Jem Darling, District 1

"Hi Mom. Hi Dad."Quartz. Garnet.""Cesario?"The people I care about most walk in, smile, and sit in the armchair in front of me. I take the wooden one, of course, leaving the plush for those who have come to visit; I doubt that many people in One would do this, but it doesn't surprise any of them. They know me better than that. None of them waste their time with tears or sadness. We were taught to honour our heroes, not to mourn their might-be deaths. Should my funeral come earlier than we think, then they will cry - until then, however, we will smile. They will smile."I'm feeling quite well, of course. You both know how long I've wanted this. But enough about me - how are you?""This will be a hard one to beat, boys! Victor of the Hunger Games - I reckon I'm the favourite now!""You're just jealous I beat you in wrestling. But it says something - that we were the last two, I mean. We make a good pair."They groan; just like I know what to do to please those I love, I know exactly what it takes to aggravate them. It'd be easier, maybe, if they stopped caring before I went in. That way, should the worst happen - not that I'm expecting it to - they won't be bothered. Would it be painful for me? Incredibly. Would that matter? No. It never has before. I have proved time and time again that my own displeasure means far less to me than theirs, and I've yet to find an exception. But it hits me that I'm worrying for nothing, that I'm destined to do this, and decide that if I don't sabotage our bond, none of us have any reason to be hurting."You're right, this is about me. Still, I wish you guys would talk about what's going on with me. I care, you know.""Oh, I am so not the favourite already! Quartz, Dad loves that you're going to take over the shop! Garnet, mum is ecstatic to have a son she can set up with all her friends' daughters! They don't really need me.""Yes, I know, kissing you was cheating. But honestly, it's just what I do."I bend. I always bend. I've never had a single argument in my life, and this is exactly why. Some people, I'm sure, would call me a coward for it. Considering that I'm headed off into the unknown to kill my way to fame and fortune, I think that they don't have much of a leg to stand on. In a matter of weeks, Jem Darling is going to be a name adored by everyone. Whether it's for my heart or my nerve, people will praise me for being exactly who they want me to be. Just the thought of that thrills me."I really am thankful for your love.""I'm not being modest. I'm being honest.""Of course it didn't mean anything."Lies I tell. Big ones, yes, but they work. Sometimes I think I might not be any more real than them - if I'm going to be honest, for once, I almost always feel that. It makes me wonder whether or not my life matters, considering none of it is real. And if it doesn't matter, why on earth should mine be the one to be spared? I've always painted myself as a hero of sorts. A martyr, to be precise; willing to suffer so those around me don't have to. But what if all those things that I think make me worthwhile are pure selfishness? The thought that I could be more despicable than any of the people I know shakes me beyond what I thought myself capable of being shaken."Everything I say to you is a lie."
"You guys shouldn't listen to me. Don't look up to me."
"I want you."
Three things I'll never say. Three things I might say, were I about to die. But I'm entering these Games completely expecting to survive, and so there's no point in it. Maybe I'll regret it, when I find myself in whatever arena may await me, down to me and one more person - because there's no way I could die any earlier - with their weapon at my throat. Maybe, as I prepare to leave the ones I care about forever, I'll regret never saying these things to them. Maybe I should say them now after all.
A knock at the door.
"Mister Darling, are you ready?"
"Yes," I say. "Send them in."

Lyric Mason, District 2

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

Technick Flux, District 3

       Peacekeepers shove Technick Flux into a janky little room in the Justice Building. He recognizes the way the chair creaks as he shifts his weight; he's memorized the painting of thirteen men around a table. Technick has been in here before on multiple occasions. Does it count as "multiple" if his visits are all for the same reason? It doesn't really matter, his first visitors are here.

Technick's parents almost glide in like facit spiritus tristis, depressed spirits. It's the way his mother is hunched over, the manner in which his father's face contorts in somber that makes Technick come to a conclusion – they have given up hope.

They don't believe I'll come back.

The odds might not be in his favor, but the probability is. He will be that one in twenty-four.

He smiles for his parents, to reassure them that he hasn't given up, that he is still determined to return to them with his arms wide open.

"I love you. I love you," his mother mutters in his ear without end. His father just holds them. No words are needed from him; Technick knows exactly what he's trying to convey.

Technick looks at them and takes them in fully. He's always appreciated them, always. But now, now that they will be taken from his grasp, he realizes just how much he loves them. How dependent on them he is. How much of him would be gone without them.

It's a ghastly thought to think.

After the "I love you" part is over comes the business; he's not surprised it comes from his father.

