Pierce Amble, District 1

***Did Not Hand In, Strike 1***

Shadow Skye, District 2

   Fear or courage? Happiness or sadness? Shame or pride? I don't know which one of these emotions I felt as I walked up the steps and stood in front of the entire District. What they teach you in the academy is that when you are reaped or you volunteer for the Games, you must do so with honor and pride. That's what the entire district expects me to do so I do it, I fake it. Because that's what I've been doing my entire life, pretending to be a part of the crowd down there when I'm really not. In the Academy, they tried to make me a part of it, but it quickly came to their attention that I didn't want or need to.

That should offer up the question – who is going to come and say goodbye to me when nobody in the District truly knows who I am? Half the instructors hardly know what my name is. They only know I'm good with the bow. There is no decent friend in my life, no family by the name of 'Skye' that have come to associate themselves with me. The only companion I've ever had hasn't even been human. It's been a silver-grey wolf belonging to the only instructor to ever actually instruct me – the Academy's Master Instructor in Archery.

As I just sit here and wait for the time to go, I hear something or someone try to pry the door open with its claws. A slight smile spreads across my face and a warmth appears inside my chest as I open the door and I hear Silver, the wolf bark in happiness to see me. I close the door as I go down on one knee as he's still not his full size. "Hey, Silver! Hi, buddy..." I let out as he buries his face in my chest. I'm rubbing his fur just behind his ears before he starts licking me in the face. "I love you too, you know..." I let out smiling before he stops and I hold his head firmly in my arms. "I'm gonna be gone for a little while. I'm gonna go and...bring pride and honor to my district."

My voice is monotone as I say that. It's almost like I don't believe it. "Don't worry though, I will not forget about you. I will make you proud too." Silver is the only true companion I've ever had. He makes me feel special and appreciated. He always sits next to me when I practice with the bow and arrow. When I'm finished, he runs over to the targets and bring back the arrows, one by one. I can almost be an actual normal person when he's around, probably because he doesn't talk, but only barks or purrs.

After a while the Master Instructor of Archery steps inside the room and I turn immediately more withdrawn. He's the only one who has ever said a word to me, the only one who has learned my habits, my strengths and my weaknesses. "I know you never volunteered for this, but it seemed as though the odds wanted you in those Games, kid." He never calls me by his name. I hardly respond to that anyway. When other instructors talk to me and call me by name, I almost forget to respond.

The Master Instructor sits down on one of the chairs while I'm still on my knees down on the floor as Silver lies over on his back and I scratch his tummy the way he likes. It makes him purr in return. He truly is the most special wolf in the world. At least to me he is the truest companion I've ever had. The only thing in this place that can make me smile.

"Here's the thing: your tribute-partner isn't much to look at. He will most likely be dead by the end of the countdown. You will be the one we depend on to defend the honor of District 2." He says. I hear every word that he's saying, but I keep my eyes on Silver. The Master Instructor is used to that so I know he's not offended. I've never missed a single word from his lessons. I don't look people in the eyes no matter who the person is, I look at them once and remember it for the rest of my life. "I know you will manage that just fine. You are, hands down, the best archer to ever come through the Academy."

I hear a slight knock on the door after a while and it slightly startles me. I will have to say goodbye soon...but who do I even say goodbyeto? The Master Instructor? He's just an instructor here to see me off. I'm his little pet that knows how to use a bow and arrow. He's not going tomiss me if I die, he'll easily move on. The only one that I know will notice my absence is Silver. He will sit by the targets and wait for me to come and fire my bow like I always do in the mornings.

The knock on the door signalizes that there are only a few minutes to go before the Master Instructor and Silver has to leave me here. The first minutes after the knocks, nobody says a word. I'm really good at that, not saying a word at all. I've barely said any words through my life, only the ones I've needed to say in order to survive. However, in these last couple of minutes in District 2, I might actually need something else than silence.

"Do you..." I start as the Master Instructor looks my way. I don't look at him when he turns towards me. I'm more comfortable watching a person's shadows whenever I speak to someone. I'm comfortable in the shadows, with the shadows. That is how I'm going to make my way through the Games I've decided. "Do you have any last advice, Master Instructor?" I finally manage to ask him as he takes a deep breath. "I would tell you the motto of the district, 'strength and honor', but for you I believe only honor would count considering your lack of muscles, kid..."

I can see through his shadow that he's turning thoughtful. I hear Silver breathe in his normal rapid pace as I wait for the Master Instructor to say something. "...word of advice..." He goes on before I catch him chuckle lightly to himself. "...make sure to keep your bow-arm relaxed, even when you're under pressure. If you're too tensed you'll be as good as dead..." He starts. I almost smile to myself because I cannot count the amount of times he's told me that.

