User blog:DrewlovesKuinn/The 103rd Annual Hunger Games - Take Two!

Now, for those of you who don't know, the first games I ever did was the 103rd Hunger Games, and in my opinion was by far my best, however I kept forgetting to capitalize my I's and the reapings were a little off, they were my first games and had the best arena, tributes and ideas I've ever had.

So I'm bringing them back. Better and stronger than before. Same arena. Different Tributes. Different deaths. Different world.

Introduction
The 103rd were my best games for a reason. They had thought. They had feeling. And best of all. They had the tributes that went the extra mile. So for that reason, not only will there be new tributes, each of the old tributes is back and ready to fight again. The new district one male, and the old district one male, namely Ore "Snake" Cole will be into the games in a team. If Ore dies, the new one male will feel equal pernament pain in the way they died, and vice versa to the new male.

The past victor, aka Aurora Wilde, the seven female, will not be given any kind of help in the games or speical treatment because she was a victor, she will be in the same position as the rest of the of the tributes. However, as a special twist, each of the tributes will hold a grudge against the person who killed them.

Stylists:
District 1 Stylist: Lizabeth Gretz, 28. Female. Lived in the capitol since she was born with her two parents who lost most of their relatives in the second war. She believes that the more sparkles, the more well recieved everything will be.

District 2 Stylist: Shannon Trip, 34. Female. She was born in District 8, and grew up sewing silks and staring at fashion forward designs. When her parents died in the old war, she was moved to the capitol to live, she then became a stylist. She wants to incorporate stones and metals into the desgin, but she doesn't want it to be silly.

District 3 Stylist: Crystaline Fredrick, 37. Male. He was born in the capitol and was left in an orphanage for a while, then he was adopted by Kazzaman Assain, but he kept his last name. He likes using electricals in his designs, which is why he chose District 3.

District 4 Stylist: Pirouette Lisbusten, 19. Female. She is the daughter of the head gamemaker Arabesque and his wife, who is the head stylist for the entire collection, Eleve Lisbusten. She wants to incorporate the districts export and her own sense of style into one big outfit.

District 5 Stylist: Tap Lorozo, 39. Male. He is the youngest in a family of 15 brothers and sisters and is the last one to take up styling in his family. The rest of his siblings all work in the games industry but are more Gamemakers and Training Guards.

District 6 Stylist: Susan Morris, 27. Female. She was an only child and was raised in the capitol without any siblings or parents. She lived with her best friend's parents for 16 years, and then she found her passion for styling. She wants to incorporate the district's export, but doesn't want to overdo it.

District 7 Stylist: Callum Grentos, 30. Male. He was the son of Cecelia who was in the 46th Hunger Games and won and later was reaped into the 75th where she died. He was raised by his father and after Cecelia's death, he was shifted to the capitol. He wants to include the export, but he doesn't want to make it overdone.

District 8 Stylist: Pip Dawson, 17. Male. New to the biz stylist. He was raised in the capitol with both parents who loved him very much, until they were killed in an attack from District 0 and 15. He wants to make the style as high fashion as possible.

District 9 Stylist: Cyrus Aldrich, 27. Male. He doesn't even like styling, but decided to give it a go as he may never get the shot again. He wants to incorporate his own style along with the districts export, but doesn't know how to do it.

District 10 Stylist: Lucie Graham, 45. Female. She is a mother and she does this styling job to help pay the bills for her expensively tasted teenagers who love their big ticket items. She doesn't know what she's gonna do, but she thinks she'll make it up at the last minute.

District 11 Stylist: Bernie Loren, 28. Male. He is new to the buisness and is kinda late compared to most of the younger ones. He doesn't really know what to do for the styles, so he'll do some trial and error to work it out. Hopefully stealing the show.

District 12 Stylist: Caterina Swindle, 29. Female. She is a woman from the Districts who ended up in the Capitol after her parents moved due to a job offer. She doesn't know what to do, but from watching years and years of games, she thinks she has an idea.

Gamemakers
Head Gamemaker: Arabesque Lisbusten

Deputy-Head Gamemaker: Kazzaman Assain

Head of Arena: Robalyn Quynn

Head of Mutts: Dizragon Johasson

Training Scores: Katerina N. Kahmilah

Head of Stylists: Eleve Lisbusten

Tributes
These are the tributes, both the past ones and the new ones, which are competing in the 103rd Annual Hunger Games - Take Two.

Template
I want these tributes good and thorough, I want to potray them in the best (or worst) light possible. I will accept reservations, no profiles and at maximum three tributes each, so I want all the following things in your tribute:

Name:

Age:

District:

Appearance (including height):

Personality:

Weapon(s):

Fears:

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Alliance(s):

Foreword
Because I am completely and utterly impartial to all of these tributes, and I really cannot decide on which person to get a POV in the reapings and such, I've used random.org, so I can make it up to those who aren't getting POVs at reapings, and give them a chariot or train ride one etc.

And now, the District 1 Reaping POV is:

SYDNEY FONTANA

Next up, the District 2 Reaping POV is:

QUINN SPARKLES

Now, the District 3 Reaping POV is:

MIKE ROWPROCESSOR

The District 4 Reaping POV is:

ZARA LANCASTER

And the District 5 Reaping POV is:

LIAM SMITH

The District 6 Reaping POV is:

CARMIAN BLACKLEAVES

The District 7 Reaping POV is:

AURORA WILDE

Next, the District 8 Reaping POV is:

DOWN SMITH

The District 9 Reaping POV is:

VINCENZO HANDERSON

The District 10 Reaping POV is:

AMANDA RICHARDS

District 1 (Sydney's POV)
The sound of an alarm clock grabs me from my dreams and shakes me into reality. Not that I want to wake up, but in real life, who really does. In sleep, you are refreshed, growing, basically resting and having a good time. Waking up into the life of career training at the academy, a life of stress with all the exams we have at school and that we need to complete. To be perfectly honest, the only real thing in my life that doesn't cause stress is sleep, and that is my only way of getting rid of it right now. I rub my eyes with my knuckles, shifting the sleep that has formed overnight in my eyes. The bleeping is constant and shrill, leaking through my ears and hammering into my brains. My hands reach for my ears, keeping the pounding from getting any stronger, and then a voice rings through the air.

