User blog:Alicerosewright/The Fifth Quarter Quell -- 125th Hunger Games

Introduction
Four years after the 121st Hunger Games, President Rome has announced the 5th Quarter Quell and it's twist. To celebrate 125 years of Hunger Games, the government decided to make these games particularly special.

Instead of Capitol citizens, the Gamemakers will be previous Victors. President Rome had planned this special year, and this is why he allowed four Victors in the 121st Hunger Games instead of one. These four Victors will become the main Gamemakers. They will design the arena, control the environment and create mutts. They even have the power to kill off certain tributes if they wish. But all the while they will be under the watchful eye of President Rome and the Head Gamemaker.

The Victors include: Odin Amarth, Beemo Xra, Crimson Typhoon and Shyvana Feuer. They will become the main Gamemakers, assisted by a large team of other Victors from various Games.

They will control everything about the Games, including mutts, the arena, the environment and even which tributes will die. Prior to the start of the Games, they will decide the training scores of the tributes and will greatly affect their chances of getting sponsors and surviving. Some Victors will even design the chariot and interview outfits. However, they will be under the watchful eye of the President and the Head Gamemaker.

Not only will the tributes have POVs written, the four main Victors will also get POVs written.

Rules and Important Parts

 * You can give advice to mentors/tributes/Gamemakers/stylists
 * You can only send parachutes and sponsor items to tributes, with a limit of 3 items (choose wisely)
 * I will try to write to the best of my ability and make the storyline detailed, but if there's anything I need to fix, improve or include then let me know!
 * If your tribute dies, please do not get angry! There is always a reason why your tribute has died (if you want to enquire about that, feel free to ask me!)
 * Please, no spiteful comments or foul language to other users or myself.
 * You may advertise your own Games, but it would be nice if you asked me first!
 * If you've read these write 'Everlark' in the comments.
 * I will be writing Reapings, some train journeys/interviews/training POVs, but not for all tributes.
 * Rankings and scores will be given, but will not be chosen by me - they will be decided by the Trainers.
 * There will be a storyline, so even if you lose all your characters it would be great if you kept reading!!
 * If there is anything you want to say, comment as you please!

Main Gamemakers

 * Beemo Xra changed Districts, due to a particular situation (see my other blog post, 121st Hunger Games epilogue).

Trainers
The Scorer decides the private scores of all tributes, based on their performance in private training.

The Ranker decides the predicted rank of tributes, e.g. 8th, 23rd...

Mentors
All the mentors will be very important in the storyline. They will have their own POVs as well, and you will need to give them advice at some point.

Stylists
These three stylists were kept as they will have an important role to play in the storyline. If you would still like to add stylists, feel free to do so and comment below.

Arena Description
The Quarter Quell Arena was specially designed by Akumai Kubaya, infamous Victor of the 114th Annual Hunger Games. The Arena has been split into four sections, each with it's special qualities. It's like four Arenas rolled into one! Tributes will have to decide the best place to go, and figure out the dangers by themselves. Each Section has it's own weather and climate and tributes need to be aware of the differences.

Section 1, North West: This section is full of different sized fresh water lakes. The water is safe to drink but beneath the surface the real horrors start to appear. Horrifying water mutts will emerge when tributes go to deep. Mountains are dotted all over this section. All are very tall, possibly taller than Mount Everest. They are rocky but not snowy, and provide excellent protection from other tributes. However, they are all dangerous climbs and don't offer any sources of water. The only food here is the mutts that patrol the mountainside, but they are near impossible to kill. Tributes best hope when they meet these mutts is to run or hide, and just pray they don't find you.

Section 2, North East: Section 2 is a very good source of food. There are different sorts of fields that tributes can 'harvest' from if they know how to. Some are poisonous so they must choose wisely when selecting which foods to take. However, water here isn't really water. It is a concentrated form of the clear hydrochloric acid. If tributes drink this, their whole bodies will simply burn away. This acid is VERY corrosive with all types of human flesh. A slight droplet of it on skin could leave an everlasting hole in the body. The south of Section 2 is a lot rockier, and is hard terrain to travel through. Hiking through this part of Section 2 will be a great physical challenge, only attempted by naturally very strong tributes. The younger tributes will most likely die of exhaustion if they even bother to tackle this epic feat.

Section 3, South East: This section is definitely the best if tributes want to hide, or lie in wait for others. The whole area is just a labyrinth of caves. Once you go in, there's no way you'll come back out the same way. It's a maze, placed in darkness. It provides a great area to cook food, or rest while you get energy back up. Although, if you take a wrong turn you could face deadly traps. Somme walls automatically fall in on tributes, crushing them. Some floors are just layers and layers of punji sticks, destined to impale any unfortunate tributes. There are no mutts but these traps could be just as bad. Tributes who venture too deep will face the traps, but if you can see daylight, you'll be fine. Between certain caves and tunnels, there are areas of lush foliage and plants. The berries here are poisonous and it's unlikely you'll find food here, but the trees and some plants contain water, only accessed by cutting a hole into the centre of a tree. However, random sandstorms can suddenly take place and lose a tribute. If they find their way into a cave, they might venture too deep, as the sandstorms reach into the shallow caves and tunnels. The sandstorms are designed to disorientate and scare tributes. Sand can cause blindness if it gets in the eyes, or ear infections if it manages to get inside the ear. If you have open wounds it can cause a disgusting infection to fester and rot into a tribute's blood, causing further blood poisoning.

Section 4, South West: This section is fairly plain. It's a dense forest of pine trees and deciduous plants that don't wilt, and are great sources of food and water, as all the trees hold the precious liquids they need to survive. Although, this bountiful area comes at a heavy price. Mutts run wild all over the place, and wherever you go you face new challenges and new animals. There are more mutts here than anywhere else. If you do manage to avoid them, you'll be driven mad by the sickening noises some of them create, or maybe the screams of an unfortunate victim. People who come here usually do not stay long, unless they want prizes. If you kill certain mutts, tributes are rewarded with gifts that aren't from sponsors. Some parachutes might contain small weapons, or even precious medicine, food or water that the tributes are lacking.

Weather Forecast
The weather is brought to you by Gamemaker Lyra Meadowlace, the pretty Victor of the 120th Hunger Games!

As you know, each of the Sections in the Arena have their own climates and weathers. Some tributes will try to flee bad weather, only to be driven into battles with others who are also escaping the life-threatening weather.

DAY 1:

Section 1 -- Mist and torrential rain. Tributes will have little visibility, attacks by mutts could happen, and up on the mountains, the cold altitude only makes it worse. The torrential rain will force tributes to find shelter, quickly. It could destroy food packs, causing them to go bad or soggy.

Section 2 -- Hail and strong winds. If tributes aren't blown away, whatever shelter they try to set up might be. The hail might hurt as the Gamemakers make glass-sharp ice to tip down on them. If tributes are hiking in the rocky part, they'll be more at risk of injury and find it significantly harder to travel in these conditions. It's probably best to stay put or escape to a cave for shelter.