"Relax, take a deep breath and let the bird fly. If you must, you know how to use the dagger in close combat. If you have no dagger, use the tip of the arrow, it's just as useful and painful as anything with a pointy end." He stops for a moment and he makes me look at him by tipping my head and eyes up towards me. "Most importantly, kid, you will need many allies, strong allies." I nod weakly before I look down at Silver who's waggling his tail and licking me in the face a few times more and it makes me smile a little bit.

"The time has come, kid. We must be going. Strength and honor." He says as he gets up on his feet. Silver licks me once more as if he's realizing that he has to leave to possibly never see me again. "Strength and honor..." I let out whispering before I look down on Silver who's whimpering slightly. "I will miss you too, buddy, I will miss you too."

Wicker Flames, District 3 

***Did Not Hand In, Strike 1***

Addison Cartex, District 4

Even though we only have a couple minutes together, neither of us can find the words to speak. We just sit in silence, until my mother finally speaks what we both have been thinking."What if you die."We sit in silence after that for a while longer, before the dam bursts and we rush into a mournful conversation.

"Addison, are you sure you don't want to take a cane? You'll be lost without it!"

"Yes, mother. I know I need to take this instead. In the long run, this will help me more," I calmly reply, clutching tightly to my sheet of paper. "I've put more thought into this than you realize, mom. Trust me."

"I know, darling," my mother reaches out to lay a shaking hand on my shoulder, "I'm just worried. The careers must realize that you are a drawback! What if they just turn on you! What if you die in the bloodbath?" She takes her hand off my shoulder and begins to pace around the room.

"Mother, I'll be fine. I won't die the first day. I will win these games. Trust me," all my attempts to appease my mother are failing, because both of us know I am lying. I will die.

Way too quickly, my time is up, and my mother leaves.

I want to call out to my mother, to tell her everything I didn't say. But, I can't, she are gone, so the words will just keep bouncing around in my head until I die, really. And who knows how soon that will be. Maybe I'll be gone in a month. I mean, you can never really know when you'll die, but I have a safe bet on guessing that I'll be gone soon.

Eloisa Flux, District 5

***Did Not Hand In, Strike 1***

Nevia Saille, District 6

Goodbyes are never easy. You'd wish that they were and hope that your heart won't shatter whilst saying goodbye, but it never changes the fact that goodbyes are the hardest thing you will ever experience.

Now, sitting in this empty room staring at the ceiling, Nevia cried. Tears ran down her face and she did nothing to try and stop them. Racking sobs escaped her lips.

She wasn't crying because she was condemned to death, no; she cried because she would have to say goodbye.

She fumbled with her bracelet in her hands as she sobbed, the cool metal pressing against her skin. She came up with a sudden thought that maybe it wasn't goodbye. Maybe once she had passed away, she would be with the ones she had said goodbye to all those years ago. Maybe there really was an afterlife and she'd live happily for the rest of eternity.

But maybe there wasn't an afterlife. Maybe it was just cold darkness. Maybe there was nothing that lay ahead, maybe the road would finally end and there would be no place to run anymore. Maybe...

Crying was not something Nevia did often. Some people in her situation would break into pieces at the slightest thought of memory, but that was never what she did. She stood strong and brave and proud, and while on the inside she might be sobbing, on the outside she was bright, more radiant than the sun.

So why must she be crying now? Why must she break down like this? She had to be stronger. She had to be braver. She had to be prouder.
Her sobbing ceased and eventually, so did her tears. She dabbed at her eyes and closed them slowly, whispering words to herself.

"I am strong. I am brave. I am proud..."

When the door was finally creaked open and her aunt limped in, Nevia was almost back to normal, save bloodshot eyes and a few sniffles.

Her aunt didn't speak. She never did. Instead she stretched her one arm out, shaking, and pulled Nevia into a close hug. Nevia closed her eyes and hugged her back, and when she finally pulled away, whispered, "I love you," into her ear. Her aunt nodded solemnly and put her hand over her heart.

It was heartbreaking to see her like this. Nevia's aunt had been born muted and had never spoken a word in her life, but asides from that, she had been perfectly healthy. Now she was weak and sick and broken. Her time was coming soon and while unsure if her aunt was aware, Nevia knew it.

So maybe this goodbye wouldn't have to be so hard. Maybe her aunt would pass soon too and they'd both be together.

The small reunion was very short, but to Nevia it seemed like weeks. They had sat in silence for the whole visit, sitting awkwardly facing each other. Not for the first time, Nevia wished that her aunt could talk. It would just make everything easier. Sure, there was pencil and parchment, but they couldn't sit and have a nice conversation. Nevia never had nice conversations anymore.

When the time finally ran out and the peacekeepers came in to take her aunt away, Nevia held back her tears. Because maybe it wouldn't be their last goodbye.

