CHAPTER 1

The sun's orange hue bore down on me as I slowly ran my hands across the heads of wheat that reached just past my waist. The mix of green and golden brown spread out equally in all directions around me as far as my eyes could see. Some people find this landscape boring, I find it impressive. It's almost unbelievable how the earth could be so perfectly flat for so far and I couldn't imagine a sight more beautiful than the one before me now, a wonderful blending of orange sky and golden brown landscape.

"This wheat will be ready to harvest soon Spark, should be a good year for us."

Spark just looks at me with a questioning expression, curios as to why I had mentioned his name. I know that dog probably didn't understand a thing I said, but since my parents had pulled me out of school shortly after the end of the war I hadn't had much in the way of friends. I was only eleven when the war ended four years ago and when classes resumed old friends avoided me and new kids kept away. I wasn't sure why, but dad says it's because the war changed people so I stopped worrying about it.

"It's getting pretty late Spark, we better head home,"

Again with that questioning look! Before heading out I pull my sickle off my belt and gently cut a few wheat heads off their stems and throw them into my back pocket, dad will want to take a look. I make my way out of the field and onto the dry mud path that leads home. It's not too long of a walk and I'm sure Spark enjoys the exercise just as much as I enjoy the solitude and peace these walks afforded us. Tonight will be the last few moments of peace we'll get for some time seeing as how tomorrow is such a big day in District Nine, tomorrow is the day of the reaping. Hunger Games season is upon us.

I walk up to our small wooden cabin located in the sea of golden brown just as the smell of fresh baked bread fills my nostrils. The cabin is small yes, but it's cozy and considering that our first few homes following the war were burnt down by vandals we've discovered that small is better. As far as life in District 9 goes we've got it pretty well, most families cannot afford their own farms and so the fact that we've got such an expansive property is a rarity. My parents were able to purchase it cheaply after the previous owners had been killed during the war and it's been our home ever since.

"There you are Alec, we were worried you'd miss dinner," my mom said as I walked through the rickety screen door.

"Spark and I were just checkin' the condition of the wheat crop this year," I say back as I pull a hot loaf of bread off the kitchen tray.

"And how's it lookin' son?" my dad who is already sitting at the table asks.

"Take a look for yourself Pa'" I respond throwing the few heads I had cut earlier onto the table, "I reckon we can start harvest in three weeks or so, most of the green stems seem to have matured already."

"That's great to hear, we've got a good crop this year and I'm sure the boys in town will appreciate being hired so early in the season for work," he says as his strong jaw pierces into a bread loaf of his own, then as his mouth is filled to the brim he adds, "I just hope the damn reapin' doesn't take any of them away from us this year. We'll need all the help we can get and we have a hard enough time getting folks to help us as it is,"

"What do you think my chances of being called tomorrow are? My name is in there a lot," I say keeping the subject of the reaping in the forefront, the mood of the room suddenly gets much more serious and I catch my mother shooting a concerned look at my father from across the kitchen. Somberly he says,

"You're sixteen now son, so your name is in their much more than we'd like. But you're a strong kid and we need you here on the farm, I'm sure the Capitol knows that. Besides we gave up enough during the war as it is, your name won't be called, I'm sure of it,"

An eerie silence fills the room and I wish I hadn't asked the question. The war was something we never talked about in our household, it had changed people. The concept of the Hunger Games was also still hard for the people of District 9 to grasp. This would be the fourth year they occurred and each year seemed to be more brutal than the previous as the games have evolved more and more throughout the years. Some people believe the games are a temporary sensation that will be abolished once the Capitol deems any inklings of underlying resistance within the hearts of the district populations is officially destroyed, others rumor the games will be here to stay.

I've never personally known any of the tributes sent from District 9 (although I saw a few of them at school before I was pulled out) but that hasn't seemed to make watching them get slaughtered on television any less gut-wrenching or surreal and reaping day has become what is now the first day of what has become a yearly death march as District 9 has yet to submit a winner.

Year 1: Darrin Flamm (who was 13) and Jessica Thompson (who was 16) were reaped in what the Capitol touted as the great new event of our time that would remind the Districts that the war was our fault and a price would have to be paid for our transgressions. Many people didn't know what to expect and a few days later we watched a recap of the reaping in each district followed by Darrin and Jessica being lead into a massive circular arena filled with nothing more than dirt and grass along with 22 tributes from other districts. The names of each tribute and their district were read to the audience along with the rules. These tributes would fight to the death with the weapons provided and that only the winner would be permitted to leave. Shortly thereafter a buzzer signaled the officially start of the 1st ever Hunger Games and surprisingly the tributes went at it. The arena was small with nowhere to hide and the bloodshed was over in a matter of hours. Neither Darrin nor Jessica made it past the first 25 minutes. Xavier Lawrence, the son of a slain rebellion leader from District 2 became the first ever winner along with being that years only volunteer tribute.

