District 9 fan fiction

I woke up to another ordinary day. Got dressed, ate my breakfast (or what little piece of scrap bread we had leftover from last week's shipment), and got ready to go out in the fields. Papa makes me dress all in tan colored clothing so ill blend in when were out in the wheat fields. He says that is the Peacekeepers knew I was harvesting, they'd put me back in that school again. I can't ever go back there.

I hurry to my parents' bedroom to wake up papa for work. But when I get to the door both mama and papa are already up. "Amber honey, why are you wearing your harvesting clothes?" my mama asked me. "Cause its harvest time Mama, you know that". "Aw sugar pie…" she stood up and hugged me, "you know we can't plow today, it's the reaping".

The Reaping. I had totally forgotten. Two kids from every district forced to compete in that stupid blood battle. It sickened me and I just wanted to skip the whole thing entirely and spend my days out in the fields. Those beautiful…. Flowing fields…..

My name is Amber Korrel. My mama named me after that old song they used to sing called "God Bless America". Of course now the scientists in the Capitol have proved the non-existence of God and America is now Panem. Anyways, there was a line in it that said "amber waves of grain". Korrel means grain in some old language I think they called Dutch? Apparently it comes from the land our family originated from a long time ago. (This also explains my unnatural light skin and long blonde hair. Another reason I fit in so well in the fields) I have no idea why Mama wants to name me after a song that doesn't matter anymore, but at least she got one thing right. I belong in the fields. Whenever I see the wind sweep across the millions upon millions of blades of wheat, fields that go on for miles in all directions, I know I'm right where I'm supposed to be. And those stupid reapings keep me from being in my one true happy place. No wonder I'm suddenly depressed.

Mama takes it as nervousness and tries to sooth me. No matter how many times she says "it's gonna be alright sugar" or "honey dear don't worry your sweet little mind over nothing ya hear?" I still know I'll be spending my day not surrounded by gorgeous grain fields but by sweaty school- going teenagers. This both bores and horrifies me at the same time.

On my way to the center, I walk side by side with the kids from my neighborhood. I barely recognize my old best friend, Honey Montag.