One last embrace sent Nevia spiralling into a void of memories. She shut her eyes and breathed in her aunt's scent, and just before she released her aunt reached for her hand - which she hadn't noticed was balled into a fist - and lightly unfurled it, setting a pieced of rolled-up parchment in it. Nevia held it tightly as she waved one last time to her aunt.

They would take Nevia away now; she didn't know when she would have time to read it. But as minutes passed Nevia realized that they weren't taking her out yet, however she couldn't understand why. Who else in all of Six would possibly come to say goodbye? It wasn't like she had any real relationships other than her aunt.
A couple more minutes willed Nevia to unroll the parchment. With a log breath, she began to read.

Dearest Nevia,
I apologize for the abruptness of this letter; I am under a lot of stress and hardly have five minutes. As I know our goodbye would not be very long, nor at all full of conversation, I felt an utter need to write this as a more formal goodbye.
I suppose I'll start out with your parents. They were very kind people, quite astounding indeed. My brother chose well whilst picking a spouse. They loved you very much, Nevia, and trust me when I say they did their best to care for you. Their deaths were a terrible occurrence and I pray you find the killer and put them to justice.
Moving onto myself; I am not a very old person yet my life is passing quickly. I have become weak and practically useless to everyone. I hope that in the case that you do fall asleep and happen to not wake up, I will as you did.
I know that death doesn't scare you. It didn't scare your father, either. He'd talk about it as if he were simply awaiting the day when he'd leave this horrible world. And I know that you might want to give up, you might want to let go, but I beg of you, do not. You're so young, so tender still. If you make it, you'll live the rest of your life in peace. Though it might not seem like it, you have everything to live for.
This is all I have time to write; they say that you are ready for me. I bid you good luck, my dear, and goodbye.

The note had no signature, Nevia expected that she had run out of time.
She pondered the note for a while, but once more realized that no one had come to get her yet still.

Until the door was flung open yet again. Nevia expected it to be the peacekeepers come to get her, but it was someone else entirely.
She knew this man. She knew exactly who he was.

"Quinn." The name felt odd on her tongue, a name that she hadn't spoken for years. Quinn dipped his head, his green gaze burning into her skin.

"Nevia." His voice was choked with emotion. Nevia averted her eyes, not wanting to even glance at this man by mistake.

Quinn was handsome enough; with defined cheekbones and perfectly messy brown hair, he gave off a calming demeanour and made Nevia feel attracted to him, almost like he wasn't a complete sociopath.
He walked closer to her, a casual stroll as if they were old friends crossing one another's path on the street. If not for the dire circumstances Nevia wouldn't have cared. But she did, and she didn't like it.

She stood up abruptly, her chair squeaking as it was pushed back. The sound was tiny, but in the silence it was deafening; an explosion that rang in her ears.

"Nevia-" Quinn began, but he never finished.

"Get the hell away from me." Her voice came as a whisper.

"I just wanted to-"

"No. No, no, no, no, no." Nevia kept repeating the word as she slowly back up until she had reached the wall. "Get away. Just get away from me, Quinn. I don't want to see you ever again."

Quinn's face fell. He took a small step back and tried speaking again.
"You don't under-"

"No!" She was screaming now. "Leave me alone!"

She continued to scream, words slurring until she wasn't saying words anymore. Her vision was blurry with tears, and she hardly noticed as peacekeepers charged into the room and took hold of Quinn. Nevia's screaming stopped and she closed her eyes, not daring to open them. But she still heard him and she didn't do anything to block him out.

"Nevia, I'm sorry. And I know that sorry is a measly, pointless word when used in this situation, but it's all I can do." His words were kind and tender, but suddenly his voice hardened. "But maybe you should've thought before asking me to murder your parents."

Nevia broke down in tears now; racking sobs forcing her body to convulse. She collapsed in a heap on the floor, her face in her hands. Two of the Peacekeepers grabbed her roughly by the arms and half-lead, half-dragged her out of the room.

Memories ran through her head at impossible speeds. Her mother sending her off to school, grinning as she waved goodbye to her five-year-old daughter. Her father coming home from a day a work, all smiles and happiness. Their bodies, cut into pieces so they were hardly distinguishable as humans.

Though it was Quinn who had done the job, he wasn't the true killer.

Nevia Saille was a murderer.

Beatrice Winter, District 7

I slowly filled with rage as I waited quietly in a solitary room. My grudge against the peacekeeper who drug me out was still strong, and I hated how he stared at me through his emotionless helmet.
My parents burst through the room, trying their best to look sad and devastated. Their act isn't fooling anyone though, even the peacekeeper was not convinced.
"Oh Beatrice!" My mom sobbed. " I can't believe they made you participate in your condition! How are we going to live without you?"
She attempted to hold my face, but I slapped away her hands, making her dramatically gasp. My father glared at me sternly, maybe to scare me into apologizing.
"Beatrice Nightrose Winter!" My father exclaimed with discipline. " You better say sorry or I ought to -"
"Ought to what?" I interrupted. "Bribe them into blowing me up during the Bloodbath too?"
The room fell silent, and my parent's faces became expressionless. There was no need to act anymore, everyone here knew what they had done.
"B-Beatrice, why do think we bribed them into putting you in the games?" My mother asked quietly. It was almost a whisper, as if she didn't want anyone else to hear.
"Oh I don't know mom! Maybe it's because you're not able to get rid of your diseased daughter so easily!" I shouted. "Maybe it's because you don't want your reputation destroyed by the freak that lives with you!"