"Sydney! Get up!" screams my mother, her voice penetrating the air and slicing through my ears like a knife on cold ice. I wince as I feel her hand slam down onto the alarm clock, pushing the button in and silencing its rampage of ticking bleeps.

"What do you think you are doing! Its bloody 10 past 11!" she screams at me, forcing me to open my eyes to at least acknowledge the fact that she is there, because literally nobody; apart from a morphling induced drunk would be able to withstand the shriek of my mother. But to be honest, she isn't that bad. Just a little stressed, like we all are around this time. Reaping. Oh great.

"Fine mum! I'll get dressed, I'll brush my teeth and I'll go to the square, and you know what I'll do. I am gonna volunteer." I scream at her as I throw back my duvet, climbing out from beneath the covers and grabbing my nightgown from a coathanger.

"Sydney, you walk out that door you are never coming back in, okay?" she says, a wary tone quavering into her voice. As much as she dislikes me. She loves me, and always will. Which makes what I was about to do so much harder.

"Good. I don't want to live with a witch." I say in a cold, collected tone. Before turning around and marching out of my room, grabbing a jacket and a pair of shoes as I storm out into the road. I make it 5 meters before it hits me what I have done, and a pang of guilt smacks me right in the chest. I almost collapse, but I need to stay up. Where can I go? I can't go home now, that isn't an option, so there is only a few places left. Then it flashes into my mind.

Emily.

I jog to Emily's house, its a mile or so, and its raining lightly, more of a drizzle, so its not that long, but its a little tedious considering I'm in pink, fluffy, rabbit themed pajamas, so I get a few looks, but its District 1, its not like we haven't seen things more crazy. So I reach Emily's fairly quickly, I knock on the door and her mum lets me in quickly, sending me to Emily's room.

"Oh god, Sydney?" she says as I walk in, covered in mud from the ankle up from my trek across town. She gives me a questioning look, and I fill her in on everything that happened, while she fixes my hair and hands me some clothes.

"We better get to the reaping!" she exclaims as she runs from her room, dragging me by the hand. I smile and run after her, wind in my hair, sprinting until we reach the square.

"Can I have you girls' finger's please?" asks a petite peacekeeper, dressed from head to toe in an unflattering state. Its made of some kind of plastic and felt, keeping heat in and cold out, and then of course; its bullet and knife proof. The only way to take down a peacekeeper, not that I would know from first hand experience, is to shoot one in the chin, just where their mask doesn't cover. But I won't be doing that anytime soon.

"Sure." I say with a confident voice, then I reach out my hand and let her prick the tip of my right index finger with her knife. A single droplet of blood splashes down and hits the page with a sickening noise. I taste bile as I walk past the woman and let Emily take the test. I don't know why, but as a teenager, the blood taking has always. . . frightened me? As such, I suppose the whole fact of the blood taking is to let everyone know that even if you aren't picked, they will always have you. Or part of you at least. ..

"Welcome, welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the reapings for the 103rd Annual Hunger Games. This year, in commemorative of the people who died in the last 103 years, the original 24 tributes plus an extra 24 new tributes to go into the arena. Now, your tributes. . ." Our district rep, Luna Radcliffe, walks on stage, sporting a new look this year. Purple! She flounces across the stage, flipping her hair over the back of her neck. She smiles in a wide grin, showing all of her teeth, each encrusted with a light magenta gem.

"Our female tributes are. . . Emily Hatches! And, Sydney Fontana!" screams Luna, the grin getting wider and wider as she reads off the boys names. Emily Hatches. . . and Sydney Fontana! Me and Emily!?! What the hell...? I stagger onto the stage, holding back tears as I see Emily, who is begining to freak out.

"And Ore Cole. . . and Brendan Downstreet!" she calls out. The words mix together as two boys walk onto the stage. One is around Emily's age, the other older than me. Both look completely different, one with light blonde hair and blue eyes. The other with dark brown hair and green eyes.

One thought sticks in my mind. ..

I will die. ..

District 2 (Quinn's POV)
. . . "Die!" I scream as I slash the knife across the dummy's chest, ripping the fibers of the material that makes up the skin. Ripping deep into the wool and felt inside the figure. Fake blood spurts out from the wound on the chest. It blasts up and hits me in the face.

I then jump up, and backflip off the dummy's chest, coming full circle as I sprint towards the next dummy, sinking my knife deep into its neck. Fake blood and splinters and parts of wool are everywhere, but somehow I can see perfectly fine.

I keep running, before I slam straight into a dummy, shoulder checking it across the room. The dummy is catapulted to the other side of the room, before landing on a spike, which in return shot fake blood back across to us.

My hands were shaking and bloodstained, my knife weakened in my hands. But there was only one challenge left, and now was the time to do it.

I threw my knife across the room, only glancing to see where it went as it penetrated another dummy's neck, before sprinting full blow across to the swimming tank. My left hand grabbed one of the rungs and my right hand grabbed another. Arrows were being shot at me from all angles. One grazed my foot and I almost fell down, but with all the dodging, I finally made it to the top.

I raised my arms and smile, before one misfired arrow hits me right on the arm. It doesn't penetrate it or cause it to bleed, like a blank bullet, but it freaking hurts. I'm sent tipping backwards and I fall right into the water.

For someone from District 4, or maybe another District with water, this would be a piece of cake. But as my body falls relentlessly towards the water, my last thought is: I can't swim.

