usual.

When she died during labor, part of my father died with her. He became obsessed with honoring her memory; though I wasn't necessarily any better. I performed in my mother's honor, using the very same violin she played. Though now the wood was darker, stained and finished with her blood.

Everything in my life was red. My violin, my makeup, my performances, my passionate evenings spent with whomever I chose, whether or not my father approved. He couldn't critique my lovers without hypocrisy though… he was just as amorous as I. Though his desire was to forget.

I eased the blankets off of my sore form. Last night, the official volunteers for District 1 were announced, so I stayed late at the Academy and trained to pass the time. I wasn't surprised that I was chosen; I'd turned down the slot twice before. My best friend Taylor believed that it was wisest to wait until I was 18, and I trusted him. But now the time had come.

My district partner was Christopher Jewel, another rich boy from the elitist socialites of our district. He was the heir of a large gemstone-mining company, but he wanted to make his own name. I understood. I also wanted to come out from underneath my father's shadow. I would always be grateful for the life he provided me, and for what we built together, but it was time for me to become my own person. The Crimson Fairy, who haunted the theater with her violin, would be conquering a new stage and enchanting a new audience.

I slipped into a simple pink dress and crept out of my room. I was always awake at the crack of dawn to practice, while my father made breakfast and did several smaller chores around the house. But if he was in the loft, I wanted to leave him alone. I couldn't bear another moment where he slipped and called me by my mother's name.

I tiptoed down the grand stairs and into the large kitchen. Though I was raised for a domestic life, I was a bad cook. It was almost laughable how much better my regal father was in the kitchen. But I could make something simple.

As I picked up a pan to fry eggs in, a cold, tingling feeling washed over me. A gentle voice began to hum one of my favorite pieces and I began to sway to the music. My mother's soft touch on my shoulders guided my body as we danced together. Sometimes my visions of her dripped with crimson. Sometimes they were awash with music and light.

Dahlia Cruz, 16

District 5 Female

I jumped when the door slammed shut, dropping my book with a loud thump. Arianna stomped inside, the smell of sweat and dirt following her. I picked up my book.

"What's wrong?" I asked my younger sister.

"Tamara Wyatt is the most annoying person to ever exist on this planet!" she declared. She kicked off her cleats, which landed somewhere in the dining room. I winced.

"Hey, easy with the shoes," I told her. Arianna rolled her eyes. "What did Tamara do?"

"She said it was probably for the best that our mom didn't bring snacks to games because all the players would be drunk!"

Arianna's soccer bag hit the floor next and I sighed. Our mom was a touchy subject in our family, especially for Arianna. Dad kicked her out when Arianna was only four months old. She was a raging alcoholic who was only with Dad for his money, and when she started showing signs of being physically abusive towards me and Arianna, he sent her away immediately. They were divorced now, and Arianna and I hadn't seen her since that night.

Since then, I'd taken up a bit of a motherly role with Arianna. Dad was an amazing parent but he was busy, since he was a nuclear physicist and would often go to the Capitol to speak at conferences and petition for grants for his work. But at the moment he was home, because Reaping Day was this weekend.

"Just tell Tamara that it might be worth having a few drinks before a game," I told Arianna. "It might help her play better, and Panem knows she needs the help." Arianna snorted out a laugh and nodded.

"Right? I can't believe she missed that goal last weekend. It was pathetic!"

"It was," I agreed quietly. I didn't like bad-mouthing people, but Arianna had no such hesitations, and she clearly needed to vent.

I secretly went back to my book as Arianna continued to rant. I'd read The Little Mermaid plenty of times, but it was my favorite story. A character who couldn't speak was intriguing… because it was my worst nightmare.

Ever since I was little, I wanted to make people happy - to put a smile on their face. I wasn't exactly a jokester, but a heartfelt compliment or a helping hand did more than people realized. When Dad was sad, I was there with comforting words. When Arianna got angry, I soothed her. And when I needed comfort, I sang.

Singing was my biggest passion. When I could lose my sadness in a gentle song or work out my frustrations with something loud and bold, I was at peace. And my family were my biggest supporters. Every time I performed in the school's talent show, Arianna was there to cheer me on. And Dad would ask his boss if I could perform at their company's occasional dinners. She always said yes, and even encouraged people to tip me.

My life wasn't perfect, and I didn't expect it to be. But I could make it better, for me and for everyone that I loved. And I would.

Jersey Madras, 16

District 8 Female

"Come on Jersey, it'll be good for you," my mother said, tugging gently at my hand. I shivered and huddled deeper into my hood. I didn't want to go to Mrs. Cohn's house with my mother to ask for some salt. I didn't want to talk to Mrs. Cohn or her five little kids and hear them taunting me when I said something silly.

My mother pulled on my hand again.

"Jersey?" she pleaded. "I know you can do it."

"Doesn't matter," I mumbled. "I don't want to." She sighed and released me.