Section 3 -- A very fierce sandstorm will break out here. Tributes will become disorientated and might be driven into dangerous caves and tunnels with a lot of deadly traps. They could develop health problems, like blindness if sand is in the eyes, ear infections if sand works its way into the ears and even blood poisoning if sand causes infections in wounds. If tributes decide to collect or gather any sort of water at this time, it's simply going to mix with sand and be ruined.

Section 4 -- Perfect weather. Bright sunshine, clear visibility and dry ground will make it the perfect place for tributes to gather, which is exactly why the tributes are making a big risk coming here. Many of them will try to escape the awful conditions in other areas, only to meet up with some contestants. This prolongs the Bloodbath. A lot of kills will be made here, as the tributes will want to find shelter and food. Although, the mutts also group here, another dangerous reason why the tributes will hate this place.

Tributes will want to choose where they go wisely. Are they willing to battle the elements in order to stay away from each other, or will they take the risk of mutts and other tributes, and face an even higher death chances?

Alliances
Careers: Marsh Steel D4, Ophelia Zigler D13, Ajax Orbit D1, Alexandrite Bohamia D1

Leader: Marsh Steel

Co-Leader - Alexandrite Bohamia 

Anti-Careers: Eric Desmond D13, Artemis Moonsilver D11,  Orlando Johnson D6

Leader: Eric Desmond

Co-Leader: Artemis Moonsilver

Trust Alliance: Amaryllis Skylark D12, Sparks Edison D5, Electra Lucid D4

Leader: Sparks Edison 

Co-Leader: Amaryllis Skylark

Loners: James Desmond D5, Tobias Drew D11, Bree Riverbuck D9, Jayson Huff D7, Jessica Woods D10

District Partners: Kristoph Inferno D2, Jem Nightshade D2, Jrue Maclin D3, Lolita Fey D3

Leader: Jrue Maclin 

Co-Leader: Jem Nightshade

12 And 8: Gideon Gleeful D12, Amaya Selene D8, Henry Polyester D8

Leader: Amaya Selene

Randomers: Sunny Coleman D7, Ruby Burn D6, Euan Lorelle D10, Dipper Pines D9

Leader: Sunny Coleman 

Co-Leader: Euan Lorelle

District 1 - Alexandrite Bohamia
The Reapings proceed at usual:

The finger prick and the small bead of blood, the lining up and awaiting the news. The arrival of the escort who seems overjoyed at the prospect of another Quarter Quell. The mayor who looks as afraid as ever, because he knows he’s about to see two of his citizens leave on a train – maybe for the last time. The distant Firebelle sitting placidly beside her son on stage.

My parents advised me that I might want to watch the last Quarter Quell, the 100th Hunger Games – so that maybe it might help me win if I get chosen. So that Firebelle wouldn’t have as much to mentor me on.

I knew that the 100th Hunger Games were the worst Games ever. There were four tributes, instead of two. But there weren’t only double the numbers. Each tribute had to be related to one other. A pair of siblings might get chosen, crying out for help from their parents. Or cousins, who look at each other with a look of dismay when they shake hands. But the President made it even worse. The ages were changed. You had to be between 10 and 20. Even the people that thought they’d escaped the Games hadn’t.

Alexa thought she could win. But she didn’t. I thought she could win after I sent her the backpack and the bow. I look back now and think it was a waste. I paid a lot of money for that, and now Alexa lies six feet under cold ground. I just hope my family doesn’t waste any money on me, if I get reaped. We’ve lost enough already.

“Ah District 1! The ever-gleaming jewel of the Capitol!” The escort opens the speech in a seemingly happy manner. Cold glares face back at her. I have to bite my cheeks to stop myself laughing, because we know the jewel of the Capitol is District 2, even if we are luckier than the out-lying Districts. Ever since they decided to sweep up all our Victors and whisk them to the Capitol, nobody has been too pleased. Nobody knows what’s happening to them. Peacekeepers just turned up one day in the Victor’s Village and carted them off like animals. “Anyway, let’s get this started shall we? Which two of you will be the lucky tributes for the Fifth Quarter Quell?” The escort asks rhetorically. “Ladies first,” Ruby smiles gleefully.

She unravels the paper with her freakishly long nails. They’re painted blood-red. I guess that’s just to match with her dress and name. I do so hope it’s not supposed to resemble blood.

“Alexandrite Bohamia!” She declares, her smile creasing from ear-to-ear. I can feel the blood drain from my face. A quiet circle forms around me, and relieved faces of girls turn away. They don’t want me to see that they are happy. Happy that they didn’t get picked.

But I did. “Come on dear, up you come!” Ruby ushers me up on stage. I take one step at a time. It feels like my knees are about to buckle. I have to steady myself. My eyes are about to flood with tears. But I won’t let that happen.

Even if I’m going to die, I don’t want to look weak. Because I’m not. The Capitol hates underdogs. I’ve just got to play for them, that’s all. Then I can die in peace. Maybe commit suicide or something. I don’t want to kill anyone; I’m just not that kind of person. There are others who have dedicated their life to the Games, to murder. But I haven’t, and I don’t want to die with the faces of the deceased on my mind.

“Ah, you’re a pretty thing aren’t you?” Ruby whispers kindly, stroking my coloured hair. It’s not something you see every day in District 1. Dyed hair, I mean. It’s more of a Capitol luxury. A luxury I could afford before Dad lost his job. “Well, are you excited?”

“No,” comes a curt reply. I can’t even explain what came over me. It just happened. Ruby looks taken-aback but nods anyway. She doesn’t say anything else to me. And I’m glad of it. I glance over at my mentor, Firebelle. She’s hanging her head.

“Boys, now...” Ruby continues casually. I stand on stage, half-crying and trembling. I’m not crying properly, but tears roll down my cheeks anyway. I guess some emotions you just can’t keep hold of. She reaches into a bowl and I can’t control it anymore. I drop to my knees and burst out into floods of tears. “Ajax Orbit!” The escort announces briskly. The boy doesn’t hesitate to dash up on stage. He doesn’t seem eager; I guess he just wants to get this over with. Ruby seems to want to ignore my crying and hysterics.

“I don’t wanna die... I don’t want to kill anyone. I never wanted this. Please pick someone else. I can’t do this. I’m going to die...”

Ajax walks over and helps me to my feet. At least he’s a nice person. He won’t be by the time the other tributes finish him off. Yet another kind person about to be destroyed by the Games. He doesn’t look sympathetic, but I don’t think he’ll bring himself to kill me. He doesn’t look like the kind of person who would kill me for no reason.

