Thursday, 10 January 2013

The Reaping

The 9th of January has come and gone so that pretty much means that the time for applying for Districts has passed. However, if someone comes along and wishes to join sometime after this competition has started, simply email me and we can work something out, I'm sure.
But for now, it's just about time to start. Just quickly though, finer details concerning The Games (such as alliances and things inside alliances) will be further elaborated on as we come closer to The Games. Also, any questions you may have about the competition that need answering faster, just comment under The Rules page and I'll answer it for you.
There are also a few participants who are not yet following this blog. This is fine, if you'll remember to check the blog every few days, but it's recommended that you follow the blog and check your Dashboard frequently. I will send emails to these people about following.

But now, The Reaping is about to get underway! Remember - you'll need to work together with your District partners (if you have real life District partners) for these entries. And if you get a CPU District partner, just briefly mention them getting picked before or after yourself. And now, The Reaping!

The 43rd annual Hunger Games is approaching, and each of the 12 Districts of Panem sees all children from the ages of 12 to 18 gathering together for the event known as The Reaping. Some Districts enjoy this event immensely, while others dread it with each passing. This is the time where two tributes - a male and a female - from each District are chosen to participate in the annual Hunger Games.
One representive of The Capitol for each District stands in front of all the children with two glass balls to either side of them with every child's name in there. One by one, the representive dips their hand into the ball and The Reaping for each District begins.

Start! You have two weeks to send your entries to me via email [] and then to comment it on this post. By the 25th of January it has to be completed.

District 1
Male: Cieran Sever [CPU]
Female: Vestige Vicissitude

District 2
Male: [Name to be decided by Miss Cain[CPU]
Female: Miss Cain

District 3
Male: Nixion Strange
Female: Helena Ember Sky

District 4
Male: Eden Threatening
Female: Death Rose

District 5
Male: Flame Phoenix
Female: Sparky Braginski

District 6
Male: Masi Script [CPU]
Female: Christine Wolf [CPU]

District 7
Male: NiamhHasNoLife
Female: Darcy Fitzgealrd

District 8
Male: [Name to be decided by Star Inkbright[CPU]
Female: Star Inkbright

District 9
Male: Shaun Gray [CPU]
Female: Elizabeth Leamy [CPU]

District 10
Male: [Name to be decided by Kestrel LeStarre] [CPU]
Female: Kestrel LeStarre

District 11
Male: [Name to be decided by Charisma Thorne] [CPU]
Female: Charisma Thorne

District 12
Male: Robby Shepard [CPU]
Female: Charlotte Cat [CPU]

EDIT: Vestige Vicissitude is now replacing Ruthe Maitland [CPU] as the female in District 1.


  1. Can i be in a district please? I would like to be.

  2. What's the earliest we're allowed to kill characters off?

  3. You know, I did say to ask about joining by using EMAIL.

    And I did say to ask questions on the Rules page.

    Kes, people start dying once The Games actually start, after the roleplay in The Beginning of The Games. But you don't control the CPU's. You have control over the CPU in your District from The Reaping up until The Games, but I control the CPUs in The Arena.

    Brave, if you want to enter, email me.

    No more questions on this post, please.

  4. The Reaping

    I walk into the stadium with my older sister, Amnesia. She's eighteen. My brother, Ryder, is somewhere with the boys, he's seventeen. I'm sixteen, which means I'm in five times. And there's my other, younger sister, Molly. Even though we're in a higher District - District 5- my family isn't exactly comfortably wealthy. Sure, we have enough to eat, but we still walk everywhere and share clothes and things like that. That's why, every year, Amnesia and Ryder get the full amount of tesserae. I want to, but they won't let me. Which is why Molly can't, either. She's 12. And before you start, I know, we have a weird set of names. Ryder, Amnesia, Sparky and Molly. Don't get me started on our last name. Braginski. Ryder and Amnesia have it easy with their names. They've been in the family for years. But Molly and I? We weren't meant to happen. Sad, but true. So, when I was born my parents had to pick a name for me. I have no idea of what ran through their head, but I like to think it's to do with being from the District that supplies power to the Capitol. Apparently our name is really old. From before Panem was formed. Some people even say that it comes from a land that existed long before where Panem is now was even discovered. Anyway, I'm standing between Molly and Amnesia as our District's representative walks out onto the stage. Claravella something-or-other. She starts to talk, and I pay as little attention as I normally do.
    '... But, in tradition, ladies first. The Tribute from District 5 is... Charlotte Moore.' A small girl, smaller than Molly, steps forward and walks onto the stage. She looks utterly terrified. No one will volunteer for her, poor child. It's not like we're a Careers District, after all. She's crying now. She'll never get a sponsor. No, the best ending for her will be a quick one in the bloodbath at the beginning of the Games. I feel really bad for her. She's so young.
    'And the other Tribute is... Flame Phoenix!' A boy walks up. Now she asks for volunteers.
    'This is your last chance to volunteer as Tribute! It is a great honour to compete in the games and-' Charlotte somehow manages to make eye contact with me. This isn't right. This isn’t fair. Why should that girl die because her name got pulled out of a jar? If someone’s going to die, they should volunteer for it. I step forward before I realize what I'm doing.
    'I volunteer as Tribute!' I shout. What the fuck am I doing!?
    'Sparky?' Molly says. I feel Amnesia grab my wrist.
    'What are you doing?' She hisses. I have no bloody idea, sis, I really don't. Then I look up and see Charlotte again and I remember. I walk out of the crowd.
    'I volunteer as Tribute.' I repeat. Claravella beckons me onto the stage. I walk up as Charlotte walks down and she whispers something to me.
    'Thank you. May the odds ever be in your favour.'
    'You too...' I mumble. I walk onto the stage and silently wish I had pocket to tuck my thumbs into. I feel so exposed.
    'What's your name?'
    'Sparky Braginski.' I grunt.
    'There you have it! The Tributes from District 5 of the 43rd annual Hunger Games!'