"You know what I've taught you. There's a reason I teach those subjects," and then Technick understands him, and all parents in Three. They don't study to be pawns, they study to learn. To know. And to know is to survive. Botany, medical sciences, and even physics will come in handy. It dawns on him like ever-clear water.

"Thank you for being my teacher and my father," Technick says truthfully.

The look on his father's face shows what he can't say: "You can never thank me for being your father. I love you more than 'thanks' and 'sorry.'"

And Technick begins to weep before his parents are taken away.

How does this work? Am I taken away from them, or are they taken away from me? But in reality, Tech knows that they have been stolen from him. They never knew Technick until sixteen years ago. Technick has known them his whole life.

His parents have been ripped away.

Chip walks in like the undead. There are more tears on his face then on Technick's and their mothers combined. They embrace each other like they never have before. His weeping is so bad and out of tune that Chip begins to choke on his own snot. Technick doesn't mind if his shirt gets dirty. Chips' shirt will be left in a much worse condition.

Chip is truly his father and mother's son, he is an even mix of them both. "I love you and I am crying. And I'm crying because I love you and I love you because I'm crying," this makes zero sense whatsoever, but Technick accepts it. The only person he loves more than his parents is Chip. Chip who bawls when Technick does, who chortles when he does. Chip, his brother. Who calls Technick "his little Nicky."

People have nicknamed him Microchip because he's so robotic, but not with Technick. Never with Technick.

The pair just gazes into each other's eyes and say nothing. Everything is established: they love each other and they are crying because of it.

My brother is beautiful. My mom is beautiful. My dad is beautiful. And I love them.

With one last glance and tear, Chip is shepherd out of the little lodge.

Technick is utterly alone and begins to contemplate.

I can do this. I can do this. People from Three have won before. Why not me? I can do this. And I will do this. Not for me. For them. For them. For...

The sound of an opening door interrupts his notions. In steps Lumen, a petite girl from school. On multiple occasions they have partnered up and ended up studying in each other's houses. There are no young relationships in Three, only partners.

Lumen waltzes over to him and puts something metallic smelling over his head. It's a simple, delicate chain. Silver, with a bolt of purple lightning. He identifies it and acknowledges it. She always wears this, there has never been a day that the facile chain hasn't adorned her neck.

Like with everyone else, he takes her in. Her dark hair, soil-colored skin, and her misty grey eyes. She's saying something, but Technick only stares at her. He's never realized how pretty she is. No, not pretty.

Beautiful, like my family.

Only more so because she isn't family.

"Promise me. Promise that you'll come back. To them," she must mean his family, "and to me. I can't live...I mean, I can't study without you." How easily she changes her mind, but not fast enough. He notices it, alright.

"I promise. I'll try. I have to try," Technick bespeaks.

I can do this. For her, for them, for me.

She walks over to him and places a delicate peck on his lips. His first kiss. Oh, yes. Technick will definitely come back.

For her, for them, for me. Me. Them. Her.

Undoubtedly, positively, no questions-asked for all of them.

That is his last thought as he is whisked away.

For all of them.

Waye Tidal, District 4

The room, even though it is filled to the brim with furniture, feels barren. Empty, like I am inside. For it is my selection in these Games that makes me realize the futility of life. There's no point to it. We all live, we go through the motions, day in and day out. And one day, we die. These items, they have no worth. From dust we come, and to dust we return. It's not like I haven't known this, but for some reason it hits me hard today. I have been Reaped for the Hunger Games, and that means there is a very great possibility that I will die within the next month.

Death is a taker. It never gives. It comes in the night, in the day, and steals whomever it wants. And it seems that it has come for me. As my mother walks into the room, I can tell she has concluded the same. Not that anybody going into these Games would assume any different. She is followed by my father, my brother, sister, and aunt. They all wear the same obligatory mask of horror, and I'm not surprised by that.

It's my aunt that reaches me first. We've always been close, and as she embraces me I can feel the tears start to flow. She cries into my shoulder, words slipping from her mouth incomprehensibly. My mother taps her on the shoulder after a minute, indicating that she wants to hug her son too. But instead, she doesn't. She takes hold of my shoulders, and looks into my eyes.

"Fight. Please. I need you here. I can't lose someone else." The other someone being referenced is her sister, who died in the Games when she was a kid. Since then she's been horrified at the idea of one of us being Reaped. And now that it's happened... Her worst nightmare has come to life.