I just hope I’m right.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Here we have our District 1 tributes for the Fifth Quarter Quell! Congratulations you two!” Ruby squeals delightedly. She makes us shake hands – Ajax chooses not to notice my hands that are wet from wiping away tears. <h3 class="MsoNormal">District 2 - Jem Nightshade <p class="MsoNormal">I can see the eyes locked on me, the owners of the eyes constantly judging me. Quiet whispers hiss like snakes throughout the crowd as I take my place amongst the other girls. I try to ignore them but they just keep getting louder.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I hope she gets picked,” One person says. They don’t even bother to lower their voice. They know I’ve heard it, because I flinch. I felt like a knife has gone right through me. I go back to facing the stage, but it gets harder to ignore as more and more people turn up, and more people start to gossip about me.

<p class="MsoNormal">“She nearly killed people in a fire. Maybe she’ll do alright in the Games,” another girl sniggers close by. I hear girlish giggles. It makes it worse when I realise they used to be my friends. We used to go out together in the evenings, and even talk about volunteering for one another. Obviously they weren’t really my friends. They were probably just with me because I was from a good family. It is exceedingly hard to find good families nowadays. “She’s already murderous. It’d be an advantage!”

<p class="MsoNormal">I try to think about something else, but as the whispers continue, it becomes impossible. Instead, I focus on Maximus Estes, our district escort. He’s wearing a green suit of various shades. His hair has been dyed to match, and styled in various directions of curls and ringlets. He looks like he has a forest growing on his head.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Hello, District 2!” His greeting is welcomed with an excited uproar from the crowd. The training academy has produced some pretty fearsome tributes this year. I guess you could say the star students are very excited to get picked. I’m just thankful District 2 actually has tributes organised - nobody else has to worry about facing their deaths. “Well, here we are for another Quarter Quell! Are you all excited?” Another roar sounds from the crowd. Even the adults seem overjoyed. “But this year, there have been a couple of rule changes to the Reapings,” Maximus says sincerely. The crowd silences immediately. Even the sniggers about me stop.

<p class="MsoNormal">And my heart skips a beat. Any of us could get picked. Before, there were two scheduled volunteers. It’s almost certain they won’t be chosen now. “Anyway,” Maximus breaks the deafening silence. “Boys first.” He strolls over to the glass bowls and stirs the cards up. The shuffling is the only noise that echoes through the crowd. I can’t even hear anyone breathe. Maximus abruptly picks one out and unravels it. “Kristoph Inferno!”  The sniggers begin again.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Her hair is the same as his – fire red!” A boy laughs from the other side of the crowd. So it’s not just the girls that decide to bitch about me.

<p class="MsoNormal">I’m distracted by a red-haired boy walking slowly up the steps, his knees shaking. I recognise him. Another reject of District 2: supposed murderer, just like me. Hardly anyone speaks to him, and as far as I know, he rarely replies. “Hello, Kristoph! Are you excited to be competing this year?” Kristoph looks at the escort doubtfully, and shakes his head. Maximus raises his eyebrows, expecting more of a reply. But there is only silence and Kristoph looks over at our mentor, Geneviene Maine, almost seemingly forgetting about the whole of District 2 looking at him.

<p class="MsoNormal">“And the girls!” Maximus hurries along now, choosing quickly. Geneviene is looking sad, disappointed to see off another year’s tributes. The Games really have taken a toll on her. I bet she can’t wait to mentor people that weren’t even chosen by the academy. It’s weird to think she used to be the merciless tribute – now the gentle mother of the District.

<p class="MsoNormal">As the years wore on, Geneviene’s bloodlust diminished. Sometimes, District 2 would win, and it’d brighten her up a little. But she’s seen other people been destroyed, and eventually the Games got to her too. Now she focuses on keeping them alive, instead of enjoying their fights. She’s greatly respected now.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Jem Nightshade!” I was so consumed with ignoring the voices and thinking about Geneviene, I forgot about the Reaping. My heart stops. Now everyone is looking at me. It’s not the first time, but now it feels different. Now people are starting to regret whatever they’ve done or said to me. Part of me is happy that they finally see what they’ve done. How much they’ve made me crumble since before the accident. “Jem, are you out there?”  Maximus asks persistently. It dawns on me, at long last.

<p class="MsoNormal">I blink, tears welling. I shake my head lightly and they sink away. People don’t move around me, I just have their unblinking stares locked on my face, watching, waiting for me to break down. I walk up. I don’t want these faces on me anymore. I just want to get to the Capitol. I can finally be accepted in society, even if it is as a tribute. Maximus looks nervous to talk to me, and Geneviene looks disappointed. Maybe we’re too weak to win this year.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You match!” Maximus exclaims girlishly, gesturing to my red hair, and then Kristoph. It’s true, we do match. We both have red hair. Advantage in the Capitol, I think automatically. I smile at him and he smiles weakly back, seeing the opportunity for unity we’ve been given. Maximus seems happy with us, but Geneviene definitely doesn’t. She looks more upset than when we started. “Hello, Jem!” Maximus greets me brightly. We’re friends, I tell myself. I haven’t thought that for a while. Just put on a show, I decide. Just do whatever he asks, whatever he seems to want.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Hello, Mr Estes!” I grin back. He chuckles heartily, and puts a hand on my shoulder like an old friend. I smile wider.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Please, call me Max,” He says politely.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Hello, Max!” I repeat myself. This makes him laugh and he turns to the crowd.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Here we have our bold and beautiful Jem Nightshade,” the microphone booms. Maximus turns to me, beaming. Then he looks over at Kristoph. “And our fiery-headed, handsome lad Kristoph Inferno!” District 2 roars with happiness. Maybe we haven’t lost all hope, I pray. Maximus places the microphone back on the stand and backs the crowd, gesturing for us to follow him to the Justice Building. I glance at Kristoph as we walk behind our escort, the cheers of District 2 behind them.

<p class="MsoNormal">I am Jem Nightshade. I am the bright and beautiful tribute of District 2. I am the bold and adventurous girl from District 2.