  5. The Justice Building

    I look over the crowd and keep my chin up. We get guided to the Justice building and off into separate rooms. I get two minutes with family or friends now. After a few minutes of waiting my parents and siblings walk in. Molly sprints into me and wraps her arms around me. I gently push her off and my father is the next to hug me.
    'Why did you do it?' He whispered. That's a good question. I'm not very strong, though I've been learning how to use a sword for a good ten years, and I'm a reasonably good runner- but that couldn't possibly prepare me for the games.
    'I...' He pulls back and looks at me. 'I couldn't let her die. She has so much ahead of her.' I said. He looks at me.
    'Sparks, you could get killed.' He says. Could? That means...
    'You think I have a chance?' I whisper, so the rest if my family can't hear. I love my dad more than anything. He always listens to my way of reasoning. He nods at me after a small hesitation. I hug him tightly.
    'She wouldn't have lasted five minutes.' I breath into his ear. I pull back again and he nods again, understanding. A bell rings and they leave. The last thing I got to see of my family for possibly the rest of my life was Ryder and dad fighting to say they loved me one last time. My sisters were crying. My mum winked at me. She knows I can do it too. After that, to my complete surprise, Charlotte walks in.
    'You're... Sparky, right?' She says. I nod.
    'Thank you. Thank you so much.' She says.
    'No problem...' I murmur instinctively. We both know it isn't. We both know I'm going to die. She shakes her head.
    'Win.' She says, simply. Not the most articulate 12-year-old I've ever met. She leaves again. Right after, my best friend, Trish walks in. She hugs me tightly. She's crying.
    'You're an idiot.' She sobs into my shoulder, the words coming out slightly muffled.
    'Got anything to tell me that I don't already know?' I say, hugging her back. She laughs and slips something into my hand.
    'Your token.' She says. I open my hand and I see that it's a watch. It's a simple leather one, and I look at it. It's very, very old. The hands probably haven't moved in decades, and the face is cracked. I flip it over, inspecting it. The body is gold, I assume it's real. There's a couple words engraved in it. I'll read it later. I hug Trish again.
    'Thank you. I'll wear it with pride.' I say.
    'May the odds ever be in your favour.' She says. The words fall flat. The motto of the Hunger Games.
    'See you later.' I say, as she leaves. I look at the watch again and see that the back reads 'Sparky Braginski'. My name? How'd this get my name on it? How’d anything get my name on it? Where did she find this? What has that girl been doing in her free time? A man comes in and ushers me out, next to Phoenix. We exchange a shaken glance. What've I gotten myself into? The doors open and I'm engulfed by cameras. I volunteered for the Hunger Games. Which means I'm going to be killed. Shit.

    1. I just realised that I got the quote wrong in these...


  6. I stood in the town square of District 10, and looked around me, nervous. The stage that is special for Reaping Day had been erected, and I, in one of the younger groups of children, was standing near it. On the stage were the two Reaping Balls, one with the girls’ names, and one with the boys’. I stared at those glass balls, wondering how many times my name was in. So many, I could not remember.
    A sudden hush spread over the square, and suddenly everyone was craning their necks to see over each other. I didn’t bother, instead trying to shrink back, away from the suffocating crowd. I could hear horses clopping past, and felt a sudden uncharacteristic surge of anger. The horses that the Capitol sent their representatives were ours by right. We had bred them, raised them. And the entirety of District 10 owned two. The one belonging to the Head Peacekeeper, and the one belonging to the Mayor.
    I could see the hooves passing between the knees of the other fourteen year olds, and relaxed once more. I could tell from the hooves that those horses had been raised in the Capitol, not here in District 0, despite the people there rarely doing anything for themselves. I took another step back, and I 1could see the Mayor and the tribute escort, Daffy Bauble, mounting the stage. There were two chairs on the stage, one for her and one for the mayor.
    Some Districts had whole lines of chairs, set up for all their previous victors. We had only one previous victor, so we had three chairs. It was rather depressing really. The mayor sat down, but Daffy stepped over to the microphone, which was placed in between the two Reaping Balls. By now, everyone had settled down and I could see without craning my neck.
    Daffy was wearing the most ridiculous blue dress I, or anyone else here, had ever seen. Complete with corset and bustle, the look was completed by eyelashes that extended over her eyebrows and were died bright blue. When she spoke into the microphone, her shrill voice echoed across the square, echoing around, the sound waves echoing off of the buildings.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “welcome to the Reaping of the 43rd Hunger Games!”
    This was met with blank stares, but she didn’t seem to notice as she looked at a piece of paper that seemed to hold notes about what she was supposed to say.
    “Are we all here?”
    Again, silence. The Head Peacekeeper nodded to her, and she smiled. “Excellent. As my compatriot in District 12 says- ladies first!”
    If the square was silent before, it was like death, now. No one moved, no one blinked, it seemed as if no one breathed. Daffy’s heels clicked against the wooden stage as she walked over to the girl’s Reaping Ball. She reached her hand inside, and all I could think of was how many countless times my name was in it.
    She pulled the paper out, and unfolded it carefully. Her forehead crinkled daintily, confused. She walked back over to the microphone, and turned the paper to the people directly in front of her. She said, into the mike, “There seems to have been some mistake. This piece of paper is…blank.”
    I stifled a laugh, and saw a couple others around me do the same. Daffy walked back over to the Reaping Ball, and once more placed her hand inside. She rifled around quickly, and pulled out the first sheet of paper her fingers came into contact with. She pulled it out and unrolled it while walking back over to the microphone.
    She said it so quickly, so quietly, I almost didn’t hear it. I heard the beginning, and I heard the end, and that was enough to make my blood freeze in my veins. I crossed my fingers behind my back, hoping, praying, that what I had heard had been wrong. That they hadn’t called Kestrel LeStarre.


    1. It wasn’t. Everyone was turning to me, looking at me, some with pity, some with gratitude. I couldn’t see anyone I knew, I could barely see anything. Tears were forming in my eyes, and I didn’t even bother to try to hide them. My vision was blurred as I walked shakily through the aisle that had been formed between the people in front of me. Peacekeepers fell into formation around me, and marched me to the stage. One of them pointed at the rickety stairs that I would have to climb to get up next to Daffy where I had to be.
      My legs shaking, I placed my left foot on the first step and my hand on the rail, and began to climb. It was only three steps, but it felt like thousands. And then my wobbling left leg missed a step and fell through the space in between. My body was launched forward, and my shin cracked against the wood. My foot was pushed up because of my momentum, and hit the bottom step. I heard a sickening snap as pain rushed up my leg and the tears that had remained in my eyes until now began pouring down my cheeks. I whimpered, and the Peacekeepers stood behind me, unsure what to do.
      Daffy appeared above me, wringing her hands. The mayor stood behind her, looking over her shoulder. He gestured to the Peacekeepers, and two of them walked around me and they each grabbed one of my arms and pulled. I screamed in pain, but they pulled me out and I looked down my left leg dangling, useless.
      The Peacekeepers joined me on the stairs, and one of them lifted them up and carried me onstage. Sharp stabbing pain ran through my leg, and I was openly sobbing now. I barely heard Daffy call out the name Pullus Goran before I lost consciousness and all went black.

  7. Kes... That was gold. Daffy's so funny!
    Sparky's was awesome all around.
    I don't know too much about the Hunger Games. I've only read the first one. I'm not sure if I should even be commenting on here.
    Or reading these.
    But I know you want me to read these.

