Don't Stop Believing

The Reaping: part 2

A/N
This is the second and last part of the reaping. But we're not to the games yet.
Please keep reading, enjoy!

District 7:
"Quiet please children. It is now time for 83rd annual Hunger Games reaping. But first I'd like to inform you that the restrooms appear to be broken. We are working on the problem. There will be a zero tolerance for anyone soiling the town's square, we will not have a repeat of last year."
All of the children and parents we're even quieter than they were before.
"Now.... Onto the main event. Ladies first."
Principal Figgins pulled out the name of the first victim for this years games.
"Sugar Motta." Figgins took a look around and a petite girl emerged from the rows of children. She practically skipped onto the stage. Sugar didn't look specifically strong, but she sure did look fast. Almost like she wanted to be there.
Figgins smiled and switched hands to pull out the name of District Sevens second tribute that would be accompanying Sugar into the games.
Figgins took much too long of a pause before reading the name he had chosen.
"Arthur Abrams."

Artie heard muffled crying coming from his mother's room that morning. That dreaded morning before the reaping.
"Mom." Artie whispered as he knocked on her bedroom door.
A few seconds passed and his mother emerged from her room.
Artie looked up at her, "It's time to go"
His mother nodded and then kneeled down to pull him into a big hug.
"You better not get chosen you hear me? I can't lose you, you can't leave me so soon. I almost lost you once, and I want you here with me until I die."
Artie hugged her back.
"Don't worry. I've made it this far."
"And even if you did get chosen, someone would totally start a rebellion over it."
Artie laughed a little bit because she knew it was true. He released his mom and put a hand in the air.
"Preach."

Artie's mom let out a choked sob. His brain didn't realize what was happening until he felt hands on his wheelchair handles and the stage quickly approaching.
Artie gulped as his chair was lifted onto the stage by a few nearby peacekeepers.
He looked out above the crowd and sent a look at his mother who just waved, before closing her eyes. Praying for her only son who may never be coming home.

District 8:
"Santana sweetheart. Would you like me to make you some breakfast? It wouldn't be much, but there has to be something around here."
"No Abuela that's okay. We need the extra food for dinner tonight."
Santana walked over and kissed her Abuela on the cheek.
"Besides, I'm not hungry anyways. I couldn't possibly eat." Santana sat down at their small kitchen table and crossed her arms over her chest.
Her Abuela came and sat down in the other chair across from her.
"Okay mija. How about you go get dressed and just make you a cup of tea instead."
Santana smiled sadly at her Abuela's kindness.
"That sounds perfect."
~~~
District 8 has been short of mentors ever since 2 of them had died. And the 3rd had been put on probation as a small incident that occurred a few years back.
The district had no clue who they'd scrape up this year. But when an all too familiar face took the stage, Santana almost laughed in disbelief. She guessed Sandy's 10 year probation had been shortened to only 5. Because here he was, as energetic as ever, about to pick the next two children he'd be mentoring into the games this year.
"Yes I know, my 10 year ban from being District Eights mentor is not up. But I had to step in since this dire situation has called for my assistance."
Sandy Ryerson. District Eight victor that had been banned from mentoring a few years back. After reported occurrences of "non professional" behavior towards this districts, and other districts, male tributes. While also dealing out "percription pills" to district members who did not have any sort of percription. And Sandy who didn't have the right evidence to prove that the Chronic Lady was "just a band."
"Now, hoping we've all moved past these small setbacks, it is time for me to pull this years tributes. And then do nothing else even mildly suggestive, besides helping them."
Sandy paused.
"Helping them win. That's what I meant, helping them win these games. So first we have," Sandy pushed his hand into the pull and selected a name from the very bottom, "Santana Lopez."
She should have known this was coming. Santana's name was in there so many times, she'd stopped counting a few years ago when it was already in 30.
"And accompanying Santana we have... Joe Hart."
A kid that slightly resembled Jesus jogged up next to Santana as Sandy recited his closing statements.
Too bad Santana wouldn't be home for the dinner tonight that Abuela had promised. Now she knew she must make it up to her by winning these god damn games.