She wipes a single tear from the corner of her eye, breathing in sharply. She knows she needs to stay strong for the rest of us. So she tries to compose herself, slowly backing away.

It's my father that comes next. We were never close, he divorced my mother when I was barely three. He gives me an attempt at a smile, because that is the best he can do. "Make it back, please. For her." His eyes dart over to my mother, whom I've had the suspicion he still loves for years now. "And if you can't, it's okay. Those Games are brutal. But she needs you." He breaks eye contact with me, and walks out of the room. He seemed like he wasn't sure what to do there, so he's probably glad it's over now.

My mother follows him out, though I am unsure why. And then it's just me, my brother, and my aunt. They all converge on me, a bundle of nerves. It is limbs and hugs and kisses and tears. And when they move away, I'm slightly damp pretty much everywhere. It is only then that I look at my aunt. "My mother won't make it through this. We all know I'm going to die. So I need you to help her gather all my things, and bury me in all my favorite colors." And then I look to my brother and sister. "Look, I know this will be hard. And it's not the concept of death that scares me. The hardest part of this is leaving you." And with that, the tears return.

-

Death is inevitable. It was going to happen anyway. It's just happening sooner because of these Games. And that's a fact I can accept. I know I will never marry, fall in love, have kids. But I'm not going voluntarily, not yet. And I won't go without a fight.

 Samuel Johnson, District 5

Sammy sat silently in one of the multitude of rooms in the Justice Building, his eyes downcast. Of all the names that could have been pulled from that bowl it had to be his. His mind still felt numb from the shock.

He had seen the female tribute being led to another room in the building, she was the pretty, younger-looking girl with the blue streaks in her hair. While he didn't really know her personally, he recognized her name. Eloisa Flux. She seems like someone who would do anything to survive, Sammy thinks morbidly, like someone who wouldn't care about killing me...

He barely hears when the door opens with a quiet creak, and Sammy is too numb to feel grateful for the reprieve from his demoralizing thoughts. Looking up, he sees his family ushered into the room by the white clad Peacekeepers, and he didn't even have time to react before his sister had jumped on him.

"Sammy!" Julia sobs, her small arms wrapped tightly around him. Sammy looks down at the eight year old and he feels tears pricking in his own eyes. He did not know what to say to her, so instead he drops to his knees and hugs her tightly against him. He wasn't much taller than the short girl in the first place, so now his head was just at her shoulder.

"Why d-did it have to be you..?" Julia continues to sob, her tears running down her face and dripping onto Sam's shoulder.

"I..." Sammy chokes, struggling for the right words. He is glad when their mother suddenly cuts in.

"Because it wasn't anyone else. It had to be someone..." The woman says softly, and it is obvious that she is trying to hold back tears of her own. Sammy looks up at his mother, his bangs hanging over his eyes again, and she gives him a small smile, kneeling down to brush the hair away.

"You're going to be okay, Sammy." She says, her voice cracking when she said his name.

Behind her, his father nods. "You're a smart kid, son, you can win this." The man assures his son, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Sam.

Sammy looks between them for a moment before slowly standing up and nodding, detaching himself from Julia. "I... I'll try..." He whispers, looking down at the ground and allowing his hair to fall in his eyes again. "I can win... I will." He says again, this time with only a little more confidence.

Looking up at him, Julia smiles, her eyes and nose still red from crying and her cheeks still damp. "I... I brought you this, Sam..." She says quietly and pulls a long tan elastic band from her pocket, one that Sammy instantly recognized as the one from his broken sling shot. He feels his throat constrict and he felt like he was going to start crying again, though he manages to hold back.

"Thank you..." He whispers hoarsely as he takes the band from the young girl and holds it against his chest. He was about to say something more when the door is suddenly thrown open again, and two Peacekeepers enter the room. Sammy's parents don't put up a fight, and with one last tearful glance at their son, they allow themselves to be escorted from the room.

Julia was halfway out the door before she abruptly breaks away from the officers and throws herself at her brother, giving him one last hug before the Peacekeepers pull her off him and out of the room. As the door is shut, Sammy suddenly feels like his heart had been dragged out of the room along with his family. It was a horrible, empty feeling.

He feels his face contort, and this time he couldn't hold back the tears. Holding the elastic band tighter in his hand, Sammy falls to his knees again. "I'm going to win..." He whispers in a choked voice, "I have to."