  8. The Reaping

    At last, it was that most festive time of the year. The time where families united to celebrate the chance of their children being selected for the reaping. I had eagerly awoken that morning and hurried to dress in my finest attire; a dress which my mother had ordered from me. It was a very flattering dress, one that looked almost fit for a capitol ball. The skirt was amazingly puffy and I’m not going to lie, I looked so gorgeous.
    Once we’d entered the large stadium in which the names were being called, I was escorted to my area where the other children of 16 years sat. Of course, I was above all of the girls in my grade, so they’d probably rig the reaping to allow my certain entrance into the games.
    Oh, but the decorations this year were as marvelous as always. Huge colourful chandeliers hung from the tall ceiling, reflecting the sun into detailed patterns over the walls. It was a magnificent site to behold; fitting for someone as talented as me.
    Our representative reached the podium, accompanied by cheers and many laughs as she read through the many rules and exciting tales of previous victors. Then it was time. A large, golden bowl was presented, lined with rubies. Another identical one sat beside it, the only difference being the emeralds in place of rubies.
    The girls were always drawn first. I crossed my fingers in anticipation, hoping I would be chosen. Although, I would just volunteer if I weren’t.
    “Please welcome this year’s female tribute…” She paused. I stopped breathing momentarily.
    “Vestige Vicissitude!”
    I couldn’t help but smile like an utter fool as I stood excitedly and fluttered towards the stage.
    I stood patiently and kept a good posture. My father always said good posture was a sign of confidence and the more confident I looked, the more sponsors I would get.
    After the boy, Cieran Sever, joined me onstage, our Capitol representative approached us for a final word.
    “So how are you both feeling, in one word?” She asked with a warm smile.
    “Overwhelmed.” Cieran replied, giving a lazy smile of his own. This was met with many laughs from the audience.
    She turned to me.
    “Honoured.” I tried to give my cutest smile. My answer received ‘awws’ from the audience. From that moment, I knew exactly how I was going to go about winning these games.

  9. Justice Building

    It’s only now that I am quickly escorted to the Justice Building, another extravagant hall used often to house politicians and capitol guests. I’m allowed a few minutes with my family and friends.
    I enter to open arms and cries of happiness.
    “I’m so proud of you.” My mother’s beginning to tear up slightly.
    “I know you’ll be a winner.” My father gives me a comforting shoulder nudge.
    “Do your best.” My sister gives me a hug and a warm smile.
    With these last words in my head, I know homesickness won’t be an issue. They think I am the most skilled fighter they’ve ever met, and to be honest, I am. I think so at least, and I’m not usually wrong.
    They hand me a small jewelry box. Mother tells me to open it. I do, of course. Inside, there’s a ring.
    “It’s only small,” she says as a pick out the silver, diamond encrusted charm. “But we saw it and thought it was just perfect.”
    The ring is shaped like a snake, sliding around my finger. It’s so fitting, I laugh. I’m not the strongest, but I’m smart, fast, cunning. I could use the snake as a role model. Yes, the snake feels right.

    One of the escorts alerts us that the train is ready. My parents say goodbye, as do I, and walk away. I meet up with Cieran on the way.
    “Ready?” I ask.
    “Oh yeah. The other districts are going down.” He gives a wink.
    “They have nothing on us.” I reply with a mischievous smile of my own. “How about we try not to kill each other?” I propose. We’ll probably ally up at some point, along with the other careers. But it would be awfully nice to know there’s someone I can go to who won’t betray me. I don’t particularly plan on killing him, myself.
    “Good plan.” Hopefully he’s thinking the same thing.

  10. Reaping-
    I stand in the Plaza as my District’s representative, Claravella, walks out onto stage. She starts talking but I don’t bother listening, why should I? It’s the same every year, over and over, of how the Hunger Games is such a privilege and how everyone should want to volunteer and fight in it. Well, in my opinion, I think the Games are just cruel and unfair. I’m fifteen which means I’m in the reaping ball three times. I could be in it more, I could get tesserae but there would be no point. The only family I have are my two brothers but they’re twenty-one and twenty-five. I don’t even know where they are anymore. My thoughts begin to stray when Claravella speaks.
    “As in tradition ladies first; the female tribute for District five is… Charlotte Moore.”
    A small girl walks out of the crowd and towards the plaza stage. She is tiny, barely older than twelve. I feel really sorry for her. She’ll only be slaughtered in the arena; no one will volunteer for her. We’re not a career district, after all. Poor girl.
    “And the boy tribute is… Phoenix.”
    It hits as a shock at first, but I shake it off. My name is Phoenix and everyone knows me as it. For some reason, I don’t break down like I always thought I would, but instead I push out of the crowd and begin walking towards the stage. As I reach it and climb up the steps I get a proper look at the girl who was reaped before me. She’s smaller than I thought, petite and she definitely wouldn’t survive in the arena. No one would sponsor her, anyway.
    Then, Claravella asks for volunteers. I look out into the crowd and see hundreds of stern faces staring back at me. I know no one will volunteer for me, but hopefully someone will volunteer for –
    Someone pushes their way out of the crowd shouting, “I volunteer!”
    Everyone gasps. It’s a girl. Her family tries to grab her but she pushes them away. She runs forward. I don’t know her. She’s short, slim and I’m pretty sure she has green eyes but I can’t be certain. When Claravella asks her what her name is I hear her grunt, “Sparky Braginski.”
    Claravella turned around to face the crowds and she shouts, “Well there you have it! The tributes from Distrct 5 for the 43rd annual Hunger Games!”

  11. The Reaping

    We generally had the reaping in the town square, which happened to have been built just so we could have Reapings in it. I say ‘generally’ because one year a building had exploded all over the square a few days before (some people had been using it as a place to secretly experiment with some dangerous chemicals) so we had the Reaping in the park, which obviously turned the park into a mudbath. When it isn’t being used for Reapings, the park is a large area of thin grass with a few wilting trees; the factory fumes aren’t kind to plants.
    I head into the roped-off area for twelve- to eighteen-year-olds, starting to feel nervous. I’ve been in this roped-off area two other years; when I was twelve, and when I was thirteen. My sister will be here with my next year, which will make me doubly anxious.
    I wait whilst the square fills up. The square, being built for this purpose, is ridiculously large. Usually when I’m here I think how stupid it is.
    While I’m waiting, I try to spy my family in the not-roped-off-area, but I can’t. Never mind. I start savagely chewing at the skin around my fingernails, because I do that when I’m worried.
    Finally, our mayor steps up onto the podium, just like every mayor in every District is doing at this moment, and starts his speech about the history of Panem, which not many people actually pay attention to but I do; I like trying to guess what he’s going to say before he says it. It also means I focus on something other than nervousness.
    Then our escort steps up. Se has a really long complicated name that I can never remember, so usually I just think of her as our escort.
    At this point, I start paying less attention to what the words actually are and more attention to the meaning of them. I’ve tried not to look at the glass balls so far, but now my eyes are drawn to the female one as if someone has tied a length of rope to it, then split the other end in two, tied each half onto one of my eyeballs, and pulled the rope taunt.
    My middle finger has started bleeding, which is my own damn fault for chewing at it, so I lick most of the blood off and curl my hand into a fist, inwardly groaning as our escort starts on his speech. Can’t they just bloody get on with it?
    “And now, let’s pick the tributes!” she says brightly.
    No, let’s not pick the tributes, please.
    “Ladies first, remember!”
    Of course I remember, I am here every year.

