-sigh- This is HORRIBLY late, and you all must forgive me. It's Thanksgiving in America this week, and I've been out of school for an entire 5 days! I've been able to actually SLEEP for once. Isn't that wonderful? Anyway, I made this one a little longer than the previous Reaping chapters, hopefully to gain your guys' respect once more.

District Three Reapings

Blinda Levelie

I maneuver myself out of the hovercraft carefully, glancing around reluctantly at the black, dirty factories spread sporadically around District 3. '

This place is disgusting.' I think to myself, a grimace slipping onto my face. I glance in the reflection of the hovercraft, positioning my mass of blue hair over my shoulder. Deciding that I'm not to be back to District 3 anytime soon, I begin to walk the distance to the town center. I scoff, still in disbelief that the mayor of District 3 dare shove the responsibility of walking a quarter of a mile on Blinda Levelie, last years hosts of the Hunger Games. I remember he said something about skyscraping factories that would prevent the hovercraft from landing safely, but I honestly don't care.

My pink platforms step around a puddle of an unknown black liquid. The air here is in horrible condition, I notice. My gaze lifts to the clouds above me, which are a dingy, ashen color. I'm wonderfully grateful that I don't have to live in this pathetic excuse for a District. A young peacekeeper appears to my left. He has dull brown hair and large, blue eyes and his thin, haggard body looks to be more than a bit underfed.

"Finally." I spit, not sparing a glance at the boy. "How far did you expect me to walk by myself? We are on a TIME SCHEDULE, in case you didn't understand, and if I get lost on my way to the town center, all the citizens in District 3 will look like imbeciles."

I notice the boy's eyes widening even more, if that's possible, and a tiny smirk appears on my right lip. I make sure not to mention that I would probably be in more trouble than the citizens of District 3. The boy's eyes trail to the ground, where an expression of panic appears on his face. He's obviously only recently hired, and has been stuck with—honored with, I correct myself—the duty of escorting me to my position at the reaping stage. I find it hilarious how frightened this boy is of me.

The boy strides ahead, and just when I'm about to ask who gave him the right to step in front of a citizen of the Capital, I traipse around a corner and am faced with a large, argent camera cascading from the top of a building. I flash a brilliant smile and wave at the camera happily, as if I was previously aware of its appearance. I jog to the steps of the reaping stage and notice more cameras hidden in creative places. I leap up the stairs two at a time and stop at the waiting table, adorned with two glass bowls and a tiny button. I press it and hear my microphone, hidden behind a tress of blue hair, click on.

"Citizens of District Three!" I exclaim, swiping my hand across the crowd in a swooping motion, as if I actually give a damn what happens to the children waiting to be reaped. "Welcome to the 54th Hunger Games! Are you ready to get the reaping started?"

A few half-hearted cheers echo throughout the court, but I don't worry. I'm aware that the lack of enthusiasm will be edited out when the reaping airs. I motion downward, as if to silence the imaginary cheers, and wait a few seconds for suspense. "Let us begin." I lower my hand into the glass bowl on the left and grasp a piece of parchment between my fingers.

"The female tribute from District 3 is Mirajane Alberone!"

I don't know the girl, but obviously the crowd does, because as I say her name, gasps and whispers begin to arise throughout the crowd. A girl with flowing black hair is climbing the stairs before I even noticed her approaching the stage. I assume this is Mirajane, and always the charmer, lift my hand for her to shake. The girl glances at my hand reluctantly then shakes it softly. I already despise this girl, I decide, and drop her hand as if it's something dirty that shouldn't be handled. I submerge my hands in the slips of paper once more and clasp my finger on one in particular. I raise the paper to my eyes and read the line of words.

"The male tribute from District 3 is Julian Griffin." I voice. A boy with dirty blonde hair slips from the grasp of a tiny girl and approaches the stage. He stops next to me and gazes out of the town square at nothing.

"Congratulations Mirajane and Julian, we all wish you good luck at the Arena, and Happy Hunger Games!"

District 4 Reapings

Triza Albenoe

The kids are rather riled up today, I notice, gazing down from a balcony overlooking District 4's town center. The bluish blocks that make up the ground of the courtyard aren't visible through the throng of children and anxious family members. I gaze off at the breathtaking sun which is dipping below the water. It's high tide, I notice, the last high tide that two children will witness. My wrinkled hands wipes sleep from my eye and my dimmed blue eyes settle on the Capital agent.

She laughs obnoxiously and pushes an attractive Peacekeeper on the shoulder, obviously her attempt at banter. Her blond hair is spread into multiple braids and a splatters of freckles are painted across her skin. She has the capability of being attractive, I decide. If only she didn't wear that horrid purple monstrosity. She turns from the peacekeeper and approaches the podium, tapping her fingernails across the wood next to the microphone, resulting in multiple loud, thumps to reverberate throughout the courtyard. If she was attempting to call for silence, she succeeded, because after a few curse words are muttered, the audience is silent.