Year 2: The rising platforms, cornucopia, and greatly expanded arena that boasted a variety of terrain was introduced to the games in what the Capitol hoped would "make the Hunger Games both a test of combat and survival skills that would also increase the length of the time the games took to complete ensuring the most overall capable competitor wins." We sent Yoni Westly (age 17) and Brittany Dores (age 14) that year, Yoni fell fighting at the Cornucopia within the first two minutes but Brittany ran off without attempting to gain any supplies and managed to survive almost two full days before dehydration caused her to collapse as the vast amounts of salt water in the arena had made drinkable sources difficult to find. She died a few hours later when another tribute discovered her near-lifeless body and slit her throat for good measure. The winner that year was the boy from district four.

Year 3: Another poor showing for district 9 as neither tribute made it out of the cornucopian blood bath. Pre-game interviews with the tributes along with the chariot parade through the Capitol were conducted for the first time last year and the Victor's villages were also built in each of the districts to house current and future victors although I don't see how all the luxurious houses could ever be filled. The arena was a luscious forest that I could have never imagined and many of the tributes who found themselves still alive after the bloodbath were eventually killed off by the exotic animals within the arena. It was the first (and so far only) time we saw tributes team up and form alliances with one another which proved crucial as the 4 person team made up of a tribute from district two, four, and the two tributes from district one ended up becoming the final four candidates who then turned on each other in the most spectacular sequence of violence the games have yet seen. District two crowned its second victor and the Games' first female champion, Monica Kyte.

Tomorrow will mark the beginning of year 4 of these games and undoubtedly the Capitol will announce another round of new additions to the games in order to make them more spectacular and "enjoyable" than the last. Tomorrow two more kids from District 9 will be marching to their death.

"What about me dad? Can I get picked?" the voice of my 7-year old sister Susan snaps me out of my deep thought and quickly eliminates the silence that had filled the room and replaces it with smiles.

"No silly," my dad warmly smiles at her, "you're far too beautiful to be picked, the crops wouldn't grow if they thought you left to go visit the Capitol!"

I can't help but smile at his response, always protecting her from the harshness of our world. Always protecting all of us, even during the war I had never felt endangered and life within our refugee camp had been fairly comfortable even though he was rarely around. Maybe I had been too young to realize the reality of what was going on back then, but somehow dad had gotten us out of the war in better shape than where we were when it had started.

I finish up my bread and scarf down my share of the vegetable rations while making sure to save enough for Spark as his small, skinny frame needed all the help it could get. I excuse myself from the table and take Spark's share of the food to my room where he's patiently wagging his tail.

"There you go Spark,"

"That dog just won't get fatter will he," the voice of my mother makes me jump as I turn to see her.

"Sorry mom I know you don't like him in the house but he just seems to like it in here so much more than the shed outside, he helps me sleep," I say pleadingly without letting her say otherwise.

"Go ahead and get to bed both of you," she says, "it's a big day tomorrow so don't let it keep you up. You've been through these reapings three times already now and been fine, I'm sure tomorrow will be no different. Night Alec,"

"I know Mom, I'm fine thanks, goodnight," I say thrilled with the little victory Spark and I just achieved, "get into bed buddy," I say to him which I swear he definitely understands and the two of us snuggle up together and slowly drift to sleep surrounded by the expansive wheat fields of district 9, the looming reaping somehow manages to remain far from my thoughts.

CHAPTER 2

Today is a very hot day and after standing here amongst the other youth of district 9 for what has already been an hour waiting for the proceedings to get underway I've found the undershirt I'm wearing to be incapable of keeping the sweat from seeping into my good collared shirt. My glasses regularly slide down my nose and I find myself constantly having to adjust them.

The Capitol's representative to District 9 appears to be late or something because the last of the potential tributes trickled into their respective age columns twenty minutes ago and the anxiousness of everyone is easily felt in the air. I look around for a friendly face I might know, anyone who might be up for some small talk as we wait but my attempts fail. Everyone seems to almost avoid my eyes as I glance around, oh how it would be nice to have Spark at my side right now, at least then I wouldn't feel so alone in this crowd.

"Hello District 9!" The deep booming voice immediately grabs my attention and I swivel my head quickly towards the stage in front of town hall. A large fat man with an impressively styled beard stands at the microphone. In his younger years he probably could have been a prime athletic specimen but the Capitol lifestyle has taken a toll on his weight, not to mention his strange beard.

"I am Wez Hufferjaw, and I am honored to be your new representative from the Capitol! To say I look forward to developing a wonderful relationship with your district over the next few years is an understatement, for you are the breadbasket of our nation, the providers of Panem! Now let us proceed with the reason I am here,"

His love for our district makes sense considering the amount of bread he must consume to maintain that gut probably took two whole farms to produce. Meanwhile the crowd remains completely silent as we all maintain eye contact with the stage.

"Now before I go about selecting the young man and woman who will honorably represent this glorious district in the 4th annual Hunger Games I have some exciting new changes to announce!"

Quickly my mind begins to race, this is it, the next round of "improvements" that have been designed to make the games more spectacular and brutal are about to be announced, what could they be this year? I try to think of possibilities but my mind is unable to create any on the spot, what could they possibly want to add to the games?