Nicholas Anderson , District 6

***Dropped Out***

 Apollo Oak, District 7

***Did Not hand In Strike 1***

Otto Han , District 8

I am pushed into a cold bleak concrete room by the peacekeepers, in the center is a wooden chair. I walk over and sit down. I look at the ground, this is where we are supposed to talk to our family. Supposed to. Of course my parents are missing, most likely dead, so I'm alone. No one heard me asking if they had seen them, that was suspected though, being a kid at the time and all. The bland room had a camera in one corner with exposed black wire, and a vent on the wall pushing barely any air through, on the back was a door which would probably lead to the train, and then there to the capital, and then to my death.I look at the camera lens and smiled, my wide smile, the only thing I really remember from my parents. It was a fake smile obviously. I know how the games work, if you seem happy and cheery then you get sponsors, and sponsors then buy you into a victor position. When you become a victor you then become a prostitute for the president, and then they kill everyone you love, oh wait, too late for me!I bury my mouth into my blue sweater I was wearing. It was extremely comfy, I found it in an abandoned textile factory, it was a little but ripped but I sewed it up, which was kinda fun, kinda. I know what I had to do to survive the hunger games, the drunk and drug abused victors tend to hurt themselves a lot, and I stitch up the gashes and treat the wounds, they give me some money so I can buy foods and get items in the active and busy markets of 8. While I was tending their cuts and scrapes they would tell stories about the games in the bar to the other drunks, some were relatively entertaining, other informative, and many extremely scary, them almost dying many times, or mutts almost tearing them limb from limb.They were the only "friends" I had, if we even were that. A better word is patient, I never really spoke to them, but they were the only people that really paid attention to me, no one else really saw me or cared to hear anything about me. I look up, there was a creak at the door, but no one entered. Why would anyone enter, I'm just the orphan from 8, that no one cares about, and has to go to the drunks and crazed to actually be noticed, so of course no one will care about "Otto Han, the boy who was reaped a few years ago, sad, sad thing, didn't stand a chance in the games."My legs didn't really touch the ground, thanks genetics, I swung them back in forth to entertain myself. I would be one of the shortest in the games, or in the bottom half of height. I look at the cracked floor, in the corners weeds sprouted up. I walk to the corners and pick up the dandelions and buttercups that had grown through. There were many as it was a infestation, it added to the poverty aesthetic. I begin to weave them through and make a little crown, something to entertain the capital, become known as flower boy, or the sad sunflower, or some nickname that will make the capital shriek with laughter.The door opens up, I jump a little in my chair, surprised by the entrance actually opening. The woman walks in and straightens her hair and fixes her dress, her attention turns to me."I came in to check on you, the other tribute doesn't stand a chance, sadly, definitely a bloodbath tribute." I shrug, and continue working on my flower crown, made of weeds. "What are you making, Otter?" She asks. My eyes look up, my fingers still weaving the plants into a braid and a crown."I'm making a flower crown, when I do this, I'll place it on my head throughout the capital, when I do this the capital will love it, I might get a sponsor, probably not though, I'm just the short orphan from 8." She gives me a hard blink."Wow." She says flatly. She looks up and scans the room. "This place is terrible, it's like the place you don't want to be, like Malus alley in the capital, it's like one makeup robbery a night, and everything is so high priced, I think many avoxes like there, and it's always uncomfortable with them..." She goes on talking."This place is really terrible, and by the way, I don't think I got your name?, or at least remember it" I inform her."It's Vibaria Caelia, Capital escort and upper class woman." I go back to my weaving, and put the final stem into the beginning, finishing the crown. I place it on top of my head. "It looks nice" Vibaria says."Thanks...." I say bluntly."You seem like a calm tribute, where is your family?" I glance at the camera, the sponsors might look at this tape, so I should make this a sad sob story, exaggerate some parts. I sigh, adding effect to the scene."When I was a little kid, my parents left me, they seemed to just disappear of the face of Panem, so I grew up with no mother or father figure, I had to raise myself, through the tough seasons of 8, with no shelter, and getting enough money to actually eat that day, many days I couldn't afford a small loaf of bread." I wipe my eye, adding to the effect, I didn't actually exaggerate, which made me realize how sh*t my life was.I look over to the escort, she seems slightly heartbroken, she has a hard heart, which is rare for a capital pig, I mean citizen. I burry my mouth into my sweater neck, the soft cover was my only way to escape the real world. My hands felt along the scars and stitches of the arms. I pushed my sleeves up, pushing sleeves up add the attractiveness in males, and I'll need it to stand out among the 27 other tributes, and 13 other males, some much more attractive than I am.Vibaria then looks at her special capital phone, it was non-weighing, hologram screen, invisible to certain people, can change size, and probably millions of other things, which district 8 will never see, because we are simply way to poor. She checks the phone and slumps her body up."Its time to go, Otter, I'll inform Tails about it too""It's Otto and Tailor," I scowl at her a little bit. I walk to the door on the other side of the room, peacekeepers come in after Vibaria. The each stand behind me on my left and right, being my guards, or restrainer, incase I try to escape and maneuver around district 8, which one tribute will do to their district, taking out the peacekeepers in their way.I open the door and see the sleek clear floating train that will lead us to the Capital, the train the will lead me to my death in most instances, maybe I'm the instance where I'll come back to 8, mentally scarred from the games, living in the victors village spending the rest of my life with PTSD, a wonderful life, 10/10, 100%.I seemed to have slowed down a little bit, one of the peacekeepers pushes me forward, I stumble but regain my balance and continue to walk forward, I send the peace keeper a glare and continue walking. I grin a tiny bit, a great way to start the games, stumbling into my fate. I look to my district mate, Tailor, and see her face, red, and with many tears, her hair very messy, she is definitely a blood bath tribute. Her family reaches for her at the door, pathetic, but maybe if my family wasn't so dead, they would be doing the same.We stop at the gap between the cracked gray concrete and the sleek metal train, the escort must be doing something, like reapplying makeup or something else useless. We wait a few minutes and then Vibaria finally arrives, her blue glittery dress trails behind her, probably made in a sweatshop in 8, selling for thousands, while the worker gets little money in return. She pouts her lips, painted with a deep sapphire and then says,"C'mon lets go to the glorious Capital, it's going to be a long, yet enjoyable ride, so be prepared." We get onto the train, I see a comfy looking spot near the window, I sit down and pull the collar above my mouth, I look at the window, seeing the different landscapes, that raised the 27 children that are about to die.

