District Eight Reaping
*Rose*
I woke up early, which was a stupid move for someone in 8. Our reaping wasn't until 4 pm. I now didn't know what to do with my time. This happened every single year with me, and my older sister as well. She was a mere year older than me, at 17. Obviously, according to that, I am 16. It doesn't take a genius to figure that much out.
I picked up a book and began to read it. I read for about an hour or two before I got restless. I then went out for a jog. I wasn't a very fast runner but I had a lot of stamina. That would certainly help me out if I was reaped. I hoped I wouldn't get reaped though. That meant almost certain death for me. Everyone knew that. I felt I was much too young to die.
My sister informed me that it was time to get ready, interrupting my awful daydreams about the many, many ways I could be killed in the arena. Stabbed, shot with an arrow, starve, freeze...what was I saying? I don't even remember .
Anyway, we got ready and walked to the square together. I dropped my sister off at the section behind mine and finally found a spot with the 16s.
My name was plucked from the bowl and called out. I looked to my sister, seeing if she would volunteer for me. Tears began streaming down her cheeks as she looked away. She knew I wouldn't make it out alive. Maybe I did too, for I also began crying, so much so that I could hardly see to walk forward.
*Trey*
My name is Trey and I am a sixteen year old from District Eight. I am unprepared for the Hunger Games. I am very strong though, and I learn fast, so I could probably learn to compete and kill with any weapon before I reached the arena, if I were reaped, that is.
I didn't want to be reaped and I certainly wasn't going to volunteer. Only one person in the history of the Games has volunteered from 8. I wasn't about to be the second person to be a complete moron. I was smarter than that and I would prove it to the world, somehow, someway.
I wasn't going to be known as just a tribute. I wanted to be something more than that. I wanted to be known as a Victor. Listen to me! I must be absolutely crazy! Maybe I was, but sometimes crazy is what won, crazy is what made victors. So, being crazy wasn't exactly a bad thing, per say.
Finally it was time for our reaping to begin. The girl was chosen and both she and her-I assume-older sister started crying. What pathetic babies, I though. Crying was for complete losers. You're supposed to stand strong and act confident when you were reaped. You would earn yourself more sponsors that way.
My name was called (shocking, right? Not really) for boy tribute. I followed my own advice and cruised up to the stage, acting like I'd just become President or something along those lines. I was not ever going to appear weak to the people of the Capitol, my potential sponsors.