Chapter 1: The Gingers of District 12

The sun's rays are the best alarm clock there is.

The only reason I even know an alarm clock's basic function is through school; it's an invention that only those in the Capitol can afford. But it can't be any good because nothing beats waking up to the rays of the sun shining through the flimsy curtain of my bedroom window.

I share the room, and even the bed, with my little sister, Primrose. She's twelve, but still feels like a tiny child to me. I don't mind splitting the covers. We appreciate body heat more than other people, because Seam folks cannot even afford the heating systems that the Merchants own.

That's where I live, the Seam, as I finish getting dressed in my boots, thin pants and my father's hunting jacket. It's the poorest section of the poorest district in Panem - District 12. Where you can starve to death in safety.

But just because you can starve does not mean people just submit to that reality. At least I don't, as I swing my bow and quiver of arrows over my shoulder on my way to the district fence bordering the woods. I've been rising early to hunt like this ever since I was not much younger than Prim, when our father passed away in a mining accident. These last five years, I have brought in good hauls, even if hunting beyond Twelve's borders should bring instant death to offenders. Thankfully, our Head Peacekeeper, Cray, is a total joke of a leader, completely ignoring rules such as poaching. After all, it is he who pays the most handsomely for my kills; I've never gotten below five gold coins from him. And he also ignores rules such as no prostitution, fragrantly running a sex ring of poor, desperate girls out of his bunk in the Peacekeeper Barracks. Even punishments for crimes are lenient to non-existent - I cannot recall when there last was a whipping.

All of this deniability and even cluelessness on the part of our district's leaders has allowed me to provide for my family in relative safety, without fear of retribution.

I am crossing the Meadow now, nearing the treeline where the woods begin. Stepping just inside the first underbrush, I spy the dark-haired, olive-toned boy standing over an impeccably made snare.

Gale Hawthorne and I share more than looks, though there's not much weight given to that, as all Seam folks look like they could be related. He and I have been sharing game to feed our families - six people between us, not counting ourselves. Both of our fathers also died in the same mining accident, only adding to our kinship. As I approach, Gale lightly punches my arm in greeting.

"Hey, Catnip. I heard some birds flitting about in the bush that-a-aways," and he sets off to show me where as I follow.

The Catnip nickname is an old joke between us, harkening back to the day when we first met. When I had encountered Gale in the woods, he had asked me my name, and I had been so intimidated by his hulking physique that my reply only came out in a whisper. He thought I said 'Catnip,' and even after I corrected the record, the name had stuck. Perhaps it's just as well. There are few moments where a joke can be enjoyed; few times where laughter is a legitimate reaction. It's hard to find much happiness in an existence such as ours. Living in poverty under a political system which ensures that, even if our local government can be subverted, the national government in the Capitol certainly cannot. And the Capitol makes sure to keep those beneath them in their rightful place. If that place happens to be squalor, all the better.

Gale and I come upon a clearing of thick hedgegroves, whereupon Gale picks up a rock and flings it into the brush. The birds - crows, by the looks of their wings - scatter amidst incessant cawing. Notching an arrow to the string, I fire without a second thought, and a bird goes down. I fire another, with the same result. I laugh at my success, in spite of myself. Smiling is a rare thing for me, not only for the few moments of happiness generally allowed, but because I am a very guarded person. Especially when it comes to my emotions. No one can get to you if you seal off those feelings which make you vulnerable, and I have adopted this lesson with almost everyone I meet to great effect. There are a few exceptions, of course, Prim being one. Gale being another.

Circling back around to Gale's snare, we discover it has nabbed a fine rabbit. Skinning it of its pelt, and bagging it with the number of birds and few squirrels we shot down today, we amble back towards the fence, figuring we have more than enough to make a morning run in the Hob. Maybe even a bit left over for a few other stops on our rounds.

The Hob is the Seam's illegal black market. The contraband that changes hands there on a daily basis should normally be enough to wipe out half the district on death penalties. But what Peacekeeper Corps would want to funnel through all those hangings? And even if one did, you wouldn't find a district more unenthused by the prospect than Twelve. Like I said, to be a Peacekeeper here is to have the easiest assignment in the whole nation. The white-armored soldiers spend more time guarding the place and even partaking in barters than tearing the stalls apart like they should.

