Urial Lockweed, 13- District Twelve male

"Sorry."

"Sorry!"

"Oops, sorry."

"Oh… sorry."

That's kind of my motto. It's usually not for big things, but I'm always saying sorry. "Sorry" when I knock my mom's candy dish off the counter. "Sorry" when I elbow a classmate trying to get a book from my locker. "Sorry" when I toss the dustpan outside… against the wind. "Sorry" when I took a multiple-choice test in history class and did pretty well, except I missed one question and didn't notice until the end and had to tell the teacher and beg her to push all the answers up one, which she did. Lucky for me people are pretty forgiving if you're polite and if you're not messing up super important things.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry…" I say as I wade into my age line at the Reaping. For once that's not me being dumb. Everyone says "sorry" when they're wading through a group of people. That or "Ope just gonna squeeze right by you," but that's mostly older ladies.

"Gonna volunteer this time?" Rowan asked. Some of the other boys around him snickered.

I couldn't even be mad. Last year, my first year eligible to be Reaped, I told everyone I was going to volunteer because my uncle taught me a super secret fighting move that could instantly kill someone. Then if anyone asked me to demonstrate it I told them I was sworn to never use it unless it was self-defense. Then Reaping Day came and… I didn't volunteer. I knew the whole time it would be Reaping Day eventually. I really don't know what my endgame was.

"I have to train a few more years," I said, even though I knew no one believed it. I already look dumb, so I might as well have a sense of humor about it.

Our escort takes the stage wearing a really cool-looking pantsuit that looks like it's made of metal. I never know what she's saying when she introduces herself, since she has a really thick accent. I just like looking at how cool and different Capitolites look.

"Hello, District Twelve! I'm-" I strain my ears and squint- "Hrrmpph Frpffl and it's time for another Reaping!"

"First, let's have a gentleman," she says, tapping her painted nails against the inside of the glass bowl. I'm grateful again that she always wildly overenunciates the names. I guess she knows she has an accent.

"Yoo-ree-ell Lllockwheed," she announces brightly, squinting and smiling after she reads it.

Oh, that's me, I think. I don't know what to think. I know I can do it, sure. I'm twelve years old and I'm a big kid. But all the others are also bigger kids. Most of them probably bigger than me. To be honest, mostly I'm thinking about how I get to see the Capitol and all the fancy clothes and food and stuff. The Games won't be for a few weeks. Past Me doesn't understand them as well as Future Me will.

The escort calls Anne Fisticuff up to the stage with me. I've seen Anne once or twice around school. Her reputation precedes her. She's just really… twitchy. Some people call her Rat. She's always jumpy and dart-y, like darting around. The only time I remember seeing her myself was passing her table once at lunch. She was guarding her tray with one arm and when I walked past I swear she growled at me. The other kids say she eats out of the garbage cans. As she stands next to me she's smiling widely but her throat is bobbing like she's gagging.

The escort holds the microphone up to me and I realize she said something while I was staring at Anne. I have no idea what she just said. I blurt it out without thinking and realize too late how everyone in the crowd is going to react.

"I'm sorry?"

Anne Fisticuff- District Twelve female

Too many people! Too many!

I hate crowds. It's hard to run. I look for an escape route. There it is. I look at the girls around me. They're my age. They're unlikely to attack. They're scared, too. I can smell it. The air reeks of sweat and fear. It seeps into my skin and soaks me. Sweat and fear and the ammonia smell of one of the littler kids who wet their pants.

Three more times. Three more times I stand here. Then I'm safe. Safe to go home. Find food and avoid bigger people.

Peacekeepers. They smell like metal. They move around us. Like sharks. I watch them. No closer, please. Can't run. I'll have to try to get someone else between us.

The woman is a Capitolite. They're the top predators. Always please them. Do whatever they want. Stand quietly for their Reaping. Don't cry or scream. Make them happy. Make them think you love them. Smile and look grateful. Never ever attract attention.

I saw the boy she calls. I was eating lunch. He came close but didn't try to take my food.

Food.

I clutch my stomach. Hungry. Always hungry. Most days all I eat is the school food. I've always been hungry. I don't know what it feels like not to be hungry. That's the point of life. Find food and don't get hunted.

People put food in the garbage cans. They shouldn't call it garbage. It's food. I eat it.

"Anne Fisticuff!"

I look up. My eyes dart around. There's no escape. I have to placate. I take a step. The girls shift around me. They make a pathway where the smell isn't as thick. It clears more as I walk onto the stage. I suck in clean air.

The Capitolite woman's arm goes up. I tense and step back. Off the stage is the fastest if she attacks me. But she's smiling. I smile back. If people smile that means they're not attacking. Usually.

I smell something flowery. The Capitolite woman comes closer. The stench nearly flattens me. She smells. She's covered in smell. Like she bathed in it. Flowers and citrus and something woody. It's like chunks of dead animal up my nose.

I keep the smile on. My stomach churns with the smell. It wants to vomit but there's nothing in me to vomit. It just churns and heaves. My throat twitches with the churning. Acid washes into the back of my mouth. I swallow it.

"How about a word from our brave Tributes?" the woman says.

"I'm sorry?" Uriel says. He hadn't heard her.

I just smile. I have nothing to say. I smile and swallow back more acid.

Uriel: Urial is runty. He's skinny with no amuscle. He has messy fuzzy brown hair, which reaches down to the back of his neck. He also has almond brown eyes, a small nose and small ears. His teeth are crooked. Urial is sickly pale. He's adorned with cuts, bruises and plasters all over his body. He has a long scar on his back.

Anne: Anne is latina with tight black curls and black eyes. She's dark-skinned and 5'7.

That's everyone, I think! I just checked this morning and saw the other chapters were up so I went ahead and finished the Reapings off. Now we can write TURBO SPEED since we don't need to wait for forms! Or however fast my partners write, I don't want to rush anyone.