  12. I watch her as she strides over to the glass ball with twelve of my names in it (my parents told me I didn’t have to take any tesserae, but I did. Each year we had been getting poorer and hungrier. My tesserae help us at least slightly. If I didn’t take any, I’d feel terrible).
    She rummages around in the glass ball, my thoughts begging him to just pick the first slip.
    She pulls a slip out.
    “Star Inkbright,” she read out, her voice loud and clear.
    . . . No.
    Please, no.
    No. I hadn’t heard her right. I’m been so focused on whether or not that I’d heard my name that I’d imagined it, I’d imagined it was my name but it wasn’t, it was just similar . . .
    “Go on!” a boy muttered behind me, giving me a shove. I took a moment to feel angry at him before slowly, cautiously walking forward.
    It was me. It was me.
    This is a dream, I told myself. This is a dream and you’re going to wake up.
    Myself almost believed me. But not quite.
    I suddenly realised that our escort was reaching for the boys’ glass ball. I started focusing again. Might as well find out who my partner of sorts was going to be.
    Our escort once again spent an annoyingly long time rummaging around, before pulling out a slip. “Cambric Leno,” she read out.
    I didn’t know his name, but when he started walking up towards us I found I knew him by sight. He was in the year above me at school, so he was probably fifteen. I wasn’t sure why I felt sorry for him being picked, seeing as I was picked as well, but I did.
    “Are there any volunteers?” our escort was asking. Why was she so cheerful?
    Please, I thought. Please. I gazed at the audience, this jumble of colour in front of me, giving my best pleading look.
    My chance had gone.
    I gritted my teeth and gazed firmly at my hands. I would not cry. I would not. I would would would not not not. Tears blurred my eyes anyway. I blinked, rubbed at my left eyes like it was itchy, and carried on gritting my teeth/gazing at my hands. Evil people. I tried to comfort myself with the fact that some of them would be in my position in other years, but then I just felt sorry for them. I made a long babbling speech in my head about how stupid that was to help with my mission not to cry.

  13. The mayor started reading out the Treaty of Treason. I went back to my game of trying to guess what he would say before I said it. My scared feeling had been replaced by one of acceptance; I was in the Hunger Games now. It was going to happen. No point stressing over that.

    The Justice building was the poshest place I’d ever been in, but it had a cold, uncaring feel to it. It wasn’t cosy and welcoming; it felt scary and spooky. But then, maybe that way just because of my mood.
    My friends from school came through the door first. They told me I was so unlucky and to stay alive or they’d kill me. I laughed.
    They said they were proud of me for not crying, and that they would be absolutely terrified if they were picked. I told them I was absolutely terrified.
    Then the Peacekeepers took them away.
    I jumped up when the Peacekeepers pushed my family through the doorway, with harsh warnings that we had three minutes and three minutes only. My brother and sister leapt at me and hugged me, because they’re so sweet like that.
    My brother told me I had to go right at them and chop all their heads off.
    My sister told me please not to die.
    My mum told me to remember they all loved me and were proud of me however I did, and to not do stupid things just to look brave.
    My dad told me to avoid the other tributes and focus on staying alive. He said to find a water source and stay there, unless I was going to die by staying there of course.
    I told them I loved them all and I’d miss them.
    They said they’d miss me too.
    Then they were gone, dragged out the door by the Peacekeepers. I waited the rest of the time alone, dreading what was to come.

  14. Hunger games competition.
    I woke up as usual in my driftwood shack. Brushing off the materials that had fallen off the roof last night because of the wind. It would need tar to fix it but i I didn't have tar all he had was the few pieces of driftwood I found on the beach or while spear fishing. I cursed my parents for kicking me out. Their house wasn't in much better shape but at least they had the materials to fix it.
    I added fix the roof to my to do list, put on my work close and went off to take a bath in the fresh water stream that ran into the sea about a mile away.
    I grabbed a brown paper bag which contained the few remnants of my old life and took out a shirt and a black pair of shorts, not the fanciest clothes but they were mine. After getting back from the stream and spending half an hour try to hide the salt water stains out of my brown shoes I headed out to town.
    The Reaping was today there'd be kids from ages 12 to 18 there scared out of their minds hoping they wouldn't get picked. I'd stopped worrying about getting picked years ago, there was worse things that could happen and if after 2 years where my name was in over twenty times ( I'd needed the tesserae to trade for spears and fish hooks) my name didn't come out well then
    I'd be more likely to be hit by lightning.
    As I entered the town I noticed a dullness as if someone had taken the buildings that had once seemed bright and full of life and replaced with a grey dead replica even the smell of salty bread being baked was gone.
    I walked over to the registration smiling at my little brothers as they said good bye to my mother who scowled at me as I walked past. They'd need to prick my finger twice to draw blood because of my tough skin hardened by climbing over the rocky coast. I stood next to two boys I knew from school but hadn't seen in months ( I had quit school and went off to become a spear fisher, and had only gone into town to sell my catch ). They asked me how I was and I replied that I had been fine, then came the disheartening conversation about how many times everyone's names were in. Usually people in the district would be aching to volunteer but in recent years that had gone into decline with parents stopping children from such crazy dreams. I asked them how my family were doing and they had said fine but my dad had been finding it hard to keep the bakery going.
    Then came the actual reaping, I ignored the girls but snapped out of my daydream about building a canoe and moving onto larger fish when I saw a crab fisher I knew called Death Rose walk onto the podium. She talked about the dress she was wearing and the the crowd went silent and my head swum as my name sounded out across the speakers.
    I walked up to the stage and felt my legs about to fall underneath me.
    The speaker concluded the reaping and I was brought inside the looming town hall and into the room where I would say goodbye to my family. I wasn't expecting my parents to come, my father would be to afraid of what my mother would do to him, so I was surprised to find my little brother be led in and hug me as hard as his little arms could. Don't die he whispered as his eyes teared up.
    Then he was led away and I was truly alone.


