NOTE: Ellissa is deaf and speaks in sign language. Her talking will be expressed with italics instead of traditional quotes.

Ellissa was created by FlawlessCatastrophe

Luke was created by Reader Castellan

Ellissa Srenkovic, District 3 Female

The trash can is empty. I don't know why I'm surprised by this anymore. The garbage is taken away at night, and I go searching in the morning, for whatever I can find. Food, a broken piece of technology, a spare shirt that didn't fit someone's child anymore.

Leftovers. That's all I get.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a door slam open. I'm still not used to the lack of a sound it makes as it crashes against the wall. A tall, wiry man storms out and glares at me, pointing and shouting words I don't understand. He's wearing a suit, probably for the Reaping. I always forget the Reaping; it's difficult to keep track of time when you don't have a way to watch the hours go by.

I look directly at his lips; lip-reading is a skill I've picked up over the years. "—fuckin' street rat, fuck outta my trash!" he yells, the expression on his face one of anger. I don't need to hear the words to flinch at the force of them. My hands move to form words of my own; I just want some food to survive the night.

He doesn't respond, his face morphing into an expression of confusion. The anger doesn't leave, though; must be a generally angry man. I pity his family.

"Go away, street rat!" he says, and from the way his face is red with anger and his eyes are bulging out of his sockets, I can only assume that his voice has carried over the streets and all across this area of the District. Soon attention will be drawn to us, and that's the last thing I want.

Nobody defends the homeless child. They're on the side of the rich. The ones who can pay for the world.

So I obey, standing up with as much pride as I can muster and leaving the man behind, probably still screaming. The little dignity I have in this moment is destroyed as I trip over my own feet, my face beet red as I stumble. At least I didn't fall this time.

I imagine him laughing. What a riot, the little orphan girl can't even walk! It's been like this ever since the explosion at the factory; never respected, never treated like an equal.

Because I'm not an equal.

I push the thought from my head as a Peacekeeper walks in front of me, rifle resting in his gloved hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees me, and I freeze as he turns to me. "Kid, whaddaya doin' out?"

I don't answer. What does he mean? Did I do something wrong by not having a home, or being outside when I have no inside to go to?

"The warning bell rang fifteen minutes ago. Should be headin' to the square."

Oh.

I flash a small smile and move my hands, ignoring the look of confusion on his face. I'm deaf. I couldn't hear the bell.

By his blank expression, he didn't understand me. Of course he didn't.

I heave a sigh and walk in the direction of the square, assuming that he's still staring at me. They usually don't stop staring until I'm completely out of sight. I can practically feel their gazes on my back, an odd feeling that someone's eyes are on me.

After all, who can look away from the street rat?

Luke Sparks, District 3 Male

My parents don't know I'm standing outside the door to their room, holding my breath, careful not to let my steps cause the hardwood floors to creak. Their voices are hushed, as if they don't want me to hear.

"I'm just worried about him, you know?" my mother whispers, pain enveloping her voice. I can only picture her expression; eyes filled with unshed tears, lip bitten as if holding back a sob, unable to look my father in the eyes. "It's his third Reaping, and his name is in there–"

"Only three times," my father responds, his voice incredibly calm. "Our son will not get picked; that I can promise you."

"Maybe this year!" she cries, and a surge of bravery leads me to crack open the door and see her hands clutching her graying hair, eyes wide in panic. "But then there's next year, and the next, and the next… Until he's nineteen I'm not going to stop worrying!"

It takes all my willpower not to run in there, not to throw my arms around my mother and tell her I'll be alright. But the reaping is soon, and I fear her seeing me will only trigger her more.

So I close the door and creep back to my room, awaiting the sound of the warning bells as I hunt for my Reaping outfit. It's a plain, simple outfit, but I really don't mind it, considering that the shirt is probably the newest thing I own.

I sit on my bed, my thoughts taking over my mind. Reaping Day. The day where two people from our District say goodbye to whatever lives they had.