<p class="MsoNormal">That’s what this will be, I tell myself as I stroll through the Justice Building. It’ll be an adventure. <h3 class="MsoNormal">District 3 - Jrue Maclin <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“And that’s a wrap!” I declare, clicking the button on the camera. I clap my hands and the actresses before me stop immediately. They both grin at each other, but Electra’s eyes are still full of tears, because of the last scene they just acted.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Good luck, Jrue!” Dayta and Electra both say to me. Both being nineteen, this is their first year without the reapings, and for once they are happy on possibly the worst day of the year.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“See you tomorrow!” I call after them as they have already begun to whisk themselves home, still in their makeup. Dayta has a huge painted gash on her forehead, but she must have forgotten about that. I hear a scream down the road, and I laugh because I know their parents have probably spotted the huge fake wound on Dayta’s head. They’re both great actresses, plus their twin bond makes them super easy to work with. It’s just a shame they’re stuck in District 3, instead of the Capitol where their talents could be put to good use, just like mine. If I get famous in District 3, maybe then the Capitol might invite me to their city.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I shake my head at my stupid dreams. It’d never happen, not yet. I haven’t even finished my first video, which I have yet to finish with Electra and Dayta. I pack up my stuff and drag it over to my house across the street. I open the front door and call the names of my family, but nobody seems to be in. Only silence answers my calls. I roll my eyes, as it’s Reaping Day and we’re always supposed to go together, for my sister’s sake. As usual, I hide my stuff under the floorboards, because we’re not supposed to have access to cameras in District 3, especially as I stole them from a factory. It’s the only way to get them, after all. Unless you’re as rich as Capitol citizens, nobody can afford cameras. I just thank God that I was born in a District where we make them – no other districts have access to technology like this.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I slip into some nicer Reaping clothes and head over to the square. I search for my family, but they don’t seem to be here. Maybe my sister ran off or something, afraid to face another year of the Hunger Games. I hope she arrives before the Mayor’s speech. It’s always then that Peacekeepers begin to get frustrated and come banging on the walls of houses and beating parents for hiding their children.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">As I line up, my mind focuses on the special effects in the Panem video. I grin, because I think I’ve found the perfect effect to match with a scene in the video. I can see someone staring at me, utterly astounded at my grin. I shake it off and make sure to keep my mind on the Reapings from now on. If I get Reaped, I must forget about life at home and only to my future – my fame.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“And here we are,” The escort breathes softly. What I wouldn’t give to be as famous as her, though I don’t exactly desire her blue skin. She used to have pink, but she got attached to last year’s tributes – particularly the girl. I recall last year when on the television, they looked at each other like best friends – and then the time came when the tributes had to enter the arena. The girl made it quite far, and received a lot more sponsorship gifts than the rest of the tributes. But she was drowned in one of the turquoise blue lakes dotted around the Arena. I guess, maybe, in honour of the girl, Daphne dyed her skin. That’s what she told everyone in the papers, anyway.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Another Quarter Quell,” Daphne announces, though she doesn’t sound as spritely as last year. “And the same amount of tributes, of course.” She doesn’t quite know what to say. Her emotion and peppy attitude from last year as completely disappeared. “Girls first,” she says blandly. She takes a couple of steps, and then pulls out one straight away, not even bothering to take time to select a specific one. “Lolita Fey.”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">A distant, confused girl is staring up at the escort. “Come on up,” Daphne welcomes her, a little shaky. As Lolita walks up to the microphone, her expression is perplexed. “Are you glad to be reaped?”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Wait, what?” Lolita glares at Daphne, who shakes her head. Most escorts might laugh, or joke about it. Daphne seems to be feeling some sort of compassion for Lolita. I’m kind of glad that we have an escort who doesn’t celebrate for us, and might actually try and help us win, instead of just watching us parade around like models and then die.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“You’ve been reaped, darling,” Daphne pats Lolita’s shoulder gently. Daphne nearly chokes on her words, nearly unable to keep the tears down. The entire colour from Lolita’s face drains, and her she’s shaking. Lolita sniffs quietly, but doesn’t let a single tear slip. “Get her a chair,” Daphne orders a Peacekeeper. He dashes off into the Justice Building and he returns quickly with an old wicker thing. Lolita sits down as Daphne calls out the next name. The female tribute covers her face, maybe to stop the tears – I don’t know.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi"> “Good luck, boys,” she says weakly. The escort draws out a name, and reads gently. “Jrue Maclin,” she finishes quickly, eager to get this finished.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I freeze, but the crowd ushers me out quickly. All I can think is I won’t get to finish my film. I’ll never become famous. I’ll die in the Hunger Games and never even have a single glimpse at fame. “Come on, Jrue. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Daphne reassures me. I hear the familiar sound of crying. It’s the twins – Dayta and Electra. It’s not like their on screen crying – it’s real. Pure, emotional. I roll my eyes... why couldn’t they cry like that for the video? “Handsome, aren’t you?” Daphne comments as I emerge from a sea of people.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I kind of smile, but that’s in thanks of the compliment. The cameras are following me as I walk up. Maybe they think I’ll be as shaky as Lolita. It’s weird to be on the other end of a lens, when usually I’m the one behind it.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">Daphne meets me at the steps and quickly gets me to shake hands with Lolita, who only manages to get to her feet for a few seconds. She sits down speedily after that.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“District 3...” Daphne breathes, her voice wavering. A tear rolls down her cheek. “Your Quarter Quell tributes, the darling Lolita Fey...” Daphne can’t control herself and cries, distraught. Why is she the one crying? It’s not like she’s about to die! “And Jrue Maclin. Congratulations you two.” <h3 class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">District 4 - Marsh Steel <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">For some reason, the Peacekeepers are desperate to begin the Reapings this year. The escort is already on stage and they skip the video, which surprises me. They always show it - without fail. The Capitol is insistent on reminding us of our terrible histroy. The Mayor gives a quick speech but he is cut short when someone sends him a message through his earpiece. He sits down in his chair sharpish, his eyes darting around for danger.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I’m amongst the early children – I don’t want to be caught in the rush down the main street. Floods have basically covered the whole area – it’s caused alleys to sink beneath the water. Peacekeepers apparently don’t have the time to get rid of the floodwater, so they cleared the high streets and the train tracks. They left everything else for us to clear, even though half of us don’t have the time. It’s the best fishing season we’ve had in years  too  – and the longest hours we’ve had to work in a lifetime. The Peacekeepers haven’t noticed none of us have any spare time to clear our streets and our flooded houses. We've been forced to work nearly one hundred percent of the time.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">It’s the reason why I have to volunteer for my family. The floods practically destroyed our whole house. It was a bungalow, after all. The torrent of saltwater either washed away or spoiled all of our stored food, and the strength of the currents smashed the glass of pictures and cups that we kept on shelves. All our possessions were washed away. Our clothes were soaked – and we had to stay in the same clothes for days until they dried out. Our mattresses took weeks to dry and my parents found it near impossible to work. With me cleaning the house and trying to salvage whatever I could, nobody had time to look after my younger siblings. Everyone's time is running out.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">So is mine. This is my last Reaping, I’ve got to volunteer this year without fail, so I can get a new house. So we won’t have to pay for repairs on our house. We might be able to replicate our missing family photos, or replace all the items that were washed away in the water. I will volunteer, and I will win – even if it’s the Quarter Quell and all the odds are against me. Practically the whole district agreed that I would be tribute when I announced it at school. Everyone knows I need to save my family from working themselves to death.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Good morning, District 4!” Cleo blurts down the microphone. Her tone is happy, but her makeup is shabby and her clothes aren’t as colourful as last year. I’m surprised to see her twin, Hestia, absent from the Reapings. She hasn’t been seen on any TV screens since the last Reaping. Maybe there wasn’t room for a new escort in any of the districts. Her name hasn't even been uttered - not even when Cleo celebrated her huge birthday. I frown, because they're twins. Hestia wasn't even present at her own birthday now, thinking about it.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“And we’re back for a very special edition of the Hunger Games! The Fifth Quarter Quell!” Cleo celebrates, clapping her hands. I sigh. Her acting is terrible. She really isn't happy at all. I question whether her missing twin has anything to do with it. “Anyways, let’s get this going!” She trots over to the girl’s bowl in her sparkly angel heels. <span style="font-family:'TimesNewRoman',serif;font-size:14px;">Strange bands are wrapped around her ankles, but they match her shoes so I guess they’re just decoration. But the red light and quiet beeping makes me think otherwise.