My head is the first thing to go under, and the water is goddamn cold! It's almost as if I've been stabbed with thousands of knives, all over my body, all at the same time. The rest of my body submerges as I desperately try to pull myself out. But the walls are smooth and have nothing to grab onto.

"Help!" I scream, as the water begins to deplete. I kick my legs, trying to stay afloat, when I just give up and lie down on the water as it depletes.

"Agh!" I scream as the water finishes draining, causing me to hit the floor on my back. The wind escapes my lungs and I cough out, gasping. I clutch my side and fight back to my feet, staring at the coach for approval.

"Quinn! What the hell were you thinking? Mediocre! Hit the showers." he screams in my face. I feel a sharp pang of guilt in my chest as I climb to my feet, walking to the locker rooms in the corner in the gym. I get undressed and let the warm water hit my face. Washing off all the fake blood, sweat, grime, getting rid of my entire day in the gym. Ready for the reaping.

"Hey, Quinn." says Thalia as she towel dries her hair over by the sink. My heart jumps into my mouth at Thalia's voice. Why is she talking to me? The girl who is the top of the leaderboard in career training, talking to the girl who will get cut from the team if she doesn't improve her skills. She wouldn't be talking to me without an alterear motive, would she?

"Yes, Thalia?" I ask in a steady voice, holding in my mix of excitment and fear. I look up to her, gazing into her eyes with some kind of intensity.

"You did good today. . . I was wondering if you wanted me to coach you into getting higher on the leaderboard?" she says with a friendly tone, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes.

"Yeah, sure." I say with a cold, harsh tone, showing Thalia that I'm not as insecure and as stupid as she thinks I am. I can stand up for myself.

"Tomorrow morning, 11am." she says with narrowing eyes. She knows I'm not falling for her trick and facade. I smile.

"Sure." I say in a steady voice. I grab my clothes and pull them on, storming out of the lockers and across the gym to the coach.

"See you, you better do something about that Combe girl!" I scream in his face as I storm out of the double doors, ignoring his replies and shouts about Thalia being the best in the year.

"I don't want to hear it!" I shout back as I run into the street, letting the wind whip back my hair and blow my shirt up in billows. I run towards the square, pushing Thalia Combe out of my mind. I go past the peacekeeper who takes my blood in a flash and stand in front of the stage. Wating for the escort.

"Hey guys! I'm back!" screams Mannas Flavios as he walks onto the stage, his blue hair dancing behind him in a wave of curls like the sea on a windy day. We all wince as his voice cuts through the air in an impossible tone.

"Get on with it!" screams someone. I look back over my shoulder to see Thalia grin widely and see her pound her fist off a pole in the street.

"Okay. . ." he begins, reading off the slips of paper. "The girls are. . . Quinn Sparkles and, well, will you look at that! Our very own top of the leader board career tribute. . . Thalia Combe!" Thalia? Oh great, Thalia finally gets her comeuppance and gets sent into the games. Thank god. Thalia walks onto the stage, her hands out at her sides and smiling. She shakes Mannas' hand and looks out to the crowd.

"I'm Thalia Combe, and I'm your new victor!" she screams, lifting her arms into the air. Great, old attention seeking Thalia. And who was the other one who was called? Quinn. ..

Me.

"No! No!" I scream as I sprint away from the crowd. Peacekeepers see me run and begin to close in on me, hauling me onto the stage. I look at Thaila and everything rolls out of my mouth.

"You set this up, didn't you!" I scream. She shakes her head and I spit on her. The peacekeepers go mad, hauling me backwards and into the justice building while Mannas calls the males.

Crap. That went well. ..

District 3 (Mike's POV)
. . ."Well, Mike. It seems your grades are not so hot this semester." says my mum as I walk into the room. I quickly hug my shirt up over my head, covering my ears from the vicious words that are sure to begin spilling out. I wince as my dad approaches me. I glance up at him through my shirt and then I feel it.

Smack!

"Oh my god! You did not just do that!" I scream at my dad, a red bruise begining to form on my cheek. My eye begins to swell shut as I curse under my breath.

"Make your grades better Mike. We thought better of you. What about Mac, eh? You need to get a good job to help support him and us." says my mother. A storm of anger begins to brew in my chest. I love my family, I really do, but they think I have to do everything for them. I swallow the rage and answer in a calm voice.

"I'm sorry, I will do better. I promise." I say, squeezing my eyes shut as the welt on my face begins to grow bigger. I turn round, return to my room and get dressed. A couple of minutes later I walk back into the living room and see my 12 year old brother Mac standing in the kitchen.

Yes, okay, my grades were really bad. . . but that's not my fault! Is it really my problem that my teachers kept failing me because of what was happening in the playgrounds with that Tim dude. Just because he thinks it's okay to punch Mac, means I get a lower grade?

What the hell is wrong with people today!?

"Mikey, what happened to your face?" he asks quietly.

"Nothing." I say, "I fell, that's all." He looks satisfied so I grab myself a cereal bar and begin to walk out of the house, taking Mac by the hand. We find ourselves on the dirty, never cleaned, smoggy streets of District 3. I look down at Mac and he smiles again.

"So, Mac, are you nervous about your first reaping?" I ask him calmly.

"A bit. . . but isn't everyone?" he answers my question with a question. How like him.

"Well. . . if you think about it. You're 12, and I'm 16." I begin.

"Yeah. . ." he adds.

"That means, your name is in there once. And mine is in 5 times." I say, "But most other families in the district have taken teressa to calm the amount of money they are losing."

"And that means?" says Mac in an unusual tone.

"That you have a billion to one chance of getting reaped, is what it means." I say with a smile.

"Still. . . I could be that one in a billion." he says sadly. I shake my head.

"You won't be. I promise." I take his hand and lead him down to the desk where they take the blood. A small and friendly woman dressed from head to toe in a white polyester uniform takes a drop of blood from our fingers. She drops it onto the page under "Rowprocessor, Mike" and "Rowprocessor, Mac". She then scans it with a device and says we can go.