"Sixty seconds" The peacekeeper commented in a bland tone. It seemed as I was the only one to hear it.
My mother sighed and sat in the corner, leaving me alone with my father. He grabbed my shirt, making me stare into his eyes, but I refused to show weakness or look away. I honestly didn't care what happened right now, no matter what either of us did, I was still going in the games either way.

" It's not like anyone will know about this." My father taunted, his breath warming my face. "You will simply die with our crime."
I took this moment to punch him in the face, causing him to let go and stumble back. The peacekeeper noticed the dilemma, and began to wrap up our goodbyes early. He called in a few of his fellow guards, and three more appeared to take us away.
My parents started to curse and cause commotion as they were practically dragged out, but I remained silent as they escorted me to the train. The events that occurred began to take effect, bringing me to reality before my parents threats reached the end of the hall.
I made sure to be somewhat nice to my peacekeeper escort, my parents are probably the last people he wants to deal with today. I can relate. But one thing is for sure, if I by some miracle make it out alive, I will ensure my parents receive punishment.

Tailor Bobbin, District 8

The thought of death doesn't exactly scare me.

I don't know if there's a heaven, or if all death is is empty blackness forever, but I almost want to find out. Even if it is just an eternity of emptiness, it can't be any worse than what life is now.

I'm humming to myself quietly as I wait for my family in the Justice Building, absently running my fingers over a small knitted square that's usually tucked away in my pockets. The wool is worn and so faded that almost none of its once vibrant red remains.

The smell is still there, though. I lift the piece to my nose and inhale deeply, wishing I could bottle the scent that lingers on the scarf - the sharp scent that smells like snow, mixed with a warm, cinnamony odor that almost overpowers the sweetness of the wool.

The whiff brings me back, flashes of memories whirling in my mind - waiting to cross the street after our shift at the factory, shivering in the biting wind, the heaviness as he drapes his scarf across my neck, my smile as he tucks the ends inside my coat.

The door opens, making me jump and tuck the square of old scarf back into the pocket of my simple dress. My mother almost sprints to envelope me on one of her hugs, the familiarity of it so jarring compared to the fading memories of before.

"Oh, sweetling," she breathes, running a hand over my hair as my father joins us. "Oh, darling, I wish you didn't have to."

"I'll be fine, Mama," I say. She releases me for a second to study my face, her forehead puckered with worry lines.

"Sweet, it's not fine. You know some of those tributes are far stronger than you, and with your lapses-"

"I haven't had one in a while," I argue, conveniently forgetting the one not two minutes ago. "I won't do it in there."

She brushes back a thick curl that has sprung from its braided trap, the year ad in her eyes evident. "Make strong alliances, all right, sweetling?"

"Yes Mama."

"Tai-" My father starts to speak, and I am shocked to hear his voice choked with tears. It brings wetness to my eyes and I nod for him to continue. "We'll always support you. We'll be rooting for you in there, love."

"I love you," I breathe, rushing to him and burying my face in his chest. His arms go around me instantly, and my mother lets out a cry and joins us, until it's just us three in the universe, a mess of bodies that sink into the couch simultaneously.

I separate from them and clench their hands, saying over and over again, "I love you, I love you."

My father smiles suddenly, and says softly, "I remember the day you came home. You were only a few days old, but you were wide awake and I swear you smiled when we walked through the door, like you knew you were home."

"And when you started walking," my mother continues, "you were all over the place, but you always came back to us when we called your name."

"Even as a rude twelve year old, you would tell us stories about your day and what your friends had done-"

"And Rickett."

I can't contain a gasping sob as she says his name, and my mother starts to cry again. "He was so good for you, Tailor, and it's such a shame."

I nod, remembering my last time in the Justice Building.

"You're not allowed, miss. Family only for the first few minutes. What relation are you?"

"I'm his girlfriend. Tailor Bobbin."

"Girlfriend isn't top priority, I'm afraid."

Another guard approaches and tells him it's time for the tributes to go. I'm pushed aside as the guard marches the pair towards the train - I can't even see his head. Still, I scream, "I'm sorry! I love you!"

"Tailor, just promise me-" my mother starts, pausing for a second. "Promise me you won't try to go back to him. I couldn't stand the thought of you... leaving us like that."

"I won't, Mama. I won't try to." But wouldn't it be nice to see him again?