<p class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="direction:rtl;unicode-bidi:embed;text-align:left;"><span dir="LTR" style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Electra Lucid!” Cleo calls out. A stormy-eyed girl appears before our escort. Around her neck is a moon necklace – possibly made of silver. She looks like a Merchant child – having jewellery and all. She must be one of the lucky people – the one who can afford pointless accessories. Our mentor, Clay Barines, is eyeing her up carefully, analyzing what her skills might be. “You look like my sister.” Cleo barely stifles the words out.. The ankle bands flash and Cleo looks pained for a minute. Her ankle goes red and swells a little. Electra  hasn't noticed but smiles and thanks her escort. Cleo smiles back, weakly, her eyes watering painfully. The escort picks out a male’s name hastily.

<p class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="direction:rtl;unicode-bidi:embed;text-align:left;"><span dir="LTR" style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">Before she can even utter the words, I scream from the crowds.

<p class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="direction:rtl;unicode-bidi:embed;text-align:left;"><span dir="LTR" style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“I volunteer!” I run out of the crowds, pushing people out the way furiously. “I volunteer as tribute!” I repeat calmly. Cleo nods her head, and I am marched up with Peacekeepers by my side.

<p class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="direction:rtl;unicode-bidi:embed;text-align:left;"><span dir="LTR" style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Ok, Mr Volunteer,” Cleo jokes, though she knows it isn’t funny whatsoever. Maybe she’s just trying to lighten the grey atmosphere. Even the weather seems to match the dull and dreary mood. “What’s your name then?” Cleo puts a hand on my shoulder like a good friend. I can see Electra with a slight flash of jealousy in her stormy grey eyes.

<p class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL" style="direction:rtl;unicode-bidi:embed;text-align:left;"><span dir="LTR" style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Marsh Steel,” I reply smoothly. The weather darkens, and a slight drizzle of rain falls. Sparkles of tiny raindrops appears in Cleo’s dark black hair. It's more natural coloured than I had first assumed, as I've always been quite far away from the stage

“And why have you volunteered?” She asks inquisitively, shaking off her wet hands. Her knuckles are white from gripping the microphone so hard. As she leans it over to me, the pressure on her hands doesn't change.

"For my family,” I say boldly. Cleo widens her eyes, but asks me nothing more. She presents us as tributes to the cameras and crowd. As we walk into the Justice Building, Cleo leans her head close to my ear, whispering nearly silently:

"You want to watch yourself now. Your family could destroy you, even if you want to save them...” She pauses, glancing around at the Peacekeepers. She glances at her beeping ankle band. She waits for it to stop flashing and beeping before adding: “Believe me, I know."

