Newt

Newt shifted restlessly in the sea of bodies gathered for the Reaping. Tension was building in the town square of district 8 while the time clicked down to one o'clock and beyond as they waited for their notoriously late district escort.

Finally, flanked by Peacekeepers, the tall, effervescent Oliviana Twell swept onto the stage. At first glance, she looked almost normal for a Capitol citizen, until you realized that her skin shimmered different colors depending on the light and strands of her black hair were shot through with ostensibly real gold.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor." She spoke in a high voice with the ridiculous accent of Panem's elite, and Newt wondered vaguely, not for the first time, if district escorts took a class to learn how to be so... bubbly.

All of the introductions went on as normal, but he found his focus drifting, trying to comprehend what he was about to do. Finally, it was time for the tribute selection. As always, the girl's name was called first, and the owner of that unlucky name made her way to the stage amidst the silence. Her face was drawn tight, red-blonde hair swirling around her. Newt shook himself back to reality long enough to study her for a moment. She wasn't crying, that was a good sign. She was small, not necessarily a fighter, but there was always the potential for hidden skills.

As she took her place next to the escort, Oliviana bounced over to the bowl with the boys' names. She reached deep into the bowl and selected a strip of paper. As she read the name, a deep quiet fell among the younger children. The boy, only 13 at the most, walked forward in a state of shock. And that was when Newt acted.

"I volunteer," he tried to say, voice catching in his throat. "I volunteer!" he repeated. The words physically parted the crowd in front of him, leaving a clear path for the funeral march of the crazy kid. He took a deep breath and began to make his way to the stage. His bad right leg ached with every step, but he refused to let them think he was weak. As he climbed the steps up to the stage, the boy he had volunteered for stared at him blankly. They didn't know each other, had never spoken. The female tribute had hidden her emotions well so far, but now looked thoroughly bewildered. Her confusion was reflected in the faces of the crowd as Oliviana announced his name. The mayor stepped up to read the Treaty of Treason, but Newt didn't hear a word. He just stood there, hands clenched, entirely numb.

As the ceremony ended, Newt and the girl were swept into the Justice Building. As the Capitol people began spouting information at them, Newt ignored them and turned to the girl. He stuck his hand out.

"Sorry, didn't catch your name in all of this-" he gestured vaguely, "-madness."

"Sonya," she replied, still seeming a little out of it as she shook his hand. That was entirely natural, he supposed, considering she'd just been picked to fight to the death and was now going to see her family for what might be the last time.

"Newt." As he said this, they were led off different ways to say their goodbyes.

Newt had no one to say goodbye to. When they brought him up to the neat room with the velvet couch, he remained there alone with his thoughts.

Despite the fact that he had just volunteered to die, he felt selfish. Sure, he supposed he had wanted to save a younger boy from going to his death, but he cared less about the boy than he cared about the probability of his own death. Ever since the factory collapse that had taken his whole family from him, it was all he had wanted. The Peacekeepers had called the disaster an accident, but word was that they had heard talk of rebellion and brought it down themselves. He hadn't been old enough then to be working, but his parents and his older sister were gone, nothing found of them even to bury. The fact was, living had never been all that great anyway, and that had broken him.

He'd tried to take his own life. Tried, and failed miserably, ending up still alive and with a badly broken leg that had never quite healed correctly. His only hope was that this way, when he died, it could mean just a little bit more.