"Trust me. Its not you." I say as we part ways.

"I love you Mikey."

"I love you too." I smile silently and walk to where the 16 year olds have to stand. I shake my head and my hands, loosining up for the reaping. Just as our escort, Lucy Uganda, walks on. Lucy has dark green hair which falls past her shoulders, and purple skin which makes her face look even more grotesque than usual.

"Welcome District 3!" she screams, waving her hands in the air and pointing her fingers upwards like a rockstar. She stands there for a few seconds, awaiting applause. . . which never comes. Crestfallen, Lucy moves back to the mic and blinks back tears of embarrasment.

"Lets just see who's reaped, eh?" she says in an angry tone. She is obviously trying not to get mad for being refused applause. Like I care.

"For the girls. . . Michelle Volts!" she begins, a 15 year old girl with red hair, a little forwards from me in the line, because she's 15, but none the less, I can see her perfectly. She sobs as she walks onto the stage, holding Lucy's hand for support. I know this Michelle person a little, she's the grandaughter of Beetee, from the 75th Hunger Games. Lucky her.

I don't know where I heard this from, maybe it was school, or it was installed in me from a young age, but Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark always planned to try and kill the president. The only thing is, Coin stopped them before they could. Peeta was executed in front of Katniss. Katniss later assassinated Coin, which lead to Katniss' death sentence for killing the president.

Then the new history began. It wasn't Chassé Lisbusten at first, actually, it was the father of Ravenna Assain, who at the time was Ravenna Wilkinson. Who in turn, was the mother to Rosetta Wilkinson. Weird how everything ties in, eh?

But, the Assain's had power. January Assain married Ravenna Assain, and had three daughters: Kazzaman Assain, Hermione Assain and Eleve Assain (now Lisbusten). January's father, December, had power which was passed down to January.

Until Ravenna's assassination. It was if history was repeating itself. Ravenna was killed, and January lost his power. Or gave it up rather, to mourn her.

Leaving Chassé and his family to pick up the pieces. But Beetee came into this a while back, after Katniss and Peeta were killed, all victors with the exception of Johanna Mason were murdered. Because Johanna had been a double agent. Annie Cresta, Haymitch Abernathy, Enobaria, Beetee. All the rest. They were all killed.

But then the escort calls out another name, and I'm snapped back to reality.

"And the other girl. . . Paciagona Repalm!" she yells into the air. Another girl, younger, around Mac's age, with dirty blonde hair, walks onto the stage, holding in emotion. Paciagona. . . never heard of her. Sorry, but I don't know her. Her death doesn't really mean much to me.

"And our boys. . . Tim de Winter! And. . . Mac Rowprocessor!" I don't care about the first one, he's a mindless creep a few years below me who used to bully Mac. I'm not bothered about him. . . but the other one. Mac. A thousand images, thoughts, everything. I see Mac be stabbed by that Michelle girl. By Paciagona. By Tim. I call out the two words that change my life.

I sprint onto the stage and grab Mac's hand, pulling him back as peacekeepers aim their guns at me for interfering with tributes. Lucy gasps as I scream two words out:

"I volunteer!"

District 4 (Zara's POV)
. . ."Right then, future volunteers!" yells the trainer while walking down the line. I'm the 17 year old volunteer to be, so there is one person on my left, and 5 on my right. Coach walks from little Abi who's the youngest in our group all the way up to me and Gordon, the 18 year old.

"Zara." he says. Each week, Coach chooses one of the 7 future volunteers, and tests their ability, at random. This time. . . he's chosen me.

"Okay." I choke out as I step off the line and walk towards the mats and the high bars. I close my eyes, and let the adrenaline surge through my body. My temples thump with every heartbeat. Coach readies his stopwatch.

Bleep!

I open my eyes and I sprint forward, utterly focused on getting airbourne when I reach the mat. I let my hair fly back while concentrating on making every step count. My arms go out to my sides, keeping me balanced as I begin to change direction for the mats. My first foot pads softly onto the blue mat and my other foot runs to the same spot.

I leap from the mat and my hands outstrech, my feet leave the mat and I propell myself into the air, my fingers curl around the pole protruding from the wall and I feel my body warp upwards and flip backwards around the pole, coming full circle. My fingers drop from the pole and my body flies across the room, my feet find the floor and I forward roll and get to my feet, raising my arms and letting my hair fall back down to its normal position. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the verdict.

He claps. And he claps again. My eyes open and I stare at him in shock. He claps faster and my jaw drops. Coach. . . clapping! Its not plausiable.

"Well done, Lancaster!" he roars with pride. I try not to look dumbfounded as I walk back to my spot in line. Coach walks down past me again and hands me a knife. The blood offer. I'm an offical career. All I have to do, is cut my arm and sprinkle the droplets onto the tiles outside the academy. Its the mark of having no fear. The ability to commit yourself to the life of the career.

"I'll do it." I say confidently, striding towards the glass double doors of the gymnaisum and let the others follow. The coach stands in front of me, to make sure I don't lose too much blood or cut into an artery or something like that. I raise the knife and dig it into my skin, dragging it across. Red, sickly, meticallic droplets run down my arm, and one hits the tiles below.

"You are now offically a career, Zara Lancaster." says the coach, handing me a towel to soak up the rest of the blood and close the wound. I spend the next half hour getting prepared for the reaping.

The Future Volunteer group is a pretty nice group, there is seven of us, like I said. Gordon is the oldest. He's eighteen, and works in a fisherman's warf with my father. Gordon's pretty cool I suppose, we don't talk much, but I guess he's pretty nice. In career terms, he's very strong and would make a good victor now that I think about it.

Then there is me, and you know all about me. I'm totally epic, right? Nah, just kidding.