District 5 - Sparks Edison
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">Nina adjusts my dress, because it’s way too big for me. She pins it up, so it looks like it’s supposed to instead of just hanging off me. She curls my hair for me so I look actually pretty for once. It seems weird to look so nice. Mother bought this for me as a gift, so I could turn at the Reaping and not be judged. Nina knows what the Reapings are like, what to expect.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I don’t have a clue.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">It’s my first year and the only thing I can think about is my name. My name on a slip, getting pulled out by the escort. Being read, and called up as a tribute. I shake the images out of my head, and remind myself my name has only been in there once. It's very unlikely I'll get picked. I make a mental note to stay confident, though the image still snags in the back of my mind. Nina slides the final hairpins in, and announces that I’m ready to go. She sorts herself out, and we leave hastily, not wanting to be late for my first year.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Why couldn’t Mother be here?” I say quietly as we make our way down to the main square. People are kissing their families goodbye on porches. It seems strange to see people usually happy, now broken. I’ve never seen the District like this before. Then again, I've never been in this situation before. I'm almost shocked at the fact Nina can ignore tears of children and parents that stand only a few feet away.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Because she works, as do most adults here. You know what Peacekeepers do to people who don’t turn up at work,” Nina explains in a hushed voice. The main square looms on me, casting a dark and cold shadow that sends a chill through me. Stanley Pines, the dry and dreary mentor sits as plainly as ever in his chair. His plain clothes and grey face suggest he’s as grumpy as always. I’ve seen him on television, but in the Capitol he seems so happy. It’s weird, because he’s nearly always silent and cynical in District 5. The same plain-faced man that seems to express no emotion or character whatsoever. “Same with Father," Nina finishes eventually.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">My sister splits off from me suddenly and I find myself stranded in a crowd full of pale-faced twelve year olds, alone and unsure what to do. I see Nina lining up, for some sort of register. She looks at me and mouths ‘okay?’ and I nod, copying her exactly. A Peacekeeper stabs a pin into my finger, and then dots my blood on a page. Nina walks into a crowd of people her own age. I stroll right up to the front. People hustle and bustle around, whispering to one another about their odds. I don't even want to think about them. The odds are never in our favour, no matter how many slips you've got in those bowls.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I shake my head. I can do this. I can get through just one reaping. And then I’ll do the same next year and everything will be fine. I’ll get to eighteen and forget about the Hunger Games once and for all. Nothing will take me down, not even the Hunger Games.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">Romulus, the escort, introduces us to the Quarter Quell. My first reaping had to be a Quarter Quell, didn’t it? I roll my eyes and try to focus, but my vision is hazy. I don’t know whether it’s the nerves or the fact I forgot to have breakfast. I curse myself, because my tummy rumbles and I'm sure the cameraman heard me.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I wish there was a place I could go to, where there were no Hunger Games and everyone in all districts were well-fed and looked after. There were doctors to cure all diseases, and nobody had to worry about anything except homework and their careers. I wish it could be a completely equal, where there was no racism. People weren’t judged on their religion, and the world was at peace. But there will be no peace while the Capitol are in control, I remind myself. I feel stupid for having imagined an impossible reality.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Good morning District 5! It’s a beautiful day and I can’t wait to get these Reapings started!” Romulus grins, looking not at the crowd but directly at the cameras. Nina is looking slightly perplexed for some reason, like something isn’t right. I dart my eyes around the stage. It all seems fine, but whatever she sees is obviously a problem because she’s shaking as Romulus draws out a slip.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Okay, and the female tribute for the Quell is....” Romulus frowns as he realises the slip is already unravelled. He ignores it, but reads the name out anyway. “Sparks Edison!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">Wait, that’s my name. I bite my lip, praying it’s just a dream. I’ll wake up any moment now. ‘It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real!’ My mind screams. I pinch myself on the soft inside of my arm. I small zap of pain shoots up, but nothing else. I don’t wake up in my house, in my warm and cosy bed. Instead I’m still stood in the middle of the Square, silent tears rolling down my face, looking like a fool as chilling goosebumps rise on my arms and legs. “Come on up, honey,” Romulus encourages me a little too kindly. I blink, dazed. This can’t be happening. No way.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">Peacekeepers press guns to my back, and I’m violently shoved forwards because I'm taking too long. I almost trip on my own feet. I suck my cheeks in, biting them between my teeth. As Romulus’ strangely manicured hand pulls my arm upwards, I taste blood. Silent tears roll down my cheeks. No! I scream inside. Don’t cry, you wimp, I shout at myself. The tears disappear quickly and I fix on a courtier smile especially for the cameras.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi"> “Hello, Romulus,” I say brightly, my tone changing very quickly. This is the way I’ve got to be now. All smiles and a pretty face, anything that’ll help me win these Games. I’ll do whatever it takes to stand in my Victor’s home at the end of this.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Good day, Sparks. Are you happy to be chosen?” He asks inquisitively. I smile wider, my white teeth showing. I thank God Nina forced me to brush them thoroughly before we left the house.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Oh yes. Like a dream come true,” I laugh peppily. Romulus chuckles a little and seems almost cheered up by my happy attitude. I search the crowds for Nina as the escort slides his hands over the male Reaping bowl. I see my sister, breaking down in hysterics towards the back of the sea of faces. Peacekeepers are surrounding her, making sure she doesn’t even bother to try and rescue me.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">She stares right at me, and I grin wider. There’s nothing else I can do except smile. I can’t cry because I’m leaving her, because that’d make me seem weak. Weakness means death in the Games, I advise myself. Forget about Nina, you don’t need her. She can’t help you, I decide, as much as it hurts.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">My sister breaks down even harder, knees on the ground and her head in her hands. Nobody seems to have noticed my sister, or my strangely perfectly fixed smile that grows even wider and ‘happier’ as my fellow tribute comes up on stage. I look away from my sibling, and I don't look at her again. Not even for a second.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Good day, James,” Romulus says, my attention turning to my new District partner. A dark-purple haired boy arrives beside my escort. His eyes flicker over to me, completely ignoring the escort. He just nods. “Well then, shake hands you two,” Romulus encourages us, stepping back. James’ hands are cold compared with mine. I nod my head, and whisper congratulations to him. He says exactly the same, copying me. My eyes stay fixed on him as Romulus announces us. James copies everything I do, down to the very last detail. The way I hold myself – chin up and straight posture – even the way I smile. Wide, but meaningless.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">Looks like I have competition from my own District, I laugh inside my head. I try not to let it get to me, but as we walk into the Justice Building I know I’ll be facing much more than a copycat.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">Confidence is the key. Confidence, always confidence. Nothing else now, I tell myself, completely ignoring the fact all the odds are stacked against me as a twelve year old. I’m not the girl from District 5 anymore. I’ll be a tribute, and I’ll have to change myself to fit the Capitol. My ordinary self isn’t good enough. But Capitol Sparks will be good enough, she’ll be more than enough for them to handle. <h3 class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">District 6 - Orlando Johnson <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I barely have enough time to change out of my work clothes before the Reaping. I wipe the sweat off my forehead after hastily running home, desperate to be on time this year. School wasn’t on today – it never is on this day of the year. Instead, to keep us ‘busy’, they force us to work in the factories. We were made to piece together bits of train track. I can’t think why, as the train only goes between districts periodically. We haven’t had to make train tracks since... Well I don’t know. I’ve never had to make train tracks.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">There have been rumours all over the place that the tracks were destroyed by people, not by accident. I don’t know whether to believe them. People here believe all sorts of rumours, in the hope that it might mean a rebellion. District 12 isn’t the most impoverished District anymore. Tesserae levels are huge here – possibly the highest rates there have ever been in the history of Panem. In the Seam, everyone is hoping for a change. Everyone wants a rebellion. We just can’t organise it ourselves. The citizens are so broken down it takes all their strength to even get up in the morning.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'TimesNewRoman',serif;font-size:14px;">An aching feeling throbs in my arms. I’ve had to stack metal sheets all day so they can be melted down into train tracks. I notice that the other people walking to the square also seemed tired out. Everyone, not just people from the Seam, has been worked especially hard.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">As I approach the Justice Building, I see that the number of Peacekeepers has increased. They’re all armed, and full protected in head-to-toe armour. I don’t recognise any of them – the usual people were sent on the train along with the Victors. It’s like they’re trying to remake District 6. I line up, ready to get my finger stabbed. It’s pointless. Why can’t they just take a picture of us? Do they think our DNA changes over the course of the year? It’d be fine if they could just take our names down, instead of drawing our blood to register us. It’s like the Capitol will find any excuse to cause pain.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">At long last, the escort arrives and has a snappy argument with the Mayor. Something is obviously not to her liking. Her green dress resembles splodges of vomit, and I have to control my laughter as she trots around, pointing out non-existent problems that only she seems to notice. The Mayor shrugs his shoulders, saying something witty that shuts the escort up. <span style="font-family:'TimesNewRoman',serif;font-size:14px;">I don’t know what happened to last year’s escort, Tatiana. She was nice to the tributes, even commenting on how nice they looked at the Reapings. Her sympathy for us definitely showed through on the 121 <sup style="font-family:'TimesNewRoman',serif;">st <span style="font-family:'TimesNewRoman',serif;font-size:14px;"> Hunger Games, when there was a sibling set. As the years went past, Tatiana became nicer and nicer, sometimes crying at the fact she’d see off another two children, who she knew she’d probably never see again.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">Once the 124th Hunger Games came and went, Tatiana was never seen or mentioned again. Her birthday, which was usually a huge party attended by hundreds of journalists, wasn’t even in the papers. She never modelled for clothing lines, or attended the Victory Tour after-party in the Capitol. But she’s not the only escort to have simply disappeared. There have been others in the past – more recently, Hestia, the lovely twin from District 4. I shake the thoughts of assassination as the new escort introduces herself.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Hello, District 6!” Her annoying accent is just unbearable. “We’re going to play the tape, and then I’m going to read a speech specially written by the President himself! Doesn’t that sound lovely?” I frown, because I swear I recognise her from somewhere. Her elaborate hat covers half her face, so it’s difficult to remember anyone she might resemble. “Ok, here we go with the tape.”  <span style="font-family:'TimesNewRoman',serif;font-size:14px;">The long and very fake video plays, still voiced by the first President.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“''War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child...This was the uprising that rocked our land.''” People scoff at the terrible acting, the crying children. It’s so outdated and only reminds us of why we hate the Capitol so much. Why District 6 is hungry for a revolution. “Thirteen Districts...”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I remember when the Capitol revealed the survival of District 13. It would have been a hard decision, after almost a century of trying to cover it up. They’d been in a quiet war against each other for nearly ten years, yet the districts knew nothing about it. Mother told me that people lost all hope when District 13 joined us in the Games. Some had prayed that they would bring us salvation, that we could escape there if we were ever endangered. But now, we have nothing left to run to.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“But freedom has a cost...” The past President continues. I roll my eyes. What freedom? I tune out the rest of the video. It’s meaningless. It doesn’t hold the same effect it did before the President died. People were afraid of him – but now Rome is in power, nobody seems to fear the government. He might be cruel, but he isn’t near as sneaky and deceitful as President Snow was.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“Anyway, let’s get onto the Reapings,” the escort says. She trots over to a Reaping bowl in her tight-fitting heels. With her patterned nails, she holds one between her fingers. Happily and almost excitedly, she unravels the paper and reads delightedly. “Ruby Burn!” A little girl, of only twelve, walks up. She was the person that tried to escape, not so long ago. The person with a herd of younger siblings that were all thrown in a children’s home, after the death of  her ill mother and the public execution of her father. “Hello, dear. You’re a sweet one! Look at those dimples!” The escort exclaims, grabbing Ruby’s cheeks and shaking them. Ruby looks uncomfortable, looking around for her siblings. <span style="font-family:'TimesNewRoman',serif;font-size:14px;">“So, Ruby, have you got any family here today?” The escort asks, smiling like a pageant girl to the cameras. Ruby nods, her hands shaking.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“I’ve got six younger siblings,” she whispers, her face going red all over. “They couldn't come today.” she continues, her throat croaky. The escort looks perplexed. Ruby explains for the stupid woman. "They've been kept in an orphanage."