A Peacekeeper raps sharply on the door. "Time's up. She has other visitors."

"I love you," I call as they are hustled towards the door. My mother turns in the doorway to blow me a kiss, but the door slams shut before she can.

I swallow back tears, my hands returning to Rick's scarf; however, it's only a few seconds before the door opens again.

"Tailor," a familiar voice says, one that I haven't heard in a while.

I rush to hug the woman, the scrap still clenched in my fist. "Mrs. Stitch," I murmur. Ric's mother.

She's crying when we separate, and I give her a small, melancholy smile. "It's just so awful," she sobs, "Ric last year, and now you."

"I'll be alright. I won't go insane in there."

"Still, I wanted to give you something. I know that- that Ric would have wanted to give it to you himself, but he never got the chance to before -"

I cut her off, not needing any more reminders of last year. "I have a token already, but thank you. It's actually Ric's. Remember his old scarf? The one I borrowed last winter? And never gave back?"

Mrs Stitch sees the scrap, still and her eyes fill with tears again. "Of course, of course. The other one can wait. After all, you have even more than the others to be fighting for."

"I do?"

"Yes, darling, of course. You're fighting for his memory, for his death. It'll motivate you."

I nod, though I don't agree. His death is the one thing that makes me not want to fight, that makes me want to accept whatever death is without protest. To not want to fight.

To die.

But I don't say that, and I hug Mrs. Stitch one last time before she's escorted out, still wetting her shirt with tears. It's still five minutes until I'm escorted out to the train - my lack of visitors was unexpected by the ever-popular Capitol. It's just enough time for me to think once more - was this meant to be?

Was I meant to be reaped? Was Rickett? Are we destined to be star-crossed lovers, our own band of Romeo and Juliet? If I win, what spin will they put on it - a tragic, broken-hearted heroine, or a fierce warrior maiden, fighting for her lost love?

I realize that I don't want to be either, that I don't want to be a piece in their stories, a character if their own personal fairy-tale. I want to be Tailor and Rickett, two teenage idiots, and however the story ends is how it goes down.

There's a knock on the door - a Peacekeeper saying it's time to go. He asks, "Are you ready, miss?"

Yes. I am.

Phoenix Miller, District 10

The sun came up behind the mountain tops today. Our farm was drenched in the colour yellow as it glowed across our field, waking the plants from the dewy earth. I got up with it, but not because I wanted to. My eyes slowly wander up to the frail woman in front of me, her thin hands clasped together and her cheekbones sunken into her face. She rocks back and forth and a small whimper escapes from her cracked and bloody lips, but I know she isn't thinking about me.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, looking at my brother instead of me. Her eyes are bigger than the full moon last night and blacker than the hole in our backyard with the tombstone in it. She's probably not even fully aware she's my mother. But, I focus my attention on the other members of my family who are fully aware that I exist. My little sister keeps touching me, grazing my skin with her fingers; she doesn't want me to leave.

I keep staring at the door that leads out of the room that is holding me captive. My father said he'd be here if Janessa or I were Reaped, but deep down in my heart I know the brass door knob won't be turning anytime soon.

"I can't make any promises," Hunter begins, combing his long hair in the small mirror that sits on the wall. "But while you're gone I might take over your room."

I lean to the side and let a kink in my neck slide out from its nest of knots. Hunter has always been this way; egotistic, idiotic, and even neurotic. But right now, he's being my regular older brother when I really need him to be my friend. Time is ticking, slowly but surely. Today, the District is a mess, locking their doors and shutting their drapes. Tomorrow, it'll be normal. The farmer's will plough their fields, children will go to school and the rooster will stand atop of our barn roof and caw at the morning sun.

"Out of the oven, onto a plate, the goose had screamed but it was all too late."

Hunter bangs his fist against the wall and slides the comb into his back pocket. He glares at my sister, who bites her tongue and hides her face in the crook of my shoulder. I can see the scar just underneath Janessa's auburn hair where she was hit by the neighbour's tractor. Her recovery was never successful and I can still hear her in the next room over, screaming until the birds begin to chirp. As a result of her brain injury and her shy personality, she only speaks in riddles and rhymes.

"Hunter," I hiss under my breath and pull my sister closer. "She can't help it."

My vision wanders back over to the door, waiting for the knob to turn. It won't. I know it won't. But I have to hope. The clock's ticking is becoming louder, faster, or is it just me? My Mom gets out of her chair and wanders over to the mirror with Hunter. She pulls him in close and gives him a loving peck on the cheek. She looks sad and broken, but she has no one to blame but herself. I have a chance of dying in the Hunger Games, and my own mother probably wouldn't even notice. Dad and I have been trying to get her off of the drugs for years, but she always finds a way to get them back into her system.

"Mom," I whisper, tears stinging my eyes and my lower lip trembling. "I need you."