The 16 year old is a boy called Mason. Mason's dead nice, but vicious when it comes to training. Personally, I think he's attractive. But I can't think like that now, at the peak of my training. It could be catastrophical.

Then there is Sienna and Sophia, two sister who occupy the 15 and 14 year old spots in the group. Sienna is nice enough, but she's very introverted, so we don't talk. Sophia is the complete opposite, who loves to hang around in the group. Sophia is very competitive, so we have fought a few times.

The 13 year old spot is taken by someone called Felix, as he's 13 and I'm 17, we don't really ever talk, but he seems kinda angry at the world, for whatever reason.

Yeah, we are a weird bunch. I wrap the towel round my head as I leave the changing room, drying my hair. I see Abi at the door and run over to her, throwing the towel in one of the dispensers. I walk with Abi out of the gym and across the road.

"Hey Zara." she says, looking up at me.

"Hey Abi." I reply, looking down at her. She smiles and grasps my hand.

"So now that you are offically a career, will you be volunteering?" Abi asks, her blue eyes huge and swimming. I consider my answer and then reply.

"Well, not necessarily, but if I feel like it, I might!" I answer with a smile. She nods her head and we reach the square. We go through the blood taking and I hold Abi's hand as the reapings begin. Our district escort, Flipper MacCai, walks onstage, dragging his cape behind him.

"Welcome District 4, to the reapings for the 103rd Annual Hunger Games!" he says in a loud, booming voice. He flounces around the stage before walking over to the girls reaping ball, "Can I have. . . Zara Lancaster and. . . Marissa Clearwater please!" he continues.

Abi looks up at me and I smile. She wasn't picked. But. . . I was. I let go of Abi's hand and begin to walk up onto the stage, pretending to be strong inside, but in reality, I can feel the entire world crashing down around me.

"Also, Derek Trike. . . and Dymento Lights!" he calls into the mic and I make my way onto the stage. Two others walk onto the stage to join us and we shake hands.

I hold my breath and close my eyes.

What the hell just happened. . .?

District 5 (Liam's POV)
. . . "What happened!" roars my mother as she runs into my room. I clutch my head in my hands, letting the blood drip down between my fingers and drop down to the floor. I feel the metallic substance run down my hand and begin to stain my skin a reddish colour. I leave my hand there, holding my head in my hands. I try not to wince when I feel the pain kick in.

"Nothing happened. I fell." I lie, the untrue story falls from my lips and rolls off my tounge with a scary ease. Lying isn't fun. Not at all. I look up with one eye, while clutching my other one with the palm of my hand. My mother puts an ice pack on the side of my head and lets a towel soak up the blood.

"Okay. . ." she replies as she leaves the room, allowing me to attend to my own injury. I lied. I didn't fall. I was walking back from school early this morning when. . . the boys attacked me. I was minding my own buisness when they attacked me. Three of them, beating me down and kicking me. Bruises litter my lower back and chest from the punching and kicking. Moving hurts. But I can't let on what's happened. So I get on my best jacket and leave the house, walking past my parents and younger sisters, who are too young for the reapings.

I trudge out of the house and down the soaked street. The individual cobblestones are rimmed with water and puddles, changing the dusty grey colours of the stones a darker grey. I hate living here. Its kind of depressing to see the same shops, the same signs, the same plants and same power lines, everyday. It gets boring. A drab place like this, like my district, is a place where bad things happen. Where bad people live. What I wouldn't give to live in District 1, or District 2. Even District 3. I would be happy being in the Capitol, with all the people with magenta skin, blue hair and purple eyes. I would do anything. To get out of here.

"Watch where you're going!" yells one of the boys who beat me up this morning as I walk past him, almost walking into a pole. I shoot him a scared glance and try to stop from looking terrified of them. They stand in a group, all three of them. While looking at them, I slam right into a pole.

"Crap!" I yell as I pull my body back, stopping my nose from snapping against the cold metal. The side of my head, the one that was bleeding earlier hits off of the pole and I feel the cut begin to open again.

I hear the boys laugh at me and I glance at them. I close my eyes and walk past the pole, trying to ignore the humiliation and embarassment from flooding my cheeks. I stagger down to the square, trying to ignore the jeering of the boys behind me. I go through the blood taking and try to keep from the side of my face exploding in pain.

"Welcome everyone. . ." says a quiet voice on the stage, I look up and see Gwen Holden, our escort. She's in her late 50's, maybe early 60's. She is one of the few escorts that haven't decided to change everything about their faces, hair and eyes. She has light grey hair, with small streaks of blonde that don't look that strange. She has green eyes, like emeralds, which light up in the sun.

"Our. . . females are. . . Nina Garcia. . . and Carol Velasque. Sorry girls. . ." she says. Gwen is one of the few escorts who care for the tributes. Sorry that they have to die for their sport. Horrible. Horrible. The one called Nina walks onto the stage, crying slightly and screaming for someone called "James". The other one walks up and stands there. . . no emotion.

"I volunteer!" yells a boy behind me. I turn round to see a boy called James Garcia, a few years older than me at my school. Nina Garcia. James Garcia. I'll bet my hat they're siblings!

"And our other male is. . . Liam Smith." she says with a sad tone. She sees me look up at her and she locks eyes with me. She mouths one word.

"Sorry.". ..

District 6 (Carmian's POV)
"Sorry. . ." the word feels like poison on my lips, and as soon as the word leaves my mouth, I wish I could take it back. Instant regret forming in my mind. I look up at the man, smiling a little to make it not seem as fake as it is. He looks down on me and smiles.

"Okay Carmian." he says, walking away from me, clutching his arm in agony. I turn around and walk the other way, rolling my eyes at the state of the old man. It was only an apple, god! Anyway, I try to force him from my mind, thinking of the impending reaping and the fact four of us are going to get chosen. I head to my house and walk inside, keeping my head down, knowing my parents will have some idea of what I did.

