User blog:YourFavoriteSalmon/Without much Chance, The Tale of the 89th Hunger Games

''Something to get me in that writing spirit again. Read and comment if you feel the need to.''

Drake was just turning 17. Most tributes from 9 had little sucsess, and Drake felt he was no different. When reaped into a games of utter terror and suspense, Drake had little to say, but knew he had to prove his worth to the district, and the distrusting president...

Chapter 1: Reaping Day
"Drake, up! C'mon Drake!" my sister says, hitting me with a pillow. I groan, and rise up. "Reaping is in 20 minutes! Better get ready!" she says, before sliding down the stairs. She was lucky, being just a mere 9 year old child, safe from the reaping.

I myself am 17. Most tributes in my district were reaped at the age of 13 or 14, which is why we had such a low victor percentage. Combined with the fact the district is urban with a lot of grainfields doesn't help us by offering any skills in the games, and the fact the capitol call us "District 11 2.0" doesn't help either.

"C'mon Sally." I say as I walk downstairs. I had been left by my parents, and me and Sally had been living on the edges of the District in a small shack. I was a tough worker and most people respected me, which is why I could afford food and water.

As usual, I lead Sally to one of my friends, Lucus, who is an older man who I help on a daily basis. Sally calls him "Gramps", and he normally takes care of her when I work long nights. Then, I get in line to get sorted. I get my finger pricked and slump over to the 17 year olds section.

It takes about 2 minutes for the capitol escort to walk up to the stage. On the tv screen, it displays horrors of previous games, where it shows our tributes' deaths in their games. It was on last year's games, where our tributes were mutilated by careers in the bloodbath, like the 5 previous years.

"Welcome District 9. On this day, two lucky individiuals will get to honor their tribute in a games!" The escort says. Someone yells "Boooooo!", but I see them get dragged of by peacekeepers. The escort then says, "For such a rude display, I'll begin drawing.".

She goes over to the girls' bowl, pulls out a slip, and struts over to the microphone. She unfolds the slip, and reads aloud "Delilah Peters!". A girl with long brown hair walks up to the stage. She is only 13, and I feel my heart pang in sadness.