The first step towards a solution is admitting you have a problem in the first place. My Mom, she's on the road to recovery, and so am I. I'm eighteen, old enough to leave the farm and be off on my merry way in life. I'm going to get the mother I deserve in my life, and I'm not done mending the bond yet.

Mom doesn't answer. She's too busy fixing her hair in the mirror and reapplying her battered lipstick. She doesn't care. She never has. But I do. I care so much that there's an aching in my heart and a little person inside my brain, pounding against the jail cell walls that can only be opened with a key, and the warden has them on the other side.

"Dad isn't coming. He probably doesn't even know you've been Reaped." Hunter circles back around and stands above me, his muscular arms crossing over his chest. Dad has always been a workaholic, but ever since we lost part of our crop to the blazing fire two years back, he's never been the same.

"Toss a penny in a river, toss a penny in a stream, close your eyes and wish, close your eyes to dream."

I wish I could have stuck around long enough to decode Janessa's riddles. I have two notebooks stashed with all of the ones I can remember. It's as if they're all intertwined, but we just have to figure out the story. I turn to her now, tipping back her fragile chin and looking deep into her hazel eyes. Deep down, she knows I'm not coming back, but right now, she doesn't understand. She rests her head against my shoulder and brings out a piece of braided horse hair from her pocket. She slips it into my hand and I clutch it tightly, choking back salty tears. I'll miss my horse, I'll miss my sister...

"That's lame." Hunter scoffs.

I'll even miss my brother.

My mother turns away from the mirror and for the first time in forever she looks me in the eyes, searching for something... I'm not sure what. We need to make things right, but it may be too late. I have to fight for this, and that is exactly what I am going to do.

"I love you all," I whisper through trembling lips. "I want you to remember that."

Hunter is silent; he knows this is the last time he'll ever get to pester me. Mom opens her mouth to say something but she turns back to the mirror, fixing her frayed her hair. Maybe she'll realize what she had when I'm gone.

The door bursts open and for a moment my heart rises but quickly sinks back down into the dark when I see the Peacekeeper. "Time is up."

"Good luck, Phoenix." Hunter pats me on the shoulder and I smile weakly at him. Mom looks me up and down, memorizing my body. She leaves without even a glance over her shoulder.

Janessa breathes in the scent of my hair, and I let her lips kiss my cheek one last time; I was always her favourite sibling. She presses her mouth against my ear and quickly whispers:

"Baste a goose with vinegar, baste it with rum, but baste it with fire and it'll have nowhere to run."

And with that, my sister leaves the room and the world around me as I know it, begins to fall into complete silence, changing and evolving around me.

It's time to run.

 Heaven Taylor, District 11

I sat, eyes closed and fingers clasped together, not even expecting anyone to say goodbye to me.
My parents are dead. I don't have friends. No siblings.
Just solitude.

And I love it.

I hear the door open and lift my head, a tall man in a white uniform pokes his head in, a peacekeeper.
He looks in the room.
"You have five minutes left, Miss Taylor," he tells me before closing the door.

I don't care.

Within almost a minute, my thoughts are interrupted again by the door opening.
Footsteps grow louder towards me.

"Looks like Heaven Taylor's gonna be out of our lives, for good now,"

I don't even have to look up to know who it is.

"Grace, why are you here?" I ask coldly. My hair covers my face, resembling the girl from The Ring as I look to her.
"I just wanted to, say goodbye," she croons before bursting into laughter. "Who am I kidding? I'm here to tell you that I'll enjoy watching you die," she smirks.

"I'll enjoy watching you choke on your own blood if you don't shut your mouth right now," I threaten, standing over her.
I hear her gulp and clear her throat.
"I'm not sure that'll be a problem if I take care of you right now!" She growls, pulling a sharp stick out of her pocket.

I simply smirk and shrug one shoulder.
"I'm sure a stick will do no harm," I chuckle, taking a step towards her.

The door creaks open and the peacekeeper sticks his head back into the room.

"No more visitors, come out," he tells Grace.
She snarls at me and turns around to leave as another peacekeeper takes my arm and leads me to the train.
To my victory.