"This year, for the first time ever," Wez booms, "the tributes from Districts who have provided a past winner will receive the services of these past victors as personal mentors in order to better prepare them for their participation in the games. In addition these mentors can provide assistance to their tributes throughout the course of the games by sending them gifts that can be purchased by fans residing in the Capitol!"

The reality of this statement sinks in. Past winners as mentors? The implication is clear, District 9 has no past winners whereas District 2 already has two! Such an addition overwhelmingly favors the tributes from districts 2 and 4 and puts everyone else at a massive disadvantage. Who will send us our gifts if only the mentor could do so? Who will prepare our tributes for their imminent death? No one. District 9 will have no one. I look around to see if anyone else has come to this realization but find nothing but blank stares focused on the stage. Am I the only one? Surely I can't be, someone else must get what this means.

"Now before you all rush to conclusions," Wez again booms into the microphone, "the Capitol is well aware that at this point in time most Districts do not possess a previous victor to act as their mentor. In order to keep those districts from being at a gross disadvantage, our President in his glorious wisdom has authorized the Games Committee to provide each of these districts with one mentor from the Capitol with previous combat experience until these districts have crowned a victor of their own."

My anger slowly subsides, I reacted too quickly in my assumptions. District 9 will get a mentor after all, even if it is probably someone who killed District citizens during the war it is better than no mentor at all.

"Those are all the new additions to announce, on to the big moment of selection!" Wez says with ever-increasing excitement, "first the girls."

The container filled with the names of District 9's girls is wheeled into place and Wez plunges his meaty fingers into the paper oasis of names. Silence somehow becomes even more silent as he unfolds the small sheet in front of himself and looks it over. The tribute has been selected and for this brief moment only he knows who it is, for these last few seconds someone is unknowingly watching their own life end before their eyes. Wez coughs a few times and yells,

"Arielle Rochester!"

Sobs begin to break out amongst the crowd immediately. The name is well known in District 9.

The Rochester family were some of District 9's most visible leaders during the Rebellion with Arielle's uncle being the outright head of District 9's rebel forces. He was killed mid-way through the war along with several of her cousins and 47 more of District 9's best soldiers in a suicidal defensive stand that prevented the Capitol advance into District 9 just long enough to allow the town's evacuation into the surrounding countryside. The sacrifice of those soldiers singlehandedly kept District 9 in the war and allowed rebel forces to regroup safely and develop an underground guerilla network which became one of the Rebellion's most successful in all of Panem. Arielle's parents headed the underground supply line operation which kept District 9's refugees fed and were immediately executed upon their capture near the end of the war. Their death marked the beginning of the unraveling of District 9's resistance and subsequent defeat one month later.

Today the Rochester family are regarded as heroes, Arielle being the only member of the family tree still alive after the war (she was just a child and therefore not involved in rebel activities) was essentially adopted by the entire district and has been cared for by the people ever since. Now at age fifteen she has been chosen to fight to the death. It seems almost like too convenient of a coincidence…

Sobs can be heard continuing to break out within the surrounding crowd as Arielle holds her head up tall, her beautiful red hair braided and her face stern as she walks towards the stage.

District 9 has just lost the closest thing we had to a princess.

"Now on to the men!" Wez shouts once again. The word 'men' is a funny one to use considering most of those eligible are nothing more than children. The sobs gradually quiet into whimpers for the moment and all the boys in my group focus intently on the hand rummaging around in the bowl that contains their names, hoping their slip is difficult to reach.

"To accompany Ms. Rochester in this year's Hunger Games, I present this year's male tribute to be:"

I can hear the blood pumping through my ears as I wait to hear what name is called.

"Alec Morro!" booms through the speakers surrounding the square. Immediately I begin scanning the crowd to locate the poor soul whose death has just been announced, rapidly I glance from blank face to blank face until I realize:

Everyone is looking at me. My name Alec Morro, I have just been marked for slaughter.

The eyes that so dedicatedly avoided my glances earlier now penetrate much like they did at school after the war, gasps and murmurs break out around me and a Peacekeeper forcibly grabs me by the arm and pulls me in the direction of the stage.

I feel dizzy but my feet scrape along the gravel square as if beyond my control, three years I've watched people walk up to this stage never thinking it possibly could be me one day, the odds we're too small I always told myself. But today it appears they were not in my favor.

As I make my way towards Arielle on stage, she greets me with nothing but a cold, penetrating look. As if anger is slowly consuming her from the inside. It's understandable since we've both just been picked for a game we never wanted to play and while anger is not my emotion of choice for this moment, perhaps it works for her. Wez says something to me as he shakes my hand but I don't hear it, I just stare back at those cold green eyes that refuse to relent. The murmurs and sobs continue until they are overpowered by Wez's voice for one final time as he proclaims,

"Ladies and gentleman of District 9, here are your tributes!"

And with that he raises our arms victoriously into the air and leads us into city hall followed by numerous Peacekeepers and local town officials, the large wooden doors covered in wheat-inspired carvings slam behind us and the never-ending expanse of perfectly flat earth disappears with it.