Rosinante Runell, 17
District 2 Male Tribute

Rosinante delicately rubbed his hands together as he peered around the corner of a tall stone building. District 2's main market square was less busy than usual, most likely because of the light rain that was falling. District 2 didn't seem to care that it was the middle of summer; it was determined to bring bad weather.

But Rosinante didn't mind. Fewer people in the market meant fewer eyes to avoid. He'd been thieving for years and was quite skilled, but he knew to always be cautious and never push his luck.

Today, his target was the butcher's shop. Four years ago, the burly butcher caught him digging through his dumpster and broke a bottle against his jaw. Rosinante subconsciously raised his hand to touch the old scar. He wasn't a vengeful person, but stealing from the butcher was definitely gratifying.

A cluster of women walked by, shielded from the rain with big umbrellas, and Rosinante fell into step with them. He kept his distance, hood up and eyes on the ground. For all they knew, he was a poor guy caught in the rain without an umbrella.

When he reached the butcher's shop he turned and slipped down the narrow alleyway between it and the bakery. If the butcher's was a bust, he'd check the baker's dumpster. Bread wasn't enough to sustain him and his ailing grandmother for long, but it was better than nothing.

Rosinante glanced inside the butcher shop through the back window. The butcher was just opening the door to the cellar, where he stored slabs of meat. Perfect. He quickly opened the dumpster and leaned in, shifting through the trash with no hesitation.

There! A package of bacon was half-buried under several plastic trash bags. Rosinante grabbed it and tucked it under his jacket. That was a very lucky find and he knew it. He allowed himself one small smile before creeping over to the bakery's dumpster. Maybe his lucky streak would continue.

Chrome Ellis, 15
District 3 Male Tribute

Chrome tucked himself further into his favorite armchair, pointedly keeping his eyes on the book in his hands. But he was only skimming the pages, not actually absorbing any of the information. He was eavesdropping on his parents.

They were whispering to each other in their bedroom. The Reapings for the very first Hunger Games were tomorrow morning and they were anxious. Chrome couldn't blame them though; he was anxious too. Both he and his little sister Silika were eligible to be reaped. What if they were chosen? He would never survive a fight to the death.

It wasn't fair! His family wasn't rebellious. During the war, they kept their heads down, worked hard, and didn't choose sides. Staying silent and slipping under the radar was the best way to avoid the consequences of the war, according to his dad. But they were being punished anyway.

But then again, maybe they were a little rebellious. Chrome wasn't an idiot, and he was good at reading his parents' faces. His dad was definitely disappointed when the Capitol officially took control.

The door to his parent's bedroom opened and Chrome jumped a little. His eyes flashed back to his book as he pretended he'd been absorbed in his reading the whole time. His parents seemed to fall for it because his mom cleared her throat.

"Chrome. We want to talk to you and your sister," she said. Her voice was strained, as if she was trying not to cry.

"Okay," he said slowly, setting down his book. His mom called Silika out from her room and their family of four gathered in the cramped living room.

"Reaping Day is tomorrow," his dad began. "And we don't know what will happen. It is very unlikely that either of you will be selected, but… but…" He choked on his words and my mom put a hand on his shoulder.

"But if anything happens," she continued. "We want you to know that we're proud of you, and we love you very much."

"We love you too," Silika replied. Her dark eyes were wide and shocked, and Chrome understood why. His parents were never this emotional. Nobody in their family was.

They were more worried than he realized. And that scared him.

Lumos Watts, 17
District 5 Male Tribute

When he was younger, the thundering water of the dam and the hum of electrical equipment frightened him. It was too loud and overwhelming, blocking every other thought from entering his head. But now Lumos found the noise soothing. The silence was what made him uncomfortable. Silence meant that something was wrong.

Lumos was always destined to work in a power plant, though as a child he dreamed it would be as an inventor. He loved to tinker and had a knack for repairing and redesigning machines. He wanted to make power production safer and more reliable.

But when he was in Grade 7, his dad was killed in a power plant explosion. He couldn't afford to study anymore. He had to drop out of school and get straight to work in an entry-level position. Throughout the years he did manage to rise through the ranks, but he was still only paid just enough to keep his mom and sister fed.

Suddenly, the beeping of an alarm cut through the background noise. Lumos jumped to attention, checking the grainy monitor to see what was broken. One of the water pressure monitors was highlighted in red.

He grabbed his toolbelt and hurried down the hall. It wasn't necessarily dangerous if the monitor broke, but one could never be too careful. Losing his dad taught him that.

When he reached the room where the monitors were installed, he smiled. A familiar figure was fiddling with the interior of the machine. They looked when they heard Lumos and grinned. Lumos raised a hand in greeting and went to join his cousin.

Lumos was closer to Dynamo than anyone else in the world, except for his little sister Sol. They shared a kind and protective nature, but also loved to joke around and have a good laugh. He was the brother Lumos never had, and he would trust him with his life.

Ezra Everheart, 17
District 6 Male Tribute

Ezra desperately tried to push down the nauseous feeling in his stomach as he joined the line of steel mill workers, but there was no way to erase his anxiety. Everheart men didn't feel; they worked and worked and worked and kept their family afloat without complaint. But Ezra wasn't sure he could do that anymore.

He shuffled forward in line, keeping his hands fisted at his sides. Mr. McCrass, the owner of the mill, was standing near the big doors, overseeing the distribution of paychecks. Ezra desperately needed the money, but he knew it wouldn't be enough.

He accepted his envelope from an overseer with a meek nod and hurried through the crowd of workers flowing into the street. He wanted to get home and make sure his dad and Jeannette were alright. He was the man of the house now and it was his job to keep them safe.

It's my own fault though, he thought as he walked. A little less than six months ago, his father had an accident. Ezra wasn't paying enough attention to the grinding machines and his father's dominant arm was pulled in and violently severed.

Gent Everheart taught his son everything he knew. He instilled strong values in him and showed him the benefit of hard work. But he wasn't the man he used to be. His job was his purpose, and now, without an arm and unable to work, he no longer had one. He spent his days sitting by the front window of their tiny apartment, reflecting on the life he once had. And Ezra was responsible for his pain.

Things would only get worse as winter approached. Jeannette was only five years old; she couldn't work. And Ezra could not take on one more shift without collapsing from exhaustion. And so he'd decided to take an incredibly huge risk. He was going to volunteer for the Hunger Games.