Her voice is squeaky and her capital accent is prominent. "Hello District 4!" She exclaims, "I'm Erin Elsi, and I will be conducting District 4's Reapings!" She saunters to the table holding the Reaping bowls and rests her hand on the edge of the silver platform. Her beady eyes scale over the crowd. Erin reaches for the left-hand bowl, but before she can grasp a piece of paper, a brown-haired, muscular girl raises her hand and pushes audience members in front of her out of the way, attempting to reach the stairs of the circular stage.

"I'd like to Volunteer for the games." She says, approaching Erin. Erin sneers, her face twisting into an ugly expression.

"Whatever." She says, as if this girl has personally ruined her fun. "What is your name?" Erin asks, gesturing at a spot a few feet away from herself, as if she would rather NOT stand next to this District 4 girl.

"I'm Ursula Johanson." The girl says with articulation, as if she's recited this sentence multiple times. I groan. This girl will probably be a handful. Ursula steps to the spot Erin gestured at earlier and folds her hands behind her back and surveys the crowd. Erin reaches for the remaining bowl.

"The Male Tribute for District 4 is Anchor Havelock." Erine says, holding up the slip of paper as if to prove she isn't bluffing. A disruption at the edge of the crowd signifies this year's male tribute. A large, chiseled teenager steps out from between two larger men who are murmuring to him and gesturing wildly. Anchor clenches his eyes shut and waves at the boys who, until that moment, hadn't seemed to consider the significance of what had just occurred. Anchor slips silently through the crowd, emerging at the base of the stage and climbing the stairs slowly. He turns to the crowd and breathes deeply.

Erin doesn't seem to know how to react to this, and after a few seconds, turns to the camera on her right.

"Congratulations Ursula and Anchor, and good luck at the games!"

The red light on the large camera flicks to green and the two tributes are led off the stage and into the Mayor's quarters. I heft my legs onto the edge of the granite balcony and lean back in my chair, reminding myself not to get attached to my tributes this year. They'll only die, I tell myself, so I promise again that I won't care about Ursula, the strong-willed beauty, or Anchor, the strong, silent fisherman.

I really must refrain from lying to myself.

District 5 Reapings

Trenton Elsix

I fold my hands in front of me in a cradle, glancing to my left. Silt's eyes are surveying the crowd, looking for any sort of trouble that might arise on the most important day of the year. I breathe deeply and turn my eyes from him. He takes his job as peacekeeper way to seriously, in my opinion. I glance up at the front of the square towards the stage, which is barely visible atop the citizens' heads.

A man in a blue plaid suit emerges from the door of the Mayor's quarters and approaches the glass bowls sitting atop the usual brown granite table. Signals give away this man as the Capital representative. The man's face is strikingly handsome, almost abnormally so, an obvious sign that his appearance isn't natural.

The man grasps a microphone from the podium and attaches it to his head, then turns to smile at the camera. A light flashes and the man begins to speak, gesturing towards the crowd and smiling occasionally. After a few minutes of speaking to the camera, he approaches the table carrying the glass bowls and faces the crowd. A voice I label as his booms across the courtyard.

"Hello citizens of District 5!" He speaks with a Capital accent and gestures often. "Welcome to the 54th Annual Hunger Games! I'm Vissim Clayton and will be hosting District 5's Reapings!" He says every statement as if it's the most wonderful thing to occur. I wrinkle my nose. Trenton reaches into one of the glass bowls and emerges with a blue slip of paper.

"The female tribute form District 5 is Carlie Ann." He says, gesturing at lanky, thin girl approaching the stage. She stops next to Trenton and turns to face the crowd. The girls eyes look determined, but I can tell by her body language that she is absolutely horrified. She's fiddling with the edge of her button down shirt and is swallowing constantly, a bump in her throat becoming prominent and probable to evade. I know this because my brother Insa told me this was how he felt when he was reaped. I turn to look at him across the court at the edge of the Victor's street. He's standing alone, his brown red hair clashing with his tanned skin.

"The male tribute from District 5 is Alexander Van Der Donck." Trenton speaks, and I smirk a bit as the boy climbs the stairs. He turns to gaze at his family sitting on the balcony near the edge of the town center. They seemed too shocked to react at the moment, but I don't get to see their reactions because I'm nudged with the butt of a gun. The line of peacekeepers approaches the stage and I grab Carlie's arm, pulling her towards the Mayor's quarters.

-grumbles- The end there was written at about midnight, so don't hold it against me.

Nipper, My Cat: She was out with her friends for once in what seems like forever!

Thanks, Nipper. -.- Well, I hope you guys liked it. Point values are updated, and I'm at the ready for new reviews, arenas, escorts, etc.

Thanks for Reading!

Chloe