Electra Lambrini, District 12

***Did Not Hand In, Strike 1***

Dilen  Adwynce, District 13

I am currently arguing with an utterly stupid Capitol woman who insists on me seeing my father for the sake of the cameras, and let me just say, I am fucking pissed.After I was Reaped, the escort- a bitchy, unnaturally thin Capitol woman with a mop of cotton candy hair upon her head and impractical Capitol attire- took me and my District partner- a high as fuck cocaine addict, though I'm rather used to those- down one of District 13's many drab hallways and shoved us into two separate rooms. "Your families are going to come say goodbye to you now!" She had said in a voice so high-pitched it would have made glass crack as she instructed a Peacekeeper to slam the door and lock it, because there was no way she was going to be able to keep me in there. I am pleased to say that although I was overpowered by the brute force of three Peacekeepers, one suffered a bloody nose, another three deep bites in his arm, and the third two black eyes. The only upside of being trapped was it gave me time to carefully plan the escort's painful assassination as I picked the lock on the door. Although I never followed the rule forcing everyone to get dressed up for the Reaping-I never had to because the orphanage couldn't order me to do anything if they didn't want pain- I always did my hair up in a slightly more formal bun instead of a ponytail. Not for the purpose of making the director happy, of course, but just in case a situation like this ever happened- I had a bobby pin in my possession.Escape is always the number one thing on my mind- physically and mentally. I hate being trapped, like I am now. I need to be able to go where I want. Picking locks has become a hobby of mine as people try to imprison me so often. I always escape. I also need to get away from my past. Eluding my memories has always been the most difficult. Sleep used to work. Now images of my father and mother and sometimes even Anne invade my slumber. Anne. I killed her. I killed her and I don't regret it, yet somehow her sleeping face makes any dream a nightmare, and I don't know why. I'm not guilty; it was eight years ago, and she barely lived a week. I saved her. I spared her future misery. She owes me. And she would have died anyway- I just shortened her life span slightly. I helped her pass away without pain.I'm not angry about it- I never wanted a sibling. Neither did my parents. They never even wanted me- my father told me so himself. And I'm not sad over Anne's death; I got a great deal of satisfaction from it. I'm still proud of myself for doing it and never getting caught. So why does her memory scare me? I can't figure out my own emotions.The lock clicked, and the door swung open. I quickly shut it again as I heard the voice of the escort down the hall. I wasn't scared of her- I knew I could easily get past her- but I figured it was best to wait until she passed the room just in case a Peacekeeper was accompanying her. I wanted my escape to be quiet so that they wouldn't know where I'd gone. To my surprise, as the escort grew closer, I realized she was arguing with someone. "Oh, but she must! The Capitol wants to film every tribute say goodbye to their family!" She whined. I glowered as I realized she was referring to me. A gruff voice responded. "It's not safe. Adelwyce can't leave his cell, and the girl will cause a racket and try to get away if we remove her from the room. And believe me, I'm not risking that. She gave me a fucking bloody nose!"The escort sighed. "You'll just have to face the wrath of the Gamemakers, then," she sang playfully. The door flew open as she walked into the room, failing to notice it was already suspiciously unlocked. And now- now we have been launched into a heated debate. "Darling, the Capitol wants everyone to say goodbye to their families. As your daddy is in prison, we need to bring you there, but you can't run away, alright, darling?" The escort smiles falsely at me."Don't call me darling!" I seethe in frustration. "And I'm not going to see my father.""Darling-" She starts, but I interrupt her."DON'T CALL ME THAT!" I shriek. God, I loathe this woman. Why can't she follow such a simple command? "I'M NOT A DARLING!"She looks at me with wide eyes, full of surprise- I'm not sure why. Like, couldn't she tell that was coming? How could she not anticipate an angry outburst? Did she not see how much of a fight I put up to prevent myself from ending up in this room? Does she not know she's staring at a killer? No. She doesn't. But there's something else there, too. She's not just surprised, she...pities me. She's concerned. I can't even process this. How stupid can a person possibly be?! "Sweetheart," She begins. I roll my eyes. Here we go with the shitty pet names again. "I know you may not exactly be on good terms with your daddy, but we have to follow the rules, okay, honey?" Great, now she thinks I'm five years old. "FUCK THE RULES!" I shout. The imbecile escort reaches out toward me, and I roughly slap her hand away. "Don't touch me," I hiss, maneuvering around her until my back is to the door. It's almost time to dash. The escort begins to sob, clutching the hand I whacked. "You poor, poor child," She chokes out between her loud, obnoxious cries. I shake my head, disagreeing with her statement, and leave the room before she can irk me even more. At least I don't have to see my father. My torturer. My worst enemy. The last person I want to see on the planet. I aimlessly run down the halls, seeking only to postpone going to the Capitol as long as possible. Because I know I can't escape it forever.