"You stole.. an apple?" says my dad, its more of a question than a scold, but I avert his eyes anyway, just acting like its a big deal.

"Oh come on!" says my mother, storming across the room. I roll my eyes sarcastically and walk off in another direction.

"My god, you people are so uptight!" I say as I storm up the stairs, casually stamping on each step, making look like I am raging when in fact I am almost laughing at how they took it. I kick off both of my shoes and take off my jacket as I jump into bed, resting my head on the pillow. I take a quick glance at the alarm clock to see what it reads.

"05:34" flashes the clock. Damnit. . . its so early. The reapings don't start till around two now, due to the fact that the Capitol are lazy and I can't be bothered getting out of bed. Even with my guilty mind, I find it easy to drift off into a light sleep, a warm pillow comforting my head, a soft duvet keeping me calm. Its no suprise that its simple.

''The sharp sting of a slap registers on my face, I clutch it painfully while looking up at the person who slapped me. My father. How dare he. For 6 years, he managed to stop, but now, of all times, he decides to start again.''

''"Why did you steal that apple!" he yells in my face. I want to scream at him, but my dream form doesn't let me, he raises his hand again, and brings it down in a firey rage. This time, white hot pain shoots right up into my brain. I can't think for the agony as he raises his hand one last time.''

''"I hate you!" he screams, bringing his hand down for the final time.''

"Nyeah!" I yell as I throw myself out of my bed. I realize I'm in my parents house! How could I do that?! I check the clock again, reading 12:43. A lot of time has passed but it feels like just minutes. But still, I'm in my parents house. . . after six years of abuse. What the hell was thinking? I run towards my window and quickly unbolt it, sliding through it and dropping down to the ground.

The shock of the impact hits my knees first, just a short, stabbing pain which comes from dropping a flight a stairs, but no matter, because it wears off in seconds and just as fast I'm off again, running for my life to where I know the reaping is held. I go through the blood taking without thinking, focusing on getting away from my parents.

"Welcome, welcome, District 6!" says our escort as he walks on, wagging his tail behind him. I look him up and down, and raise one eyebrow in suprise. Wait what? He looks like some kind of cat, but with a human head.

"My name is Purr!" he says, rolling his two r's at the end in the way a cat makes a noise. Its slightly creepy but also in the slightest way, a tiny bit cute. He walks over to the two reaping balls and he opens up the first girl slip.

"Lynette Handsows!" he says, in some kind of cross between speech and cat sounds, its slightly bizarre and almost scary in its own little creepy way, but the girl walks onto the stage as I await the second name. I wait. And wait. It feels like an eternity, but its probably only a few seconds.

"And now. . . Carmian Blackleaves!" he says, proudly opening his hands as a welcoming gesture to the girl who was picked. The girl. Who is me. A shiver runs up my spine and I feel relieved and terrified at the same time. I get away from my abusive parents. . . but what new dangers do I face now.

Only time will tell.

District 7 (Aurora's POV)
". . . Tell me about it!?" I say down the phone to my friend Carrie.

"Oh sorry, gotta go Aurora; Bye!" she says abrubtly before hanging up the phone. I smile and put the phone down on the desk. Before I hear it.

Hacking. Its what I wake up to. . . Its what I go to sleep to. . . Its my entire life. I quickly get off the couch, moving over to the cabinet, throwing open the wooden doors with glass panels and rifiling to find the medicine for the cough. Asprin. . . painkillers. . . antidepressents. . . going through all the drugs in the cabinet just to find the right bottle. My hands finally rest around the slender bottle, a dark brown in colour and about half filled with slick, gooey black liquid. If you could call it that. Its a cross between solid gel and liquid goop. I take it from the cabinet and move over to the table.

"Sit up." I command my father, and he does so, letting out a chesty, gunky cough for good measure as I unscrew the lid for the mediciation. I drop a few globs of the sickly liquid onto the spoon, slicking up the plastic dimple at the base. I slowly force the spoon into his awaiting mouth and watch his grey eyes begin to show me how disgusting it must really be. I smile, trying to keep his mind off the taste.

I don't notice it at first. But when his eyes begin to roll back into his head, showing the milky white, vein filled underside of his eyes. I begin to walk away when the first gargled spit escapes his mouth. I spin round to see my father, frothing at the mouth, eyes wide.

I scream as I run forwards to him, picking up the bottle and reading the label in a shaking frenzy. I turn the bottle around, searching for the words which tell me what is in the bottle.

"Cyanide."

My heart skips a beat as I look down at my father, who is slowly begining to stop breathing. Foam forms at his mouth as a single tear rolls down my cheek, dripping slowly down my cheek as I blink it out. Letting it drop onto the floor.

My father. . . Is dead. . . My heart feels like someone has ripped it from my chest and thrown it carelessly across the room. Like that moment when you walk up stairs in the dark, and you think there is one more step than there is. That second of falling. Of fear.

That's how it feels.

But this time, the fear doesn't go away after a second. It stays. My heart flutters in my chest violently. After the inital shock of the fact my father is dead begins to fade, another pang of something worse hits me right in the chest. Not only is my father dead. ..

But I killed him.

I-i gave him the... cyanide. I... am gonna... die... Oh my god. There is one way to escape this fate. . . I can't imagine living in prison. For murder.

My entire future flashes before my eyes. I see myself in a prison yard, lugging around heavy weights. Eating horrible foods. Dying in a cold, empty, damp cell.

Time beings to speed by as I feel my feet carry me from my house, down the street onto the soaking cobbles. It was raining earlier, and now its sunny, but the cobbles are still drenched so bad that they have changed colour! I run through the streets, trying to keep my mind off of. . . that!

Great. Now I'm thinking about it again.

Suddenly time begins to go back to normal as I find myself in a square full of teenagers. We shuffle our feet around, trying not to seem agitated although most of us clearly are. I rub my red eyes, from crying, to stop them from crying again.