    I stand in the crowd with all the other girls, as we wait for the Reaping to start.
    I can see the excitement on most people’s faces, like they’ve waited their whole life to go in an arena where they fight to the death.
    I, on the other hand, am fiddling with my dress, shifting from foot to foot and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
    Yeah, I’m nervous.
    I don’t know why I’m nervous, though. I’ve been training for 5 years at our illegal training centre, and I still am. I’m among one of the strongest and the youngest. It’s a good reassurance. But although most kids like throwing knives and killing other kids, I don’t. This is strange for someone like me, especially since I live in District 2. I don’t know why I’m like this, I just am. I don’t tell anyone about this, obviously. It might end up with my parents and I having a very, very long talk about family honour. Well, maybe. My parents aren’t as strict as others, so…
    Our District representative, Sariah, walks out and on to the stage. Her golden dress shines under the sun, blinding me slightly. Her heels are amazingly high.
    “Welcome, everyone, to the 43rd annual Hunger Games!”
    Her smile is too bright and blinding, like her dress. She babbles on a bit, like the same every year.
    Except I’ve never been one of the people with their names in the bowl before. That glass bowl, the one where your name lays, the one where, basically, it could mean life or death.
    I look down, suddenly feeling queasy. I take deep breaths.
    Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale…
    “Ladies first.” Sariah says, beaming.
    Her hand rummages around in the bowl, and emerges with a thin piece of paper.
    A thin piece of paper, which could determine your destiny.
    Her hands fumble with the paper for a few seconds, but it feels like forever. Suddenly, I thought strikes me. If I was chosen, would someone volunteer? Or would they just let me go, because I’ve been trained?
    Sariah spoke into the microphone.
    “And our female Tribute is…”
    Oh, just hurry up.
    “…Miss Cain!”
    Oh crap.
    This was not good.

    I start to make my way to the stage. As I’m walking, I realise I’m not shaking anymore. I try to frown, but it doesn’t happen.
    I suddenly realise I’m on the stage, standing in front of everyone from my District. I still don’t feel nervous. Sariah smiles at me, then walks over to the bowl with all the boy’s names.
    “And our male Tribute is…”
    She pauses and smiles. My God, I hate her.
    “…Ariston Nevmer!”
    A 17 year old boy walks out of the crowd and up onto the stage. The only reason I know he is 17 is because he’s in my training group. And he’s good. Ariston is good at everything. Like, everything. I haven’t seen him stuff up ever.
    Ever. I can’t explain how good he is. And for an illegal training centre, they train everyone very well, including him.
    I look around, wondering if anyone is going to volunteer…
    No one. Great.
    Sariah looks at me, waiting for me to do something of some sorts. I look at Ariston. He is extending his hand.
    Oh, yeah. We’ve got to shake hands.
    I shake his hand. His hands are strong and firm. Confidence is obviously what he’s got. I, on the other hand…
    “And there you have it! Our Tributes from District 2 for the 43rd annual Hunger Games!” Sariah announces.


    As I sit in the Justice Building, I wonder who will walk through the doors first.
    A friend? The family? Someone random?
    It’s the family. My sisters are the first ones to envelop me with a hug. They look upset. This is odd for a District 2 family…
    My parents look proud of me, like I’ll win. My father gives me a smile.
    “You can win. You’re from District 2 and you’ve trained most of your life. You can do it.” He says.
    I smile back, hoping he doesn’t see my doubts.
    My mother rattles on about how good I am. I nod and smile, again hopefully hiding my doubts.
    The Peacekeepers come in. Time is up. I can feel the tears, but I push them down. I hug my sisters, then my parents.
    They’re pushed out of the room, away from me forever. Unless I win. Which isn’t exactly unlikely…
    My best friend, Amelie, comes in next. She looks proud.
    “You go kick their butts.” She says, smiling.
    I grin. “Don’t worry, they don’t stand chance.”
    She hugs me tightly, and whispers into my ear,
    “May the odds be ever in your favour.”
    I suddenly feel sick in my stomach. She is taken out of the room and away from me. Just like my family.
    I don’t think anyone else will come in, so I sit and consider my chances of winning.
    They weren’t great, but they weren’t terrible either. I’ve been trained, so that’s a plus side. I’m going to be one of the youngest in the Games. Not so plus side. I should have some sort of an alliance with the other Careers. Definitely a plus side.
    So I wasn’t altogether doomed…
    A Peacekeeper comes in and ushers me out. I find myself standing next to Ariston. Sariah comes and stands next to me. We exit the Justice Building and make our way over to the train station platform.
    So, I’m in the Games now.
    Great. Just great…

  17. Reaping
    groaned as bright morning sunlight streamed through my window and onto my golden hair covered face. I didn't want to wake up and go crab snorkeling today of all days. Who would on the day of Reaping?
    I threw my grey blanket off and padded to my wooden wardrobe. I grabbed my regular swimming clothes and snorkel, shuffled across the hall to the bright kitchen for breakfast consisting of prawns and small snapper and called out to my uncle before heading out to the beach.

    I checked all my gear on the yellow sand before I dived into the icy blue water, wondering quietly what other fourteen year old did this every morning. Colorful fish were darting in and out of sight as I swam by looking for red crab.
    I finally found one, nearly ten meters from shore. I popped my head out of the water, glancing for any boats coming back to shore with their morning haul before I dived into the murky water.
    I kicked my legs as hard as I could and stopped every three meters; remembering what my father taught me about Decompression Sickness. Dad was one of those rare people who didn't get it, but he was never too sure about me. I got really itchy rashes when I dived too far too quick but I think it is from the salt water.... Dad on the other hand thought it was a symptom of the bends.
    As I plunged into the gloom, I discovered that the crab I had seen was not only one crab, but a whole cast of moving crustaceans. I quickly pulled my bag out and started grabbing the crabs behind the arms, weary of their large pinchers, and put them inside my bag. I wish I had a larger bag, I thought, that way I would be able to crab in these situations. Even as I thought that, I was reminded that most of the time, I didn't even get close to making a good haul.
    Once the bag was full, I swam back to the surface, watching as the light got caught in the water and gasped for air. I could only hold my breath for a minute and a half and a trip that far down for that long threatened to burst my lungs.
    I looked towards the pale shore and noticed everyone was walking towards the town square. My blue eyes widened as I shot towards the shore, forgetting about my burning lungs.

    I raced home and put the crab on the counter, sprinting straight to my room and throwing open my wardrobe doors. "Uncle!" I shouted as loud as I could to be heard over the falling clothes.
    "I'm in the bathroom!"
    "Well, the Reaping is today! I need to find clothes and the crabs need to be taken to market!"
    "Checked your wardrobe?" He asked, completely ignoring the second half of my sentance.
    I growled and punched the wall. "What do you think I'm doing?"
    "I took you in and raised you when your parents and brother died!" His voice quieted, "maybe if you're chosen, some good will come to this place."
    I gasped and felt tears swell up in my eyes. I didn't care what I wore anymore so I grabbed my mother's blue wedding dress.
    I changed quickly, and threw on a pair of blue sandals. "I'm leaving!" I called out and stomped outside, finding myself with the few stragglers towards the back of the group heading to the main square.
    I walked quickly, following the masses to the sign up and got in line to get my finger pricked. Once I was signed in, I walked over to where all the girls waited and flicked my blonde and brown hair behind my ear. I looked around for anyone I knew, and felt a stab of pain as I realized I hadn't gone to school in two days.
    As the Capitol representative started talking, I tried to figure out how much crab I would have to trade for a bigger net bag and how many crab I'd get in one go, but I lost my train of thought as someone pushed me forward.
    I snapped my head around, "what?!" I snarled and that's when I heard it.