Fleur Cayce, Capital 

The walls were too plain.
The cheers were too boring.
And her family's goodbyes were too cliche.
As the girl was rushed into the big, tacky building, she kept a soft look on her face when she noticed the cameras, wanting to win over the crowd. They were all too easy to deceive, just by her beautiful looks, as someone used to say.
Walking into the small room, she expected bright colors with beautiful walls, which she would despise anyway. But, somehow, the Capital kept this room as white as snow, plain as any other type of paper. Something different, something that wasn't expected. But either way, she would've hated it. The color should've been crimson. Crimson red, like her blood.
Fleur kept a straight face as she sat on the fluffy couch, also white but elegant. She crossed one of her legs over the other, smoothing out her pitch black skirt, gently hugging herself despite being rather clothed, wearing a white shawl and a beautiful navy blue.
When the door shut, however, the Peacekeeper waiting outside for her family, her face broke down and a small frown curled onto her lips, an angered expression on her petite, small, face. The purse strapped around her shoulder and down to her waist was soon flung off, thrown across the rock in her rage.
The blonde sighed in frustration as she leaned back, her head resting on the couch's borderline. She took a deep breath as she shut her eyes, thinking for a moment as she finally heard the door click open, emerald colored eyes soon staring intensely at the three newcomers.
"Oh Fleur! Aren't you excited? It's the Hunger Games, for goodness sake! Get into the spirit!" her mother exclaimed I glee, grabbing the younger girl's arm and burying her into the hug.
Fleur felt another set of arms wrapping around her, hearing rubbish as her stubborn, stupid parents started shouting to each other about their little child growing up, becoming a young woman. Yeah right. She noticed her sister standing behind them, a glare on Danielle's face, her fists clenched in fists.
Danielle was now twenty-one, a full grown adult, and here she was, hatred in her green eyes, jealous of her own sister entering these stupid but "exciting" games. Fleur had to say, just because she was becoming a tribute, a fighter, didn't mean that she was going in with pride in this. She, in all honesty, hated the fact that she was dying by the hand's of a murderer and not by her own will.
A voice pierced her thoughts, though, her parent's arms off her and a small wave of pain emerging on her shoulder. She bit down on her bottom lip, looking up to see her father with his hand recoiling back to his side. Of course it was her father.
"Missy, put a smile on for the crowd! Play the part. After all, when you come home, you'll be our little victor. And remember, if any boys try to catch you under their spell, kill them. Show them that-" "God, father. Can you let your daughter speak, for once? All you do is ramble on and on about nonsense," Fleur snapped angrily, stepping back with a glare settling on her face.
Her pale hands soon found themselves fidgeting with her sweater as she continued, declaring with a hint of annoyance, "You know, I actually do have a fucking plan for this, right? I die, you guys cry, then you move on. Simple as that. And I wouldn't give a shit if you did do that. Continue living as a wealthy family without your daughter. You continue ruling over your company, father.
"And you, mother. Mother, mother, mother. Trying to seem all innocent and pretend to be a sweet mom, like some other families. Can't you see that I have a few scars because of you? You abuse your daughter, occasionally. Still doesn't mean that you have a friendly attitude, when you want to show it, which is only for the public," Fleur shrieked towards her nervous mother, gaining bravery and walking towards the woman.
All the anger she hid from them, all her hatred, was boiling out, soon revealed to them all. She stormed past her mother, picking up her purse and then managing to lock eye contact with her sister. Her "adorable, kind, amazing" sister that many people tell her to be. All the pressure would be lifted off of her now, brought upon Danielle.
She kept her gaze as she, once again, dropped her white purse, the world blocked away from her ears, adrenaline beating through her veins as she started slowly walking towards her sister, seeing her mother start running towards her.
A few strands of her white blonde hair got in her green eyes as she started running, her hands reaching out and locked on her sister's neck. Her cold hands. On Danielle's neck. It would feel so...refreshing to her.
Then, someone scooped her up as she heard her father yell out, her screams now erupting from her mouth. Fleur started to form words from her mouth, hearing the door click open, not noticing Peacekeepers walking into the plain room.
The plain, white room.
"And you! You were the worst of them! Let me get started when we were kids, always pushing me to be the best but also yelling at me in your frustration! And I never wanted to see your face again after you found out about Ross and told them about it! Never! So if I die in that stupid arena, I swear to god I'll haunt your fucking soul until you die. And I'll make sure you live miserably, no matter what!" Fleur screamed in rage, her mother letting go of her and offering her to a Peacekeeper.
Danielle's face filled with shock as her sister continued yelling at her, even when the blonde was escorted out of the room, meaning she was carried out by one of the Peacekeepers. And even while she was dropped to be roughly walked to the train station did she keep muttering under her breath.
Managing to find her purse, a Peacekeeper had offered it to her, the girl carelessly snatching it from his hands. A glare was settled on her face as she sat down on a seat, noticing shortly after that she was soon greeted with a new person.
But no matter. She was mad, and as she stood up in her blind rage, she made her way to the windows, seeing the crowd of Capital citizens cheering their tribute's name. She saw one familiar face, though, with a smug expression on their face with their hands folded across their chest.
The woman's mat of white blonde hair was enough to tell her who it was before the train rolled out of the station: Danielle Cayce. The heir to her father's company.
Fleur's face reddened in anger as she turned, grabbing the nearest object, which was a glass cup, and crying out as she threw it across the room, hearing the glass shatter and rain down.
If only she was plain and wasn't able to see the world with black and white colors, maybe like the white, plain room. Calm, peaceful. If only she could be like that. Just like that.