''Act strong Aurora. Even if you aren't on the inside.''

I exhale as the escort walks onstage. I rack my brains to try and think of their name. Anything to keep my mind off that again.

Matilda Green.

Her. . . I force that from my mind as I stare up at her figure, moving across the stage. She looks down over the crowd as she begins her speech.

"Hello boys and girls of District 7. . ." she looks out us all as she beams. Thousands of thoughts bubble in my mind carelessly and suddenly I find my mouth shouting two words which will change my life forever.

"I volunteer!" as I run up onto the stage, shoving aside other people. I hear peacekeepers begining to shout as the alarm is raised about my father. But it's too late, I was going to die one way or another. I chose the games instead of jail.

I run inside of the Justice Building while Matilda reaps the other tributes. Carrie volunteers for probably no other reason than to see what's wrong with me. Then a young boy called Sam Mason, clearly a relative of Johanna, basing on looks. Then the other boy; Douglas Gibbons.

All three of them walk up, followed by Matilda in her swaying fushia dress. She walks inside the justice building and moves over to me.

"So Aurora, seems like you may have some competition!"

District 8 (Down's POV)
". . . competition winner is. . . Down Smith!" yelled the announcer as she walked off the stage, holding a huge trophy in her hands. She looks through the crowd as I raise my hand, she places the trophy in my hand. The thing itself is large and golden, metalically colour. It weighs quite a lot, which I realized as I tossed it back and forth in my hands. I looked up at the woman and smiled.

"Thanks." I say, fake beaming. Behind all the smiles and the thank you's, I'm kinda annoyed. I mean, do I really have to be given this in front of everyone. It wasn't even me who entered! It was my parents. I look around the factory where I am working in, staring at the disgusting pipes, carrying all sorts of glue and stuff across the warehouse.

"Now back to work, everyone." she says as I stand up. I walk across the floor, back to the machine I was working at. I can't help but look up, and I see. . . her. That girl! Raquel Numez. Her father owns the factory, and employs not just my parents, but me too. I'm only 12 years old, and I am forced to work eight hours a day. Just so me and my family can survive.

How fair, right?

On top of that, I have to take so much teressa, just so I can have lunch and dinner. We can't afford breakfast and most of the water we drink has been passed through factories upon factories.

My hands find the nylon streched across the table of my machine. I push it up through the sewing machine as the two parts of the nylon join together. I then pull it out before putting some cotton near it too. My head is all over the place. But something wrenches me back.

I let out a bloodcurdiling scream as my hands runs underneath the sewing machine, which punctures deep into my hand. I yank it back, which rips the skin and the stitches apart. Blood pours from my hand as I shake it. A friend from nearby runs to me, clutching a bandage. I can't help but look up.

And I see that girl.

Numez.

My friend treats the wound as I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out everything. And before I know it, she's helping me out the door and onto the street.

"Thanks Luna. . ." I murmur as she pulls me up with her other hand.

"No problem, Down." she says back, smiling a little. She grips my shoulder as we walk down the street.

"Crap, it's the reaping!" I exclaim as somehow that thought crosses my mind.

"Don't worry about it." she says, chewing her lip sensitively.

"Luna. . . my name is in there forty-six times." Her eyes widen when I say that. She tries to choke out a word, but I silence her with a finger to my lips as we reach the table of the blood taking. Luna walks off to the right as I go to the right. Boys and girls are segrated at this point. I bite my lip as the man takes the blood from my finger. My first reaping. It doesn't feel like it though. My parents made me come here and watch since I was around eight years old. But everything seems second nature and new, all at the same time.

I stand at the front of the stage, because I'm 12, meaning that I am the shortest group here. I can't help but look over my shoulder to find Luna, but instead come eye to eye with Numez.

My blood runs cold as I face back to the front. The escort waddles on, Jonas Starr.

He thinks he's a total star. Just because his surname is Starr and he works for the games. I mean, come on? Really?

"Welcome everyone, to the reapings for the 103rd Annual Hunger Games! Today, we will be reaping four tributes!" he begins, everyone holds their breath as he moves over to the first ball. Marked girls.

"Our first girl is. . . Luna Snare! And our second one is Maya Ping, Girls come on up here!" exclaims Jonas as he raises his arms enthusiastically. Luna walks up onto the stage, crying a little, Maya walks up there with no emotions showing. I think I recognize her from the factory.

"And now the boys!" says Jonas as he strides to the other ball.

I cross my fingers, thinking of Numez and Luna. How much Numez deserves to be in these games for what she's done. How horrible it is.

"The first male is. . . Leo Milan!" says Jonas. Leo Milan. . . that name rings a bell somewhere in my mind, I forget about it, thinking it's probably someone who works in the factory. The boy walks up and stands there, no emotion.

"And the second male is Down Smith!" says Jonas. My mouth falls open, but it's not like I wasn't expecting it. I have teressa and well, I'm not exactly the most lucky of people. I walk up onto the stage and move over to Luna, clasping hands with her.

"I'm going to die. . ." I whisper, barley audiable.

"You won't. You have a chance." she mutters back.

And for once. . . I think I may actually have a shot.

District 9 (Vincenzo's POV)
One shot. . . that was all it took. One shot, could decide the matter of life or death. One shot, the shot that was so strategically placed, that all it would do is wound someone. But they didn't count on her being there. No. The shot was calculated so perfectly, that not a single thing could go wrong. But no one could have anticipated her being there. No one could. But no one could predict her being there.

That's the only reason that my mother is dead.

My name had just been called out. Thousands of colours and thoughts rushed through my head as I walked onto the stage. It wasn't like I wasn't scared, but I knew I might have a chance to actually win. Granted, it's not like I'm perfect at everything physical, if anything, I'm the opposite. But I know for a fact that I have something they don't have. ..

Rage.