It's no secret that the Tributes from 3 don't win. They're fodder—nothing more, nothing less—for the strong. And when we do make it far, it isn't far enough.

I'm shaken out of my thoughts by the warning bell. I hear a little yelp from down the hall, and I realize that my parents didn't stop talking. The yelp is followed by an almost eerie silence; not even the busy streets of 3 are buzzing today.

It's like they're already mourning the dead.

I walk through the hallway and down the stairs, hearing the door slam behind me. I stand by the door, praying that they won't realize that I was listening in.

My mother descends with a soft smile on her face. "Luke, are you ready?"

Over her shoulder, my father stares at me, casting a shadow across the floor. The warm expression I saw earlier is replaced with a more serious face, one that I've grown far too used to. He's always more serious around me; I've never figured out why.

"I guess so," I say, breaking eye contact so I don't crumble under his gaze. "How ready can I be?"

She puts her hand on my shoulder, and it's warm to the touch. "As ready as you are now."

That gets a smile out of me, and together we walk out the door, the three of us. A happy family.

Ellissa Srenkovic, District 3 Female

The square is filled with people, so much so that I can barely move. I push through the crowds, struggling to stay in the line of children waiting to sign in to their deaths. I see mouths move, children sob, teenagers pull their shoulders back in an effort to look brave.

Really, their efforts are in vain.

The line moves surprisingly quickly, and the Peacekeeper is glaring at me through his helmet. I sign my name, Ellissa Srenkovic, but he just glares at me longer.

I sigh and grab his book of names, flipping through it until I reach S. Rolling my eyes, I point to my name, and though he looks appalled at my behavior, he grabs my hand and takes my blood regardless. The sharp sting of the needle lingers long after I take my place in the thirteen-year-old section.

The escort walks onstage, somehow not falling over in heels that are bigger than her ankles. She introduces herself into her microphone, but I'm too far away to read her blue-painted lips.

She stumbles over to the girls' bowl and pulls out a slip, reading the name. I imagine the sound echoing across the square, and I look around to see who's going into the Games.

But everyone else seems rather fixated on me.

Oh, no.

Dumbstruck, I step forward, slowly making my way onto the stage in a state of shock. The other people recognize me; they must. One of the little survivors of the factory explosion. I imagine that they're saying, how pitiful it is that the little orphan girl is going to die after surviving so much!

As I stare out at them, ignoring the escort trying to talk to me, I decide that death will not be my fate.

Luke Sparks, District 3 Male

The Reaped girl stands with her head held high, ignoring poor Aemilla's attempts to talk to her. With a sigh, the escort walks over to the boys' bowl, the female tribute all but forgotten.

"Luke Sparks!" she calls, and every muscle in my body tenses. I can feel the world's eyes on me, and I don't like it. Not one bit.

I take tentative steps forward, the tears in my eyes difficult to keep at bay. As I reach the stage, Aemilla holds out a hand to help me (she must notice my wobbling legs), and I take it, grateful. I would've collapsed without it.

Ellissa, the Reaped girl, is glaring at me with dull blue-grey eyes. Her gaze seems to make up for what she doesn't want to say. Despite being small and thin, she's intimidating. Almost like with every look, she's discovered a new secret.

I break eye contact with her, only to have Aemilla grab our hands and hoist them into the air. "District 3, your Tributes! Luke Sparks and Ellissa Srenkoivc!"

Tentative clapping, looks of pity, hushed whispers to the people around them. The crowd is staring at the two poor little Tributes who are about to die.

I must look even more terrified than I am.

Okay, first of all, exams. I have exams for about a month every year (and it happens to fall during May, usually). Standardized testing, teachers being annoying, stuff like that. So naturally I don't have much time for writing.

Summer is right around the corner (literally, I get out in 2 weeks). So I hope to be able to update waaaaay more. Because I have so much planned for this story and I can't wait to share it with you.

Who do you like better, Luke or Ellissa? Why?

Favorite Tribute so far? What about your favorite District?

Predictions?