Alexander Kioji , District 9

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

Mye Bentler, District 10

"Mye Bentler! What an adorable name!"

Shaking limbs, rapid eyes, I look for someone to help me.

No one does.

Moving feet, shaking hands, I stare at whatever's there.

There's nothing that can save me, now.

I have to face it; I will die. My mother used to tell me death was something to welcome and not fear. For when it came, it would take me softly into its embrace. My father told her to be quiet, that such young children shouldn't have to worry about something so dire. My brother was confused, I was unable to understand, and my sister looked disheartened and sad. It wasn't until later that I realized what she was saying. And it wasn't until I stepped inside the Justice Building, that I took it to heart. My mother was always right, always.

"Stay here. Your family should be coming soon," a Peacekeeper directed me. His voice was low and his stance screamed cumbersome. I sat down in a lounge chair in the back of the room. I stared longingly at the wooden frame of the door, and listened as Phoenix yelled at the top of her lungs, probably at her mother. It was no secret, the type of family she came from. I only wished to see my mother walk into the room just like hers had, I assumed.

"Do you know what's taking so long?" I asked the Peacekeeper quietly. I subconsciously scratched at the back of my hand, despite the fact there was no itch. He didn't answer, but he shook his head and left the room. He almost seemed sorry.

Almost, that is.

A few moments later, after clicking my feet together and mindlessly tapping the armrest of the chair, the door opened and swung ajar for me to see. Nobody walked in, but I stared into the eyes of my mother, who stood petrified on the other side.

"This isn't real," she said. "My boy... Oliver, that's not Mye. Tell me that's not Mye!" Her voice cracked up an octave, and I was desperate for her to come hug me, or at least touch me to help me make sure I was still alive.

"Para... It's him," my father had to say. Of course, my mother wasn't delusional, and she had known the whole time that I had, in fact, been reaped.

She had went as far as to beg Oliver to volunteer for me. My father, age 40, volunteer? The escort laughed in his face and our district adorned looks of sorrow and guilt; their own kids were safe another year.

The doorway was like a threshold my family members had forgotten how to cross. The older Peacekeeper came into view behind my mother and father, and pushed them into the room. They stumbled, but their eyes never left my face as they kept their balance.

They were too scared to look away. I would be too, if my child had a one in twenty-four chance of living.

I froze in place as my mother managed to walk to me. She wrapped her arms around me, and sobbed into my neck. She couldn't form a coherent sentence, but I nodded at her when she let go, letting her know I understood. My father ruffled my hair and smiled at me. He was always the one to appear bright. Always the one susceptible to darkness, but always the one who didn't let it take him captive.