Gale and I approach Greasy Sae's stall first. She's an old woman who is missing most of her teeth, and is quite the hardened battle axe. But she's nice enough to us, and has a granddaughter who is simply adorable. Sae runs the fresh meat between her gnarled fingernails.

"It will make for a hearty soup."

"Good pelt, too," I add to her observation, perfecting my skills at haggling. I have learned from experience how far just a few extra coins from a hard bargain can go. But Greasy Sae shakes her head.

"I don't have use for the skin right now, girl child. But you might want to try to the tanner for that."

I nod. "Six is fine, then. For the meat." I know that is probably all Greasy Sae can afford right now.

Gale and I move on to the tanner. As Gale is bargaining with him over the price of the skin, I look up to see a white-armored Peacekeeper swaggering over to me. If Peacekeepers here had any incentive to do their job properly, I should be scared at getting caught with such contraband. Yet, I relax - all the more so when I see how the flaming red hair clashes horribly with the white armor.

The Peacekeeper stops in front of me with a million-watt smile. "Hello, Katniss."

I can't help but give a shy upturn of my facial muscles back. "Hello, Darius."

Darius is one of the few Peacekeepers - nay, the only Peacekeeper - whom I actually enjoy being around. Even more than this, he is one of those elite people, other than Gale and Prim, whom I feel I can let my walls down with. Darius is young, only 20 by my estimation, with a chiseled face and broad chest. The ginger hair that flows down to his shoulders completes the look. I've always admired his hair, not only because it's the one of the only heads of its kind here in 12 (almost all Peacekeepers are foreigners imported from the Capitol or richer districts), but also because it seems hard to believe that the Corps here would allow him to grow it out so long.

Darius is also known to be quite extroverted and a jokester, as he makes a show of poking his head in my burlap sack. "What do you have for the Hob today?"

I shrug. "Couple of birds."

"I'll take one or two for the boys back at the Barracks."

I take the bait of the potential trade. Gale will be pleased. "Got the cash?"

"Sadly, no. But I have something even better," and Darius's eyes twinkle as he suddenly takes me by my waist and pulls me close. "How about a big, wet kiss from yours truly?"

Even though a bird for a kiss would be a perfectly reasonable barter - maybe not necessarily an equal barter, but still a legitimate one - I burst out laughing and push him away. "No, thanks."

That's the other thing. Darius is known as being quite the flirt in this district. He's been begging me for a kiss since I became a teenager; it's an old joke between us. Everyone in Twelve knows how averse I am to courting, dating, marriage or anything else resembling romance. All the more reason for Darius to "pursue" me in the amusing way that he does.

Gale finishes his trade and turns back to me. He looks between the jovial smiles Darius and I share and rolls his eyes. "Shove off, Darius! Ms. Everdeen has more trades to make."

Darius furthers the sport, bowing with a flourish in deference to my hunting partner. "My apologies to the chaperone."

Gale and I head on our way. "Take care, Ms. Everdeen!" Darius calls after us.


"Did Darius ask to suck your face off again?" Gale inquires, as we move on into the Merchant section of the district, otherwise known as 'Town.'

I grimace in revulsion over his choice of slang. "Well, when you put it that way..."

Gale just shakes his head. "He wants you that badly, he should just grab you and bash his tongue down your throat..."

"Gale!" I gawk, awkwardly laughing. "Darius does not want me. And even if he did try and kiss me, I'd punch his lights out before he got the chance!"

"Yeah, and then get written up. He's a Peacekeeper," Gale warns me, his mirth slumping back into seriousness. "If Darius ever does work up the balls to kiss you, just play along. No use getting in trouble for assaulting a Peacekeeper over a peck. There are much more worthwhile things to get thrown in the stocks for."

Gale's advice is surprising and deeply uncharacteristic of him, because if there ever was an opportunity for us to rebel here in Twelve, he would be the first to sign up. But perhaps he's just putting in his two cents to protect me, and not out of any true subordination towards the power that any Peacekeeper - even here - can wield.

We stop first at the Peacekeeper Barracks, by the Justice Building. I still have some crows left, and if I couldn't get a serious trade out of them with Darius, maybe I can with his comrades.

Unfortunately, Gale volunteers to knock on the door... and is met with the very last Peacekeeper we would want to trade with.