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">“I didn't ask for your life story!" The escort hisses sourly.  Ruby's lip quivers, her hands shaking terribly. I'm angry at this escort already. Why the hell did she say that? The poor girl's just been reaped and you're treating her like that? The escort shrugs carelessly, not that bothered about it. “Boys now!” Ruby looks, offended, and tries to cover her face. Her face is red and contorted, like she’s holding in the tears and emotion. “Orlando Johnson!”

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I swear I almost die at that moment. I stop breathing, but my heart beats faster than ever. I realise my odds. I have almost none. Ruby’s at least good at climbing, she has the looks on her side. I’ve got nothing. I’m weak and tired from work. How am I expected to wield an axe, fire a bow or survive alone for a week? Even if I do win, what’ll happen after that? I might get post traumatic stress, destined to drown in alcohol and morphling for the rest of my life.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">As I rise to the stage, I glance at Ruby – her poor, tatty clothing is half-ripped and disgustingly dirty. I look down at myself. I look even worse, with my misshapen hand-me-down boots and tight-fitting top that’s getting way too small for me. Then I scan the crowds. The wrinkled faces of the adults working themselves to death glare at me. The young children barely out of primary school who are already being forced to do extra shifts in factories, just to provide a little bit of money for their families – remind me of myself.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I realise that I may have something to win for. If I win, the money I receive could go towards helping them. I could pay for food, to those who can’t afford it. To help children to avoid taking out tesserae. To stop twelve-year-olds like Ruby getting reaped ever again. <span style="font-family:"TimesNewRoman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-bidi;mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi">I could do this, or at least die a martyr.

District 7 - Sunny Coleman
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">The sun’s shining, as always. The forest is calm – only the mockingjays sing. There are no sounds of furious axes cutting the trees, no distressed people calling out ‘timber!’ every other second. Golden leaves drift from the trees, sunlight streaking through the canopies. It is early autumn here. Pale grass begins to shorten, disappearing in the cold weather. But still, the skies are blue and the clouds are still puffy.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">“Sunny!”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">The sunlight flashes into darkness, the clouds going black. I open my eyes. I’m back in District 7. I’m lying in an old timber forests. Old, may I remind you. Rotting stumps are all that’s left of this wood, with the paling ferns dying off – overexposed to the harsh sunlight. The whole area is lined with deceased electric fences. They were turned off years ago apparently, when the District’s borders were extended to new forests. I sigh as I realise my cold reality.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">“Sunny, what the hell are you doing?” My brother asks. In his hand, he holds a half-rusted axe, turned orange by icy rain. The wooden handle is rotting – it’s got moss growing over it. Slung across his shoulder and down his back is an old saw chain, still in perfectly good condition. Maybe some of the employees that used to work here just left the old tools in place of new, more modern buzz saws. “It’s Reaping Day, Sunny. I think you forget that, even here,” Samuel reminds me. I groan. I wasn’t born into this life. I was born to the Capitol, probably destined for fame and riches had my father not been assassinated and my family torn apart. “Come on!” Samuel’s voice has drifted away. The rattling of the saw chain along the ground is the only thing I can hear. I reckon, if I lay here long enough and quietly enough, I’d probably hear the plants rotting.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">“Coming!” I reply, jumping to my feet. I do a little jog to catch up with him.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">The main square isn’t far from the dead forest. It’s about half a mile, and probably only about two hundred metres from the house. If you go to the borders of District 7, it might take hours to reach the Justice Building. But I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had to walk that far, really. Maybe if I still lived in the Capitol, I might have gone on jogs around the city with my parents. Maybe if I’d done something to prevent my father dying... My world is full of ‘maybes’, ‘ifs’ and ‘I should haves’. Everything in the past was preventable. I should have done something. If I’d done something, it’d have been different. Maybe if my family had never been perfect – my father might still be alive.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">“Do you want to change?” Samuel wonders, looking at my outfit. I’ve got grass stains on my trousers and bits of leaves cling to my thickly-woven jumper. In the summer sun, it’s starting to get very hot. I wish I hadn’t taken an early shift at work. I should have just stayed at home and rested – preparing myself for what might happen.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">“No. I don’t have time, and neither do you.” I point to the clock tower. It’s almost midday – almost time for the Reaping. Samuel sighs. He’s still in the tatty old hand-me-downs that he wears in his spare time. His Reaping clothes aren’t the height of fashion, but they’re better than half-ripped, patched shirts and trousers. His big boots aren’t exactly desirable, either. He could have been super fashionable. If our father hadn’t been assassinated. “Come on, everyone is lining up.”

