Rye Cievers stood head and shoulders above the other candidates on this Reaping day in District 7. He worried about his family if he should be chosen. They had lost the best of them, Dyson, last year and this year, his 17th, the odds were probably not in his favor to be passed over. He and Dyson had favored one another. Closely cropped curly blue black hair, inky black eyes that his grandmother called seerer's eyes and skin the color of coffee with a hint of cream. Unlike Dyson, who had been outspoken and outstanding, Rye's best quality was being able to fade into the background. He quietly mastered all skills of survival, was well favored with weapons, but was wise enough to not flaunt his talents. Most people thought of him as all muscle and backbone blessed with very little brain. He smiled, a white smile so like Dyson's. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt him. To further the illusion that he was simple was his love for small helpless creatures and the driving need he had to be needed.<br/><br/>Luckily on this Reaping day, his younger sisters were well below the required age for tributes. He was the only one from his family in danger but he worried of what would become of them if he should die.<br/><br/>The train from Panem pulled into the station as Rye settled into his place in the square.<br/>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br/>Small, Janiel huddled behind the other 13 year old girls. Few in the ranks paid much attention to her, even when she gripped her heart and grasped at them for support. But then no one paid much attention to the children who lived at the 'Home", she thought and for today was glad. The matron at the "Home" had plaited her kinky but sandy colored hair into neat little corn rows and that was the most attention she had ever had in the three years she had been here. Her khaki colored face and hands had been painfully scrubbed squeaky clean. All she could do was wait.<br/><br/>Breathing was difficult and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Anxiety always made the heart pains worse. This waiting for the Reaping on this day, was the worst ever. She wondered if she would even make it through the day.<br/><br/>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br/><br/>Day Z Winkle popped a handful of brightly colored capsule as the train pulled into the station in District 7. The drugs helped quiet the pounding heart and the rapid breathing. She knew she was privileged to be training under Effie . There were no other 18 year olds who were doing that. An Avox silently appeared, handing her a bottle of spring water. She sipped at it absently and handed it back without even a thank you. She hadn't meant to be rude, especially to someone who was a reminder of what the Capitol could do to those who didn't go with the flow.<br/><br/>The towering mountains and thick forests of District 7 came into view but Day Z scrunched her permanently dyed sunset orange face into a mask of painful consideration. Her arm and hand were green like delicate spring leaves. The body image artists were brilliantly talented but Day Z didn't admire her skin as she usually did but flicked away tears. Today her hair was pale pink but seemed to be wilted with grief as much as her shoulders. For one year, she had tried to put Dyson Cievers from her mind.<br/><br/>In her defense, she had been an initiate in the Effie's world and had not learned the art of objective detachment. In her defense, Dyson Cievers was charming, talented and she had loved him at first sight. In her defense, she had kept the tributes in line with their schedules. In her defense, Dyson had loved her too. Had.. The Gamemakers had caught wind of his affection for her, just as he was about to strike the winning blow. Had... The mutts had taken him out in a flash and the winner was some weak, ill favored, sneak thief. and Dyson, lovely man/boy with the brilliant white smile had become a smear of scarlet blood and brown skin.<br/><br/><br/>The pills were taking hold as Day Z glided from the train to stand in the square, surveying the carefully arranged faces who gathered, glaring at the representatives from Panem. The families. The male tributes, by age. The female tributes, by age. The Peacekeepers. The bookies. Day Z was in a bit of a daze now that the medication was taking the edge off the pain. A news caster poked a microphone in her face, asking her opinion of the proceedings.<br/><br/>"How would you describe the atmosphere this day of the reaping?" he asked.<br/><br/>With dignity and grace, Day Z smiled brilliantly, waving at the tributes. "Today is a big, big, big, big day!"