''"The males are. . . Ashley Barnston and Vincenzo Handerson!" called out Emma as she raised her arms theatrically. I hobbled up onto the stage and stood beside the already called females. A pretty young girl called Spring and an older, blonde girl called Daniella.''

''Emma ushered us inside the building as we waited in the grand hall for our parents. I kept stealing glances at the other tributes. No one arrived for Ashley, and he was taken to a car out back pretty quickly. Two relatively young adults came for Spring and gave her a small pep talk and a huge goodbye, before she departed. Dani had a friend visit. And then my mother arrived.''

I look at the window as my mother came up the steps. She walked over to the mayor to speak to him when suddenly there was a loud bang. The mayor moved to the side while my mother stayed put, and suddenly a red streak erupted from her neck, splattering the slabs and walls of the justice building a deep maroon.

The bullet was .12mm, silver and curved at the top. It had enough force in it to decapitate someone if shot in the right place. This bullet went straight through her throat and skewered all chances of her breathing.

In three point six two seconds, my mother was shot and killed.

Now I'm going into the games. What a day, eh?

Me and Spring sat in the back of the car while Ashley, Emma and Daniella took the front seats. We were being driven by an old peacekeeper in the district. Her name is Alis, and she's pretty old. She's been a peacekeeper for a good amount of time, probably since my mother was a child.

She's kinda friendly, I suppose, but the peacekeepers aren't supposed to talk to us unless absolutely necessary. And it's not really necessary right now, so she's silent and only drives, not opening her mouth at all.

Her focus is entirely on the road, while Emma gives a pep talk which I've zoned out of.

Like before, no could have predicted it, but when the truck swerved onto the road in front of us, it was impossible to stop. Alis swerved, but she didn't miss. As all five of us tumbled inside the car as we rammed through the other vehicle.

When I finally came to, all I saw was a straggly piece of hair caught on the windshield. It was blonde, and really long. One thought crossed my mind.

Spring.

And then I blacked out again.

The scent of roseblossoms and disinfectant brought me back. I looked around, suddenly dazed and very out of place. The first person I saw was Spring, who was cradling her head in her hands. I looked up and saw Ashley and Dani, both very distant. Emma was there too. But I didn't see Alis.

We were all in a truck, which was taking us somewhere... presuambly the train station. But when I realized Alis wasn't in the front seat either, it hit me like a tonne of bricks.

Alis was dead.

Spring grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet as Dani and Ashley, or "Ash" as he asked to call him, walked over to the pair of us. Emma just stayed in the seat and stared out the window, glancing into the hills. The vehicle we were in was a truck, but it was easy to move around in, and very spacious.

Ash and Dani sat down on a box and table over at the left as Spring and I sat on two chairs nearby. Ash muttered something to Dani about the games.

"So Spring." I say, smiling. She cradles her head in her hands, dancing her fingers along the back of her head, where a noticable bald patch is exposed from the crash. She rubs it slightly as she looks back up at me, trying to smile.

"So Vincenzo." she says with a cheeky grin. I kick back as we begin to talk about games, alliances, chariots. Everything.

I may have my first proper friend in the games.

District 10 (Amanda's POV)
. . . Games. It's all I ever hear about. Not from my parents of course. They're too protective for that. But people at school and in the town as I ride past. . . I hear everything. Nothing can be hidden from me.

When I was seven my parents threw out the television, and I hadn't really watched the games before that, so I didn't know what they were like until I started attending school. I remember riding to school on my horses and tying them to the posts as I walked into school. People spoke about who they were betting on. How so and so was going to be out next.

I thought it was some kind of gameshow. I guess in some kind of sick, twisted way, it is a game show. Just one when the stakes are higher than anything else and you gamble with your life. Winning gives you riches and eternal fame. Losing means certain death.

Of course, at this point, I didn't know that. I remember cornering one of my friends and asking them point blank:

"What are the hunger games?" I asked. They chuckled, thinking I was kidding, and brushed it off. I still didn't know. That's when I raided the library's movie stack. Looking for any glimpse of Hunger Games. And the library was full of it, all that was there was Hunger Games upon Hunger Games.

I watched two that day. My eyes were never the same again. In the first one, two girls made it to the final, and they hacked and slashed at each other. Hacking off limbs and fingers, left, right and center. One grabbed the others hair and yanked them down, landing right on a knife.

My heart leaped at that.

In the second one, oh my, that one was so much worse. I watched the bloodbath in that one. I'm pretty sure that it was the 100th Hunger Games, which as a painful quell, not only were triple the tributes reaped, but the mentors, escorts and stylists went in too.

So much blood, so much death. I couldn't even watch it as I found myself picking favorites and felt like a disgusting Capitol person, I almost made myself feel sick.

I turned it off.

That night, I had the worst nightmares I have ever had in my entire life. I woke up in a cold sweat, screaming for people to run, to dodge certain people. Most hauntingly a 12 year old being captured in a net by a career and being brutually tortured.

This morning was a different morning though, it was a reaping morning. The morning when you are always cold and never warm, when you are always fearful and never brave. When thousands of sick emotions and hopeless fear invade your body.

Because there is always a chance, however slight, that you will be picked. That you will be one of the twenty four, or in this case, the fourty eight, chosen to die. Except for that one glimmer of hope. The victor spot. This year, as there is double the tributes, there will be double the victors.

Two victors.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, I'm not even a tribute now. Hopefully I won't be either, but nothing is certain. And that's why I need all the luck I can get.

The bell rings through the district, marking the one o'clock hour. Meaning that the reaping is about to begin. Meaning I have to detach myself from my crying mother and overprotective father so I can get to the reaping and watch one, or two, of my friends get chosen to die.

"I love you mum, and you too dad." I yelled as I walked out the door, blowing a kiss back to my parents, whom I may never see again if I am picked. Which the chances of are microscopic, but still there. I almost sigh with the amount of things running through my brain. I need to think positive.

Thinking about it badly won't help me in the slightest.