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">I join the queue and ignore the pinprick in my finger, trying to stop myself wincing. It hurts. I didn’t realise that they did this to District 7 citizens. It seems a bit cruel, when two of them are about to face their deaths – and they’ll still die with the mark of where it all began. That single dot on their finger.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">I’m praying that neither Samuel’s nor my name has been rigged in the bowls, but I know it’s possible. I know President Rome wouldn’t hesitate to take one last shot at the Winston family, to knock them down forever. I also hope that my other siblings and relatives all over Panem are safe. I have no idea where they are; if they are even alive.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">I have to keep telling myself that I’m not a Winston anymore. I’m not part of a rich family in the Capitol any longer. I’m a Coleman, and I belong to District 7 now. Technically, I shouldn’t know any of the Winston family. After all, they don’t exist anymore. To do the Districts, they never were real. So I need to stop worrying about them.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">I line up with the thirteen year olds. All the girls stare at me. I’m a stranger. I wasn’t here last year. This is my first Reaping, despite the fact I’m thirteen. It’s weird, because I know what to expect. I guess I’ve seen it all before; on the television. The thing that makes it strange is actually experiencing it. The reaped tributes usually looked happy – maybe a lot of them were faking it. Nobody here seems happy. It’s an overwhelming feeling – being on the other side. Never did I think the Reapings would be so hollow, so depressing.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">“Hello District 7,” says the escort in a drab, monotone voice. I don’t think I can bear another five years of this. “It’s the Quarter Quell as you know,” he explains tiredly. “So, here we go.” I know who he is. He’s called Gaius Gemini – a man who trained to be a politician but decided not to do that, and go with a different career choice. I have no idea how he ended up as escort for District 7. But what I do know is that he’s possibly the most cynical and plain boring men you shall ever meet. “Boys, first – for a change,” He says, his tone lightening slightly.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">His coarse, wrinkled hands pull out a slip. He strolls over to the microphone once again, clearing his throat to speak. I can almost hear the phlegm sink away. I have to stop myself gagging when a horrid stench of rotting wood drifts across the main square. It’s always made me a little sick, that stench. I’m still not used to the smells of nature. The Capitol was always so clean...

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">“Jayson Huff, please come to the stage,” Gaius requests. A quite well-built boy surfaces into the narrow strip between the crowds. He looks reasonably scary. I hope with all my heart he’s a nice person. God help me if I get reaped and have to fight him. I notice though, he’s got a strange scar on his face. It looks like claw marks... surely not? There aren’t clawed animals around here! “Hello Jayson! Good luck,” Gaius says, in more of a statement than a compliment. Jayson just nods nervously. Clearly he’s not used to the Capitol accent, because he’s looking perplexed.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Suddenly, it’s mid autumn again. Trees materialize around me. The smell of rotting wood and sawdust disappears, leaving only the clean air and silence. Mockingjays sing in the trees once again. It’s not their usual song: elegant, smooth and pretty. It’s harsh sounding, almost like a shriek. They’re distressed and screaming. The flowers begin to wilt and die – the trees going dark and they lose their leaves.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">“Sunny Coleman!” The mockingjays scream. “Sunny Coleman!” Their deafening screeches causing the trees to shatter like glass. Instead, a stage appears and I’m back at the Reapings. It’s not the mockingjays screeching my name, it’s Gaius Gemini. “Please come to the stage, Sunny.” My shuddering body somehow drags itself next to the escort. I can feel the colour drain from my face.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Suck it up and smile, I shout at myself.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Gaius Gemini is tapping his foot on the ground impatiently.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">“Hi,” he says curtly. “Shake hands,” he orders strictly. I look at the huge clock tower. It’s taken me over ten minutes to get to the stage. Gaius steps back, looking down at his feet. Jayson looks down on me. He’s feet taller than I am. He offers his hand and I reluctantly shake it. His grip is tight – his hands are dry and hard. He obviously works in the forests with the old-fashioned axes.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">“District 7, your tributes for the Fifth   Quarter Quell!”

District 8 - Amaya Selene
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I slip down various alley ways, cautious not to take the main streets. If people saw me, they’d recognise me as the girl who killed her sister. They all deserve a punch in the face. They don’t understand the situation. They don’t know what she put me through. But I can’t tell them what happened. I can’t explain it to them, or I’d have Peacekeepers barging through the door within the hour. I pull up the hood of my jacket and make sure my hair disguises my face, just as I did last year; and all the years after the death of my sister.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The roads open out into direct routes to the Justice Building. I make sure people don’t look at me. In my black clothing, I try to blend into the crowds heading towards the Reapings. I hurriedly push in the queue to get registered, desperate to merge with the rest of my age group. I just want to get today over with, and quick.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Our District escort is stood up on stage. She’s wearing a bright pink outfit. Her shiny skirt puffs out in all directions, satin and velvet and silk blending in with one another, creating one big mass of fabric. Her tight-fitting top splays out at the waist, resting on her skirt. It looks like she’s wearing a giant marshmallow. Disgusting. I just want to rip it to shreds.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Hello, District Eight!” Ceres says brightly. She’s received by a silent crowd. I swear I could hear tumbleweed whistle across the main square. Ceres’ face falls, disappointed. She’s been doing this for four years. She should know what to expect. “Let’s skip the tape, hey? Ssh,” she says cheekily. Ugh, she’s just sickening. I want to just rip her vocal chords out. She shuffles over to a bowl. “Boys first,” she grins.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I take notice of her ghastly nails. They’ve been painted pink-leopard print and are as long as the fingers themselves. Her hands are starting to wrinkle as she ages, but who knows how wrinkly and cragged they might be. All the cracks in her hands have been filled up by makeup. They look orange now, underneath all that foundation and concealer and whatnot.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Henry Polyester!” Ceres announces proudly. “Strange name, that one,” she comments as a curly-haired boy emerges from the crowd. He’s got a scrunched up dollar note in his hand. He stuffs it in his pocket when he realises everyone is staring at him. “Hello.” Ceres smiles as Henry stumbles up on stage. He nearly trips on one of the steps. Usually, people would laugh at him. Not today, however. I bet people would laugh at me. I guess I deserve it.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Henry, are you looking forward to seeing who will be your district partner?” Ceres asks Henry. His lip is quivering. He’s just a twelve year old. He nods his head timidly, his face as white as a sheet. “Girls, good luck!” Ceres continues gleefully, skipping over to the girls’ reaping bowl. She draws out a slip of paper, smiling like she’s picking sweets out a bowl.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">A girl next to me shuffles around, trying to give herself some space. She accidentally knocks back my hood, causing my hair to splay all over the place. My face is completely showing. The girl opens her mouth to apologise, but then the realisation hits. Her eyes widen and fill with horror.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Holy shit. She knows who I am. “And the female tribute is...” Ceres’ voice plays in the background. She knows, she knows, she knows. Fucking hell. “Malou-”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I VOLUNTEER!” I shout, raising my hand. The girl gasps, stepping back immediately to make way for me. Ceres is smiling delightedly. She gets me to shake hands with little Henry once I’m up on stage. Then we turn to the crowd.

<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">All I can see are faces filled with horror.

District 9 - Bree Riverbuck
With Dipper Pines and Acacia Twilight.

District 10 - Euan Lorelle
With Jessica Woods and Eli Winersin.

District 11 - Tobias Drew
With Artemis Moonsilver.

District 12 - Amaryllis Skylark
With Gideon Gleeful.

District 13 - Eric Desmond
With Ophelia Zigler and Shyvana Feuer.