"Nice weather today, huh?" He asked, shrugging his shoulders. His pale, grey eyes, the same color and shape as mine, were tinted red and it was obvious he had cried before he had come. It's probably why they had taken so long. I wanted to smile up at him. My empty expression won the battle, but I wouldn't let it win the war.

I jumped into his chest, and just like my mom had done to me, I let tears fall into the crevice of his neck. I heard stumbles from within the room, and I pulled away, leaving a stain on my father's shoulder. In front of the door stood Terrace and Tara; my brother and sister. Tara almost looked forgotten without her husband, and Terrace had this look that I'll never forget. It was love, it was anger, it was regret and sorrow, and pure shame.

He had always said to me, "Just like our names, you are the special one in the family. Mom and Dad know that, why else would they have named you the way they did?"

"Terrace, that means nothing."

"Terrace and Tara. And then there's little Mye."

"Little Mye..." His scratchy voice trailed off and suddenly the emptiness in my heart became ache. We held each other's gaze for a long while. Okay, maybe it was nearly fifteen seconds, but time was of no essence in the Justice Building. It was only a commodity to a single family's worth of misery.

"I should have volunteered," he stated indifferently. It was almost deadly, hearing him speak and having to listen to how doomed he sounded.

"No, you shouldn't have," my father chipped in, but when both my mother and Tara failed to respond, it was clear.

"Why didn't you?" Tara asked, hand rubbing over her stomach. The baby was almost due, and I was sad at the fact that I would never see him born.

"I...I just didn't, but god damn it, I should have!"

"Terrace, nobody could react well in such a situation as yours. You're fine," my father tried to soothe from behind me. I was standing in the middle of the room, all four of my family members surrounding me. I couldn't help but feel that someone was missing. My father's arm was wrapped around Para's, Terrace's hands were in his pockets, and Tara could not stop rubbing her stomach. It was a wondrous sight, to see us all together like this. All of us vulnerable, devastated; the toys of the Capitol.

"Oliver, don't comfort him. Some of what he's saying is true," my mother said, eyes on the floor. Terrace took a step back, face pale shock, when my mother spoke.

"Mom?" He asked, worried and afraid.

"You are right, Terrace. You should have volunteered for Mye! You're always saying how Mye is special and how he can change the world, and it's your fault he's going to die!" She cringed in hysterics into my father's chest.

"Goodbye, Mye," Terrace muttered before running out of the room. My father dragged my mother after him. In the heat of the moment, neither said their official goodbyes. It was such a small thing, for I knew this entire meeting was a silent farewell, but that word was one I needed.

"Goodbye," my sister said. She was the only one to sound definitive and hurt at the same time.

"Bye," I returned, chuckling out of some twisted morbidity. My small laughter didn't stop, and Tara smiled at the sound, but then frowned as she realized the sound's origin.

"Mye, you have to come home."

"Why?" I asked her. It was no secret that the Games would kill me, whether or not I was the victor.

"This family will be broken if you don't."

"It'll be broken if I come home, too."

"At least you'll be home," she stepped towards me, not allowing me any further argument. She hugged me. It was the kind of embrace I wanted to savor and cherish. The kind of memory I would want to lock away into some familial chamber deep within my mind.

"Bye," she murmured one last time. I could hear the dryness of her voice, and I knew she was trying her hardest not to cry.

"Bye," I answered again. It was the second goodbye to Tara, and somehow it made up for my parents' lack of one. I kneeled down to my sister's protruding stomach. "And bye to you."

A single tear crept down my sister's face and she left. The door remained open and the Peacekeeper looked at me. "You were wondering why it was taking so long," he said, "You have one more visitor." He glanced sideways, and suddenly I had arms wrapped around me and my eyes were closed.

"Mye..."

That voice; it was Wardell. When I realized this, I tightened my arms around him and pulled him in as close as I could. He let go after a few moments, and I could feel the warmth slip away as his touch left mine. The warmth returned when he looked me in the eyes.

"I never got to tell you," he said nervously.

"Tell me what?" I asked him. He looked at the ground and his shoes; I looked at him, completely confused.

"I'm in love with you, Mye," he whispered into the thick air. I had to process the words, but, once I did, I chuckled. "What?" He asked, hurt.

I didn't answer; I only kissed him goodbye.

His touch, I would always remember.

Noel Way, District 11

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

Maxim Bischoff, District 12

***Did Not Hand In Strike 1***  

Malik Leighton, District 13

***Did Not Hand In Strike 1***  

Fletcher McKinnon, Capital  

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