  18. "Death Rose? Where are you? No need to be shy!" I turned to look at the stage where the voice came from. "Death, what a funny name, come on up! You've been picked as District Four's female tribute!"
    I went cold and aloud myself to be pushed to the stage like I was floating in ravage waters. I walked up the stairs to the stage and was ushered to the microphone.
    I was suddenly aware of how wet I was; my hair was making my dress a darker shade of blue as the water leaked down my outfit.
    "Hello darling," she said. "What a wonderful dress you have, is that yours?"
    "No," I said dully, "it was my mothers."
    "She died two years ago, and my father and older brother."
    "Shark attack," I said and felt the tears in my eyes again.
    "I'm sorry Death, but maybe the next tribute will lighten the mood." She said as she walked to the other bowl of names. She grabbed a name and unfolded it slowly, drawing out the suspense. "District Four's male tribute is..." No one moved and the ocean seemed quiet for that moment. "Eden Threatening!"
    I gasped as a spear fisher that I had seen while crab fishing walked up. When we made eye contact something sad passed between us. So much for lightening the mood...
    The Capitol representative walked back to the microphone and asked, "now, does anyone want to volunteer to take Miss Rose's place in the Hunger Games?" When she said that, I knew no one would. It rang with finality and I was only a girl who spent all her time in the ocean, making money for her uncle. When I thought that, I was reminded of my his words this morning, 'maybe if you're chosen, some good will come to this place.'
    "Okay," the representative said, "does anyone want to take Eden Threatening's place?"
    We looked at each other as no one spoke. I stopped paying attention at that point.

    I was whisked away to the Justice Building moments after and into a small room. A Peacekeeper I vaguely knew said that he'd be keeping watch and then shut the door, sealing me in. I didn't expect my uncle to come in and wish me good luck, but seeing Demon Fire, my older brother's best friend, walk through the door surprised me. He and I had never really been on the best of terms because I always insulted him for having bright red hair.
    He pulled me into a tight embrace and I started sobbing into his shoulder. "This can't be happening! It can't! It can't!" I cried.
    Demon patted my back in a gentle rhythm. "Shh. It's okay. Shh." He repeated over and over in my ear.
    He steered me to a wooden chair in the corner and let me cry myself out; drenching his shirt in saltwater tears.
    Saltwater... What will I do without the ocean? I thought. The ocean was my life! My moods coincided with the ocean swells. Would there still be sweeps once I had gone? Would I ever see the beautiful blue again? Would I even see a crab in the little time I had left to live? I doubted it.
    I didnt know how long we sat like that, me hunched down, sobbing and hugging Demon Fire's crouched body. It must have been a long time because the Peacekeeper walked in and pulled my friend from my grip. "No!" I protested loudly. "No! Don't take him away!"
    Demon Fire's eyes shined brighter than ever before. "I know you will do great!" He said. "Survive in your family's name!" And I knew in that moment, my life would never be the same again.

  19. I was then directed towards the justice building with Sparky, and as two peacekeepers guided us to separate rooms, we smiled awkwardly at each other. I sit down by the window within the room, a small dainty room with a desk and a shelved wall lined with books. It seems like this was used as a study. I look at the door, just hoping at least someone I knew would walk through, to say goodbye. But I’m waiting for a long time. No one comes.
    Then: The door opens slowly and in comes a girl slightly familiar to me. I don’t know her, but she’s familiar. And when she grunts I know exactly why; long dark brown hair and green eyes, slim and short. I know who she must be; Sparky’s sister. “You protect her,” she says quietly. “You protect her, or gods help you. If she doesn’t come back, and you do; I’ll kill you.” With that she leaves again, furiously striding from the door, pushing past the peacekeeper standing there to make sure I don’t run away. “Is there anyone else?” I ask, knowing that there wouldn’t be. But then again; this day has been full of surprises. A girl of average height walks in. I recognise her instantly; it’s Lily.
    Lily has been my best friend since I was a child. She was there when my father died, the one who comforted me when no one else could. She to My mother died giving birth to me; something I’ve always blamed myself for, for killing her. Lily doesn’t seem to think so; she reassures me that it isn’t my fault whenever I talk about it. She was there when both my brothers left, when I was nine, and they were eighteen and nineteen when I had no one. She was the one who took me in as a foster- brother and cared for me. Her parents became my parents. She runs over to me and hugs me tight.
    “It’s okay,” I say, knowing that nothing is going to be ‘okay’ for a while. She’s crying heavily, and I feel my throat contracting. I pat her back and she looks up at me.
    “Please don’t die.”
    I laugh shakily, “You say that as if I don’t have a choice.”
    “You don’t.”
    As much as I hate to accept it, I must. I probably am going to die. It’s the Hunger Games, after all. She grabs the back of my shirt tightly when the peacekeepers come in to bring her out. She whispers to me as they grab her, pulling away and out the door. “I love you.”
    Not to upset her more, I put on a brave face. “I love you too. Be brave.”
    And the last I saw of Lily was her red face and swollen blue eyes, her light blonde hair and small slim figure being hauled away by two men in white uniforms. I can still hear her sobs as she’s being dragged out into the plaza. It bothers me immensely, that two men are pulling my sister away. But what can I do? I’m a dead man walking.
    And then a man comes in and ushers me out, where I am joined in the hall by Sparky. We exchange a shaken glance and then the doors open, and a wave of flashing cameras engulf us. That’s when it hits- I’m in the Hunger Games…