"I know it's uncomfortable for you Jersey," she said. "But you need to practice being in the real world. You can't hide in your room for the rest of your life.

"I want to be alone," I said, shuffling back into the house. "You can go by yourself."

I gently closed the door and went back to my room. I heard my mother mumble something to herself before her footsteps began to fade away. I shut my bedroom and door and pulled my fabric scrap box out from under my bed. A half-finished doll was resting on top of the other strips. I pulled it out and began to twist its legs into place.

I collected these scraps of fabric during work. They were too small or too misshapen to be used, so they were tossed aside to be thrown away at the end of the day. Nobody cared if I took some of them home.

I never had friends. Everyone would say mean things to me and I wasn't even good at talking to them before they were mean. I would say something nice and then my mother would tell me I was being a brat. It didn't make any sense.

I didn't believe that the dolls were my friends, like my parents thought. They were just dolls. But they were fun to make and they didn't say awful things. When I was working on them, all of the voices were gone.

My parents had the scariest voices. Just last night, I heard them say that they didn't think the money I made in the factory was enough, and that I wasn't able to provide for the family. I would have to make a big change to be worthy of their love.

I couldn't work any more hours than I already did. My back ached from being bent over the machines all day and I'd dropped out of school years ago. I would have to do something drastic to win their love.

I put the doll down and went over to my desk, where I kept my notebook. I used it for writing and math practice, but it had a calendar in the back. I traced my fingers over the days until I reached the current week. Friday was Reaping Day.

The Hunger Games were awful. They were a malicious and violent tool used to make the districts weak with terror. Killing people was wrong and victors always came back changed. But they also came back rich. Cecelia Douglas and Zander Kline had the most money in District 8; even more than the factory owners. My parents would never have to work again if I won the Hunger Games. And if I died, they wouldn't be sad. They didn't love me anyway.

Kyle Rush, 18

District 8 Male

I grunted as I lifted the bar above my head. My arms strained with the effort but I managed to keep the weights aloft. My friends whistled and cheered from all around me. Carefully, with the help of my spotter, I lowered the barbell back down and then rolled off the bench.

"How'd I do?" I asked, already knowing the answer. I just wanted to hear the praise.

"That was amazing!" Burt gasped. He held up a hand for a high-five, which I gave eagerly. "That's way more than anything I could do."

"Hey man, if you keep practicing, you'll get there," I told him.

"You've got to show me how to do that," my other buddy Julian said.

"It just takes practice," I said. "Practice and dedication and some epic muscles."

We all laughed, and then I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost seven and my nana always expected me to be home by dinnertime.

"I've gotta go," I told my buddies. "Nana hates it when I'm late to dinner."

"I don't get it," Julian laughed. "If your nana cooked dinner for me, I'd never be as fit as you are."

"She's a great cook," I agreed. "But a healthy diet helps you bulk up too!" I flexed my arms.

After saying a quick goodbye to Julian and Burt, I hopped on my bike and pedaled away from the gym. It was more of an old warehouse than a gym, but people filled it with workout equipment over the years. And now that District 8 finally had a few school sports teams, it was being maintained.

I was thoroughly winded by the time I got home. I took a few minutes to catch my breath before locking my bike in the garage and heading inside. I was greeted by the mouth-watering smell of loaded baked potatoes.

"Hi Nana!" I called out. "I'm home!"

"Hello love," she said from the kitchen. "I'm just making some fresh lemonade. Go shower, and then we can eat."

"Sounds delicious! I'll be back in a bit."

Nana was my favorite person in the world. She took me in when my parents turned to a life of drugs and alcohol, and she gave me the best life ever. She made me incredible food, sewed my clothes, and bought me all sorts of nice gifts. The black diamond studs I wore in each ear were my favorite of her presents.

I showered quickly and then joined Nana at the table. The lemonade was sweetened exactly how I liked it and the potatoes had all my favorite toppings.

"This is so good," I moaned as I ate. "Nana, you're incredible!"

"Not as incredible as you, my strong boy," Nana said. She reached over and ruffled my hair.

"Thanks Nana," I said with a grin. "For everything."

Here they are! The first set of tribute introductions! Thank you all for sending me tributes and helping this story get off the ground. I'm very excited! And thank you to Paradigm of Writing for Vignette, GalaxyQueen500 for Dahlia, livinginadream0 for Jersey, and LadyCordeliaStuart for Kyle. They're all very different but all very fun to explore.

Please leave a review and let me know what you thought of these four! Also, the blog is (mostly) done. I'm missing quotes for the District 11 tributes but other than that it's ready to share. It can be found at passage72 . we ebly. co m. Just remove the spaces, since FFN is a jerk about linking blogs.

QUESTIONS

1) What are your first impressions of these tributes?

2) Which tribute did you like the best? Why?

3) Which tribute did you connect with the most? Why?

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

- Fiona