The day before I died, brother had insisted on watching long-gone murders on the static-crammed television set. According to him, it brought luck for the Reaping – a stale death warding off our new red blood away.

He ruffles my own red mane, disheveling it beyond the point which I thought possible. I hiss at him from the paisley blue of his wrinkled work-shirt, my allegedly gold eyes narrowing at his own yellowish brown pair and failing to shutter out how a flock of bird-like mutts shear and peck a hapless girl to shreds.

I've had enough of red, so I turn my head down to my lap, where another red head lays asleep, long braids tightly wound and eyes scrunched shut trying to drown out the on-screen screaming. Just my luck - things like these never seem to leave me.

I want to have brother's calm auburn hair. Brown with just the tell-tale ghost of fire-color that lets me know he's family. But little sister Audrey thinks that my locks can warm up the chill of the flimsy housing, so I'd refrain from trading the color anytime soon.

I still remember how I used to lather it with dust and hide it beneath a hood though. Because even with tesserae to pad our stomachs, and brother Joel's job, we hunger a lot. But, thanks to me, I've managed to keep us from looking the starving family.

And now I can't sneak out for a breadwinning session – Joel's arm is resting on my head, taking a few millimeters off my slight frame; Audrey's fallen asleep on top of me and she sleeps like the dead. Parents' whereabouts unknown, but the factory's a given. Apart from their similar manes of reddish-burnt hair, I can't tell them apart from other adults. Same as most other adults can't seem to be able to pick me apart. But it is okay, I don't need to be visible. Not like brother needs to, much less how little sister wants to be.

Pebbles clatter against the window, a mercifully untamed mop of black-brown hair peeking from under the sill and a tall boy glaring daggers at the television. I barely turn back to glance at them, then sign I'll be coming in motions as subtle as I can. I do so too well, as they redouble their attack on the window with small rocks and leaves. Joel gets tired, and rises to shoo them. I take my chance, and dart away – Audrey mumbles something about berries, but I can't listen to it too well. I don't notice Joel's motions, more concerned with making it through one of my secret entrances.

I bound outside, picking up a small branch and hurling it without much thought at the tall boy who is still glaring at the screen. Maybe he is watching the program as well – by now, I know another tribute has fallen, this time to a girl's lance.

My stick doesn't hit true like the projectile in the recording. It soars past his ear to strike the mouse-brown girl besides him and tangle up on her mess of hair. Well, it's a hit, and a headshot at that. Some bouts of hissing and whispered complaints and we scatter, agreeing on the same spot as always to regroup.

I pull my hood up, concealing my unfortunate shade of hair – another curse – and I saunter into a slightly transited street. Mouse-girl is climbing from rooftop to rooftop; tall-boy is sneaking around like an amateur.

I wish Tareesa was still here, but she got Reaped last year along with Caleb. I can't remember how they died, but I remember Caleb teaching me to sneak around and Tareesa's tricks. I use one of them now, inching closer to a rail-thin man slavering at the glimpse of freshly-baked bread being dropped into the storefront baskets. Without even looking at him, I place my hand into a pocket of his clothes and retrieve a couple bills of money; all the time, I'm as fixated as he is on the bread, even placing a hand on the sort of warm glass.

Mouse-girl nods at me in her reflection, and she knows that just for today the bakery is her special target – she is by far one of the 'cutest' ones in the gang, and can charm a storekeeper into giving her some surplus or samples. If not, the rest of us can use stealth to help ourselves in.

I dance away from the store, repeating the motions over and over. A couple candies here, a bar of soap from a bag there. Just enough to make the theft worthwhile, but not visible. I carry a satchel, but never fill it more than half-way up – else I risk another gang pick-pocketing me. I even enter a couple shops; acquiring bread, milk, oils, cloth…

A boy waves at me – a signal. I should leave, regroup where always, but I don't. Teamwork isn't something I do often, and I know that none of them has kept an eye on me for the duration of my round. So I take another route back home, dropping off some of the loot into my room through the high window and then sneaking properly back to the hideout.

Which is nothing more than a copse of glorified trees near the wires that separate our District from the wilderness, where a gang of boys and girls group up after a steal. I'm greeted in as usual, through a half-witted code and 'Fox' being called out in muted speech.

I'm sure I wouldn't have been 'Fox' under more normal appearances, but I suppose I do look like one. And there is a fox on the hideout – a pelt that once upon a time belonged to a living thing. Next to arrive is Mouse-girl, then a boy I don't remember. The tall one who picked me up is perched on a branch, and I join him up there. Now comes the fun part – dividing the spoils between us. There are two leaders at the moment – Tareesa's elder brother known as 'Lynx' among us; a girl round about his age who we only know as 'Spark'. The gaggles of twittering teenagers quiet for a second, then we all empty our bags.

I see interesting things – fresh kills from those who decided to hunt rather than steal today, some cash, worthless trinkets that glimmer vainly among the miscellaneous supplies. Spark usually appropriates these: no one knows why, but she does. And because she is fair with the divisions, no-one cares.

The news about the Reaping goes around even though we all know about it. There is a high chance one or two of us won't be seen again, and the group needs to scan out for recruits in case that happens. But no-one makes any contingency plan – one dies, and the family won't hear a peep about the gang's doings. If they didn't know when we were alive… well, now they can't care too much.

I remember returning home to another girl dying on the screen, her final battle against a swifter female armed with twin dirks. My satchel is still half-full, a couple of birds waiting within for dinner. Audrey lay sleeping on the couch, looking to all like the last dead girl but with scarlet hair instead of black. And Joel was perched on the armrest, eyes glued to the victor's grin… and the way she fell grateful to her knees when the hovercraft came to take her away and crown her a winner. He calls to me – Vermillion today, because it was Ruby yesterday and he loves calling me shades of red.

I don't remember him ever calling me by name. Or anyone, for that matter. Audrey is too young, and one of the more scatter brained boys called me 'fox' near her, so it stuck. But most of all, I don't remember sleeping well.

I remember complaining that I didn't get any berries at the division though. And I had made a mental note to go and steal some tomorrow…

After the Reaping.

A.N. – I know it's a kind of overused idea… But I'm a Foxface fangirl, so that's it. And I really do hope you enjoy!