  20. Helena Ember Sky's Reaping

    We lined up. Like always. Every year, we were parted from our parents for The Reaping. My turn came. I had my skin pierced and my blood was taken down. I looked at my blood covered finger and decided that all would be alright this year. Just like every year. Two strangers would get picked, nothing to do with me. I stalked over to the standing area for the fifteen year olds. I trembled. I looked down at myself. I was wearing a pink, short dress. Ugh, pink, I thought to myself. I hated pink. And short dresses. Why was I wearing this again? Oh, yes. That's right. It was The Reaping and mother had forced me into it. I sighed. Why, when I was nervous, did I start thinking of the stupidest things? I looked around. I was standing with the other fifteen year olds. They all looked bored. But really, that's how they always looked. I'm sure I always look bored. A hand reached out and grabbed mine. It was Millicent's hand, my closest friend. We worked next to each other in the second biggest electronics factory. It was tough work with terrible pay, but it's all we could do. We had to work for our families or they would die. I looked over at the seventeen year olds. There was my brother. As fierce as ever. I smiled slightly. He was always there for me. Once, a boy called Casper had tried to kiss me when my brother was around. Jake, my brother, told me to go home. I heard it was the worst beating Casper had ever gotten. I sighed. Jake was very protective. He'd keep me safe no matter what. I turned back to Gastill Farera, our district escort that found happiness in leading children to their deaths. She raised her hand to call for silence and pointed to the enormous screen on the side of the Town Hall. I dazed out. I'd seen the video enough times to be able to recite it. Once the video was over, Gastill clapped her hands excitedly. "It's that time again!" She yelled enthusiastically. She dived her hand straight into the girl's glass bowl on her left. She pulled out a small, delicate even, piece of paper. She walked up to the microphone slowly, her steps resounding around the square we were standing in. "He-le-na Sky," she pronounced clearly. I blinked. I heard Millicent gasp next to me and the crowd around me dispersed. They backed away from me, scared. They seemed afraid to touch me. Millicent let go of my hand, sobbing. I tried to reach out again but her hand was gone. I clenched my hand and gritted my teeth. She wasn't going to help me. I began walking to the stage. I took mesured steps, delaying my time on the ground. I walked up the steps and along to stage. I arrived next to Gastill and she seemed overjoyed to see me. She kissed my hand. I stared at her blankly. My mind wasn't working. The only thing I could hear and see was my brother. He almost seemed to be screaming. He straightened his body as best he could, there were tears streaming down his face. I looked directly into his eyes and they looked dead, like their was nothing he could do to save me. There was nothing. He wasn't a girl. He couldn't save me unless he came into the Arena on the boy's behalf. And then he'd have to kill me himself. By now Gastill was plunging her hand into the boy's glass bowl. "Nixion Strange," she said clearly into the microphone. I'd heard about him, he was around my age. But at least I didn't know him. That'd make it easier to kill him. He seemed shocked to be chosen, well, I was too. He arrived on the stage and we shook hands. And that, was that.

  21. I was nervous, to say the least. The Reaping. By far, the worst time of anyone’s life. And people had to go through it six times.
    It was worse for some people though. Some people like me, who can’t fight, and have too many slips of paper with their name on it in the glass ball.
    My teeth were chattering as I joined the other boys my age. Too many slips of paper. I ignored the video. To calm myself, I started thinking of me, in the workshop. I worked in a private workshop. Mostly we repaired or built things for the capitols finest. The owner had recognised my talent, and had accepted me. It paid well, but I still never had enough money for my family.
    I grit my teeth as Gastill reached in for. The buzzing in my ears stopped me from clearly hearing, but I think I knew the person who walked up there, if only from a distance. There was someone shouting something as she walked up there.
    Now for the boys. I looked at my shoes, willing for Gastill to pick another name. Any other name. It was selfish, but I didn’t care about any of the others. My family was the only thing that mattered to me, and they needed me to survive.
    “Nixion Strange.”
    I was beginning to smile in relief before it even hit me. My head snapped up, and at the same time everyone around my looked over. I was known by many, but not really liked. I always got on better with adults than the people my own age.
    A hundred thoughts a second raced through my head. I couldn’t fight. I was a engineer, a thinker, not a fighter. A hell of a lot of good it would do me when some manias with an axe was standing over me.
    I stepped forward, to shocked to cry. My legs were weak. The peacekeepers immediately surrounded me, and walked me to the stage. The girl I was ignoring a second ago suddenly seemed a lot more important, seeing as I might have to kill her.
    Who was I kidding, I couldn’t kill anyone. I was worse than useless in this game.
    At Gastill’s word, I shook hands with the girl, and with that, both our fates were sealed.

  22. The Reaping

    I walk through the shabby streets of our District, my face placid and my steps steady. The rest of the streets are also lined with people, all making their way in the same direction as myself. Today is the day of The Reaping, the day that I’ve been waiting for, for almost two years now. And while I have some sort of idea of what I want to happen in a few hours’ time, I’m still unsure as to whether or not I’ll be able to make it happen. After all, last year I had the exact same intentions, but was not able to make myself speak in time.

    The relationship my parents had maintained with each other was not exactly usual – at least no from what I had observed with other married couples of District 9. From what my mother had told me and from what I had gathered, my mother married my father for the soul purpose of keeping him in check. She, it seemed, was the only real thing that calmed him down. My grandfather had always been abusive to my father, apparently, so he had grown to be damaged, angry and unstable. I am an only child, 16 years old with the name of Shaun Gray.

    The disadvantage to their apparent solution to my father, was that without my mother there, then there would be nothing to contain him from being abusive himself. And unfortunately, my mother was killed two years ago, three months before that year’s Reaping. My father had immediately taken to alcohol, which had made his instability even worse, and was lashing his anger out on me in no time. The three months passed that year, and by The Reaping I was sure that I wanted to enter The Hunger Games. If I won, then excellent – I could return and live as far away from my father as I liked. And if I lost… well. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore. I doubt he’d even notice,
    But I couldn’t do it. When they asked for volunteers, I’d opened my mouth, but nothing came out. And so that year passed, two kids from District 9 were killed, and my father continued abusing me.

    Another year passed, and by now I am certain that this is what I want. The Careers will always be there to deal with; deadly and trained. But I am not too shabby myself, if truth be told. I’ve been working in the crop fields since I was nine, having had experience with multiple weapons over the years. Scythes, knives, canes, machetes, and so on. I’d always had a knack for combat, even if I couldn’t win anything over my father due to his sheer size.
    So this year, I am certain. This is what I need. I can’t stand the thought of living with my father again. I did everything for myself over the past year, while he spent his days getting drunk. Now is the time.

    I make my way to the town centre, which is where The Reaping has always been held. The Reaping is set to start in approximately fifteen minutes, so all the systems are already set up. Most of District 9 loathes The Hunger Games, so this form of constant delay is an annual tradition, a small act of rebellion against The Capitol. But it wasn’t much, and everyone ended up appearing in time to start anyway. The Peacekeepers take down our names, ages and gender and send us off to the designated area. I have one or two distant friends from school, but they are both off elsewhere. Not that it matters.

    I pushed my way through a crowd of people to stand with the rest of the sixteen year old males and then faced the stage. Minutes flitted by and people talked in low voices, most of the speculating about the Tributes for this year. Finally, Sophanna Morgan, the Capitol escort and representative for District 9, steps out onto the stage, and the chatter slowly seeps into silence.

  23. “Hello,” she says into the microphone with her ridiculous Capitol accent and her ridiculous grin. “And welcome.” She pauses like she does every year, as if hoping for some cheering of sorts, and when none comes, she continues in a trill. “It’s that time of the year again! The time to pick one man and woman for the honour of participating in the forty-third annual Hunger Games!”
    She beams at as all again. Still no one says anything.

