Tesserae

I woke to find the house my mother and brother live in completely empty – as it has been every morning from five o'clock for the past month, so this comes as no surprise. The food lack in District 12 has gotten so bad lately, all hands are working to earn, or learning so they can earn as well. But I have been allowed to stay in.

It's strange. My mother is strict with us, especially since dad died. It's almost like she tried to take on his spirit, the brave one, the strong one that held us all together, but combined it with her gentle nature the wrong way. She hasn't ever been the same since. I don't think any of us have. It's made me much stronger, having to run the family, look after everyone on my own. Mother works for the tiny old woman that makes alcohol, and sells it for her in our main trading place. The Hob. It used to be an old warehouse for the coal our District makes, but it fell into disrepair and has become a sort of Black Market for all sorts of items – illegal food hunted in the forest. Clothes, anything that can be sold to make a little bit of money.

That is also the last place my father went before he died.

Two years in a few weeks, I remind myself. It's not like I need to – the thought's been nagging my mind for months. But still. I'm never, ever allowed to sleep into school hours, never have been and probably never will be. I get up off of my little bed and wander over to the one window that you can still see through. It's fairly sunny outside, but the air is chilly, and sends a shiver down my spine.

My stomach gives an unhealthy lurch as I remember what day it is.

June the 8th. My twelfth birthday. Or, as mother would put it - Tesserae day.

I turn from the window, and sit back down on the bed. I suppose this is why I she didn't wake me, as a support. A better support would have been going with me, or a 'happy birthday!', but she doesn't seem to understand that I have feelings. Or that Thomase has feelings, and I suppose that comes with the trouble of raising your two (fairly) young sons alone, with no source of income or support.

But hopefully that will improve now I'm twelve, getting the Tesserae means free oil and grain every month for a year per person, for just the small price of putting your name into the reaping for each Tesserae you want. Three for me, then. Three for the next six years, and probably more than that when Thomase becomes twelve. Because I'm not letting him get into that ball more than he has to – there's no point. No point in him having more than a tiny chance amongst hundreds, when I can do that for him. The nauseous feeling has returned with a vengeance as I imaging the last year's games.

The boy from our district, barely three years older than me, getting his head sliced open a day after bloodbath at the cornucopia, for attempting to join the careers. The girl faring no better, older and slightly wiser, running up to the mountains surrounding the arena and causing an avalanche. Climbing out, drying off in the open, only to be stabbed in the back by a girl half her size and thirteen years old.

Suddenly I feel grateful for mother letting me stay in. Nobody in their right mind would put their name in more than they had to if they had no need to. Like Districts 1, 2 and 4. They have plenty of everything- alright, not as much as the Capitol but still more than some of the rest of us put together.

Those three have the most winners, probably due to the fact they actually do have enough food, enough money and enough people in their district to manage to keep it running, not working for twelve hours a day to earn enough for a pot of stew. They can train – although it's illegal, but when has anyone bothered with the rules? – And put the rest of us at a disadvantage. Especially 12. We go to work in the mines at the age of eighteen, because of some 'safety hazard'; whilst elsewhere they are trained to work with whatever their district does from a young age.

So tributes from Seven can use axes. Three can use technology. Eleven know about plants. Four, Two and One are Career tributes, with enough wealth to support them. Five, Six, Eight, Nine and Ten don't have much training that could be of use in the arena. What good is it, knowing how to look after cattle in a fight to the death? So of course, for the past 6 or 7 years, the poorer, lower class District Tributes haven't made it past the first few days. Let alone won.

As for District 13, they were blown off of Panem by the Capitol 46 years ago. As some sort of warning that rebellion must not happen, and that is the consequences if a District rebels. Half of the people from Twelve were caught up in the explosion – made much worse by the nuclear that 13 produced, so we have roughly a third of the amount of people living here than in say, Eleven.

I take a breath and wash in the freezing water mother has set out for me, and get dressed. Our house has no form of heating or electricity, and it's a miracle we have a working water system. To get warm water we have to boil it over a fire, and by the time it's done we could have washed and dried off in the cold. So we rarely bother.

My hands are shaking slightly as I reach for the door and pull it open. The Tesserae is the only way were going to get any fuel or grain for weeks – supplies were cut off after a heavy flood damaged the train lines from the Capitol. It's not like they're in a hurry to fix it, so we'll be left for a few months until someone up there realises that they aren't getting any coal. The mayor and the miners will get in trouble then, because it will be their entire fault that the Capitol is coal less.

The head peacekeeper here, Cray, won't do anything to bad to them, though. I suppose that's the good part about living in such a rundown district – everyone's so hungry and desperate for food or money that laws are neglected and punishments aren't handed out when it's found out. I've seen the peacekeepers in the Hob before – even though it's illegal, they still buy fresh food from the few hunters, and all of the alcohol Mother sells.

I take a breath again to calm myself, and then walk into the bright sun. The air is cooler out here than it is in the house, so I shiver once, then tell myself to stop. It's no good in being scared. They'll take it into their advantage.

I see a few of my friends, hanging around the gates of our school. It's not much of a school – just a few rundown buildings full of chairs so that we can study together. It must not be too late, then, if there are people lined up outside.

A small part of my brain that has not been numbed with fear hopes that Mother gave Thomas a note for me, explaining the 'circumstances' of why I'm not there. If not, the peacekeepers will be around our house, questioning us and setting some form of punishment. It won't be harsh though, they need mother to keep selling or they won't get any drink.