Purnia has the same flaming red hair as Darius. But unlike Darius, she is anything but a jokester. She is probably the only Peacekeeper in this entire district to take her job with any modicum of seriousness. When inspections of the Corps have passed through, she has often been mistaken as the Head Peacekeeper, which I am sure Cray sees as quite the insult. As such, Purnia is the only official in all of District 12 who doesn't just let Gale's and my poaching slide without questions asked.

Today is no exception.

Purnia takes one look at the crows Gale has offered and announces, "You got these from beyond the fence again."

Gale tries to feign innocence. "I'm a busy man. I don't have time to think about where I shot these."

"Certainly not in the center of town," Purnia scowls, hands on her hips. It is quite a shame she is so demanding even while belonging to the supposedly sweeter sex. For a Peacekeeper, Purnia is quite pretty - not a blemish on her face. Certainly prettier than me. Ordinarily, I would admire her spunk, except that spunk is currently getting in the way of a potentially lucrative trade.

Gale and Purnia bicker back and forth for a few more minutes, before Purnia finally sighs and swipes away a few crows, with coins as payment. "I'll put these in our stores for the boys. But this is the last time, Hawthorne! I mean it!" And she slams the door in our faces. I almost feel bummed that she didn't yell at me; I am just as at fault.

As we walk away, I give Gale a questioning look. "Is it the last time?"

"No," he deadpans. "That's what she always says."


Our last stop of the morning is the Mellark Bakery. It is a Merchant establishment, which actually poses a greater risk than even dealing with the Peacekeepers - most Merchants turn up their noses at anyone Seam. Even the matriarch of this family views Gale and I with disdain. Which is why I tentatively knock in the hopes that she, "the Witch", is not home. The Baker's wife is known to be a shrew of a woman, and there are rumors of abuse going on in this house.

So I am relieved when it is Peeta Mellark, the Baker's youngest son, who opens the back door. He is of average height, stocky build; he's a wrestler in school. Ashy blonde hair and deep blue eyes. A boyish grin adds the finishing touch. It was that very grin that endeared me, and more critically Gale, to him. Another of the few people in Twelve with whom I can be my more vulnerable self.

"Great! She's not home. Out on an errand. Come on in!" Peeta leads us up the narrow hallway and out into the space behind the counter. I admire his bravery for trading with us out here in the relative open, especially when his mother could return at any moment. The Witch would not hesitate to launch both Gale and me into the stocks - probably the only Peacekeeper punishment used with any regularity at all.

I produce the squirrels for Peeta and we begin our sale. Peeta pays quite generously for the animals - not so much for himself, but for his father, the Baker, whom I am told has developed quite the guilty pleasure for them. Today is no different, as Peeta drops a full ten coins into my palm.

"Buy something for Prim," he tells me. "Her birthday's coming up, right?"

I actually beam, and feeling most grateful, peck my lips against Peeta's cheek. "Thank you."

I jump back a little as I draw away, as I see a redheaded girl now blinking in surprise. If the sight of Katniss Everdeen in a Merchant shop is not surprising enough, the sight of Katniss Everdeen being freely affectionate certainly is. "Oh, hi, Delly."

Delly Cartwright is the daughter of the shoemaker. And is probably one of the most bubbly people I have ever met. She is always smiling and has never uttered so much as a harsh word about anyone. Gale has more than once referred to her as a cartoon character come to life, and I find myself agreeing with him. I can only ever take Delly in small doses.

"Hi, Katniss! Hi, Gale! Didn't expect to see you here today. What lovely squirrels. You guys are such great hunters." She pauses in her high praise to drop a pair of shoes on the counter. "Tell Rye to bring those four coins by sometime in the next day or two, Peeta."

Peeta grins as he reaches back to pluck the pair off the wooden surface. "He'll be very pleased. Thanks, Delly!"

I almost think I see Delly blush as she scampers out the door.

"Better scram before you-know-who gets back," Gale rationalizes. "Thanks, Peeta, buddy! See you later!"

"Bye now!" Peeta sees us out the back door with a wave.

As soon as we are out of earshot, Gale rounds on me. "What, no kiss for Darius but a peck for Peeta? Something you want to tell me, Catnip?"

"I have nothing to say to you," I retort, keeping my face neutral despite Gale's teasing jab.