    Sophana makes her way toward the two large glass orbs containing the names of everyone in the District, and reaches into the female bowl first. She fishes around in the pile of names for a little while, then grasps one, pulls it out of the bowl and unfolds the paper. She nods once, returns to the microphone, then says clearly. “Elizabeth Leamy.”
    I do not recognize the girl that makes her way towards to the stand, but she is older than I am. She is thin and walks steadily, her fists clenched, and climbs the stairs. “Hello Elizabeth!” says Sophanna brightly, and offers the girl the microphone. Elizabeth looks at Sophanna with flame in her eyes, and Sophana retreats to the male bowl. Again, she fishes around for a little bit before grabbing hold of one name and reads it out.
    “Jeremy Soft,” she says clearly, and looks around as someone from the fifteen year olds group detaches himself from the crowd and begins toward the stage. Jeremy’s face is lined with a diluted kind of fury, and his fists are also clenched. Lucky for him, he will not need to participate in this year’s Games.
    “Excellent!” trills Sophanna in her stupidly high pitched voice and turns her full attention back to the crowd. “Well, as you know, we now have the option of allowing volunteers! So, would anyone like to take the place of Elizabeth here?”
    No one moves.
    “And how about Jeremy?” she asks, turning to the boy who gives her a look more ferocious than Elizabeth’s had been. “Would anyone like to volunteer for his place in The Games?”

    I swallow, breathe, then open my mouth to speak.
    Do it, I think. It’s now or never. I’m not going to get another chance before next Reaping, by which time I may already be dead thanks to my father. I can’t live with him now. He’s terrible. Do it. Do it.
    “I do,” I say, my voice loud and clear, splitting through the silence like an axe, and all attention turns to me at once. The boy who volunteered. I doubt my father will even recognize my face on the screen by tonight. But it doesn’t matter.

  24. Before I even know what’s happening, I’m making my way towards the stage, pushing past people that haven’t already moved. Once I’m on the stage, Jeremy looks at me. Some of the ferocity is gone, but it seems to have been replaced with something else. Guilt, it looks like. But it flickers there for a moment, and then is gone again. He flicks his eyebrows up then down again quickly, in a final acceptance, then walks past me and off the stage.
    “Well, well!” laughs Sophanna unconvincingly. “What’s your name then?” she shoves the microphone under my face and I answer calmly, resisting the urge to smack it away from me.
    “Shaun,” I say. “Shaun Gray.”

    Sophanna makes a few more high pitched exclamations while Elizabeth and I shake hands, and then the Peacekeepers are there, pushing us off the stage, and we’re escorted towards the Justice Building.
    I’m left alone in the room, which is the richest place I’ve ever been in, and take a seat, forcing myself to breathe properly. My brain is currently in a conflicting state, half panicking, half overjoyed. I begin enlisting a strategy to use in The Games. I will not cry, I know that, so playing weak is out of the question. But I’ve always been good at brushing everything aside. Perhaps I’ll do that, strong and silent. I don’t know. But I guess I’ll find out.

    I don’t expect any guests, so when the door opens, I look up with a frown. Jeremy Soft walks in, scowling at me. He takes a seat in front of me and for a while, we just look at each other. It’s not a forced eye connection, though. My gaze is lazy, and his is set. The lack of speech is not a determination of maintaining pride, simply the wish not to speak. Finally, he says something.
    “Why?” Jeremy asks. “I don’t even know you, why would you volunteer?”
    I raise an eyebrow. “What makes you think that I volunteered for your sake?”
    “You didn’t?” he asks.
    I look at him for another few moments. “No. It was in my own interest that I volunteered.”
    He sits back. “So what, you’re suicidal?”
    “So what if I am?”
    Jeremy frowns and lets the scowl drop. Silence falls again for a few moments. “So nothing. I can’t blame you.”
    The Peacekeepers open the door and order Jeremy out. He stands obediently and strides towards the door. He doesn’t thank me. He has nothing to thank me for, after all. I didn’t step into his place for his own interest, after all – I’d just said that. But once he’s at the door, he does stop and turn.
    “Try not to die,” he says.

    And then he’s gone.

  25. Sorry, sorry, I changed it

    The Reaping

    I stood in the center of the wide opening where we attended The Reaping; it was called The Reaping Quarters. I was pulled away from my family and thrust into line with my age group. This is my 3rd year attending The Reaping. Every year before this, no matter how much tesserae I signed up for to my poor but yet greedy family, I have not gotten picked, and for that I was lucky. My father and mother were always very greedy, wanting us to enter these games so they can see us fight and win. They wanted us to become popular and have fame, so they trained us like careers, teach us how to survive. My brother, Cindy, had his named entered ten times this year, mine thirty due to the hunger in my family.

    My parents always said that with my intelligence and speed that I would be able to win The Hunger Games.

    My thoughts were interrupted by the annoying screech of Kristal Abrams, the representative for district 6, voice “Hello citizens of district six. Welcome o the 43rd annual reaping for this years Hunger Games.”

    Her glowing purple hair shone from her face, which consisted of overused makeup. She wore a long elegant purple dress with purple high-heels. Hr eyelashes were a deep pink, with pink eye shadow.

    I sighed at the thought that I already knew that I was going in this years games. I would volunteer myself if I had too. My parents said I was ready.

    “As you previously know we need two tributes, one male, one female. Let’s start with the females! May the odds be ever in your favor!” And she stuck her hand into the pile of names.

    She picked her hand up with a name in her hand.

    “Ooh!” She said in a happy tone. The female tribute for the 43rd annual Hunger Games is…. Christine Wolf.

    I saw a rather skinny girl walk up slowly to the podium. Not one peep came from the audience. The girls brunette hair covered the tears streaming down her face, I almost felt sorry for her. She wore a stylish black dress, with black heels.

    Kristal Abrams said “I’m sorry my poor girl, it’s only a game. “ In a rather soothing tone.

    She then reached her hand into the male’s section, my section.

    “This years male tribute is… Alvard Nemesis.”

    I walked up in determination, very step going towards my destiny. No tears fell down my face, and no anger flooded my mind. I wanted this too happen. My legs felt like lead and they guided me to the platform as people made a way for me.

    As I got onto the platform I searched the crowd for my parents. I saw them; they had smiles as big as a rainbow streaked across their faces.

    I shot them a smile back.

    I searched for my brother, but could not find him.

    “Go on,” Kristal said,” shake hands.”

    I reached over and shook Christine’s hand.

    “This has been the 43rd reaping for district 6, may the odds be ever in your favors. Tributes favor.”

    And we turned our back to the citizens of District 6, peacekeepers shoving us off of the stage taking us to the room where I would say my goodbyes, the Justice Building.

    The Justice Building

    I sat in my room at the Justice Building a peacekeeper standing at the door. There was a knock and I pulled my head up, it was my parents and Cindy.

    “Alvard I am so happy for you,” my mother stated.

    A smile grew across my face.

    Cindy whispered “your lucky.”

    I looked up and saw encouragement in my parent’s eyes. Also though I saw sadness, this could be the last time w would see each other.

    “We love you so much,” my dad said in a loving tone.

    “I love you too,” I said back.

    My mom stated “If you don’t come back, which I’m sure you will, make sure everybody will remember you.”

    “I will,” I whispered.

    I got up and hugged them when the peacekeeper entered the room, motioning them out.

    My mom said back “survive, and use your training to outwit the enemy.” And she left.