Hatch waves me over when he sees me, and the boys all turn to look. Some of the older ones shake their heads slightly as I come.

"Are you going to get the Tesserae today, Haymitch?" he asks. Hatch has been my best friend for a few years – he had his birthday a few months back, to get the Tesserae. Luckily when I get mine, I have almost a year before the next reaping. His was right before it, and he came in shaking and white.

I nod silently, and cast a glance around the group he's standing with. I don't know some of them, but Hatch's father is one of the few that hunts, and so Hatch goes with him. I presume that these are some of his father's friend's sons.

"Don't worry about it – just be confident. It's easy, really," he claps me on he shoulder.

I raise my eyebrows at him and retort, "Says the person that came in panicking and almost threw up on Calanda,"

The boy's chuckle and Hatch gives me a look. "That wasn't my fault. She got in my way."

"And now she hates you," I finish, smirking. Hatch gives a dramatic sigh and rolls his eyes.

"Yes, but she'll be fine. Her parents work in the Apothecary – I'm sure she recovered."

I half smile as he gives a look at Calanda's back. Usually he's much quieter and thoughtful, but his attempts at cheering me up put me in a better mood as I say goodbye, wave and continue down to the Justice Building in the centre of Twelve.

When I push open the hall doors, two tall peacekeepers come to my side and walk me over to a bright blue woman sitting at a screen. It's almost as if they expect me to attack the building and steal, the way they flank me, and give small but threatening pushes in the right direction. But nobody with half a brain would try that here. A tribute once came in here years ago after being reaped, and picked up a silver bookmark. Apparently when the capitol found out, they killed her.

I ask the woman with freakishly blue skin for three Tesserae, and she glares at me before grabbing my wrist and stabbing me with a needle on the end of my finger.

She wipes the blood on a pad, and it hisses before sending out three small slips of paper, each reading my name in tiny, beautifully neat handwriting. She folds them over, and nods briefly, motioning for the peacekeepers to lead me through to the back.

The entrance widens out into a large main chamber, complete with all of the reaping balls, tables and the massive screen that the Games are shown to us on. My body tenses up again as I am marched towards them, to the long table the balls are perched on.

The peacekeepers freeze, going into traditional army stances that I see at every reaping.

"Do I just put my name in?" I ask quietly. It's not normal for me to be quiet, but it seems respectful towards all the many tributes forced to their deaths, through these rooms, through this building, the last they ever see of 12.

The peacekeeper nods, and I step forwards. A small shiver shoots up my spine – I try to ignore it but it seems to grow, making me shake again and almost drop the three small slips.

Three small slips that could well be the difference between life and death.

I put them inside, and turn to leave. The peacekeepers do not follow me – instead, they turn through a small doorway off the main hall.

I find them again when I come outside, waiting with three small wagons, about the size of a child's toy, and tell me to come back next year.

And to have a 'Very Happy Hunger Games.'

At least I have almost a year until the next time Reaping comes around.

I go into the house after dropping the grain and oil around the back of our little house, and mother waits inside for me.

I approach her slowly, and her eyes flicker over my face before stepping forward and embrace me.

I pat her back gently, and she shakes slightly. I only stopped a few houses away, and when she pulls back to look at me, I start all over again.

"Oh Haymitch, I'm sorry. So, so sorry," she murmurs, still gazing into my eyes.

It possibly the most sincere thing she's said since dad died and I can tell she means it. There's a first time for everything, I suppose.

"It's alright," I tell her, and suddenly feel uncomfortable. I turn to look at the door, and carry on.

"I took out three. One for you, one for me and one for Thom,"

A pained expression crosses her face as I turn away, standing up fully and head into the little room Thom and I share.

She follows me in and sits on the bed, looking out of the window as I get changed into things more suitable for school.

I finish pulling on a shoe as she stands and straightens the bed sheets, then comes over and hugs me again.

"Thank you," is all she says as we stand here, supporting each other for a while until I really have to go, return to school or face a visit from the peacekeepers.

A small lump forms in my throat as I look at her, nod and turn out of the house.

I am still shaking as I pass the road to the Justice Building, the shiver from the sight of the reaping balls has returned, and I try to calm myself.

My mind seems to be in override, my legs keep moving as I mull over the sensation. I begin to wonder, to think that it might just be my natural instinct of fear kicking in at the sight of the think that sends so many to die, before a dark thought enters my mind.

A sick feeling rises up in my throat that I push down immediately as I try to shake it out of my head, focusing on here and now.

Maybe, just maybe, that won't be the last time I stand in front of those balls.

And maybe, just maybe, it will be under entirely different circumstances.

Like being reaped.

AN: Hello! This is my first story, so please no flames.

I might do a little series of 'Into the Arena', featuring all the victors and their games, lives and deaths, after this.
I haven't seen any Haymitch arena fics, so here we are.

Review to let me how I did? It would be nice to get feedback. Especially after nearly being baked alive, as the weather in Dear England has deccided it wants a turn at being Australian. i.e. Very Hot.
You may also call me Flame (or Katie, but on here Im 'Flamey-whoo'), and yes, any Harry Potter or Star Wars TCW may know my friend Wolffe41. I like to think that she based Katie Armstrong on me, but that is another rambling. And I met her after, so its not. But check out her work, its really good!

~Flame