User blog comment:District12-Tributes/My Hunger Games/@comment-5748603-20120625203003

Allie: I hate reaping day, you have to get up earlier than every other day and instead of going out into the fields to write, my dad has to fight me into a blouse, cardigan and a pencil skirt, all of which is a baby blue hue, disgusting. I know, I've never been one for fashion and such, but I have to be aware of certain rules, for example, no skirt can be higher than the thigh, and your shoulder pads should never be... actually, lets not talk about that one. I walk down the street, the smell of grain and flour is in the air, its one of those smells that gets in your nose, in your eyes and hair. And sticks there, pernemantly. Most of us stink of it. Depending on how much we farm of course. I don't farm myself, but I spend a lot of time in the fields, it relaxes me, helps my thoughts flow from my easier. Than in my stressful house. I clutch my notepad and pen close to my chest as I walk to the blood taking. A gruff, grotesque peacekeeper sits on the chair, pricking each finger. The girl in front of me leaves and I step forward, he grabs my hand a little too rough and slams the needle into my finger. I wince with the pain and he releases. I walk into the crowd where the escort Emma Stewart stands, unlike many of the escorts, she looks natural, with creamy blonde hair and brown eyes. She's quite pretty. She walks over to the ball marked girls and pulls out a slip. My name is in there the miniumum ammount possible, I don't take teressa, we get paid from Mum's death insurance, so my name is in there 4 times because I'm 16.

"Allianna Whittle." she says clearly. Oh god, that's me. Well, my real name, I hear people snicker as I walk onto the stage. Why the name Alliannna? Why>

Alex: Okay, Allianna, haha. Okay focus Alex. Allianna just got reaped, so now its the boys. My name is only on one of those slips, only one, compared to the thousands of names in there. Emma walks over to the ball and places her hand in. Not me, please not me!

"Alex Donaque." she announces. My throat is dry, my eyes begin to squint as tears begin to form, why isn't someone volunteering, I'm 12. This cannot be happening. It can't be happening. I walk onto the stage and I can hear several cheers of bravery, awws of sadness and boos of shame. Quite a mixed reaction, but only one comes from Emma. Sadness. No one likes it when a 12 year old is reaped, it means complete death for the bearer. And I'm going to die. Before I can grow up, get married, have kids, have a job. Write a book. All that seemed years away, nothing I needed to worry about. But it all flashes before my eyes, I see my body stabbed over and over by careers, me being chased through the woods, the reality is all too real. My legs buckle and darkness surrounds me. If I'm going to die, I'm gonna die right here, my legs collapse and I fall to the ground, the rapid rise of my chest scares everyone, Allie screams and Emma runs for me. I can hear my stylist, what's her name, Robin, someone calls her, sprint towards me, screaming. Then the darkness swallows me whole