The Tributes


Fields of Gold

District 9: Terra Fylde

The Reaping


I saw rather than heard Patroclus Zed, the escort for District Nine, bellow the name of the female tribute. Silence fell over the crowd gathered outside the Justice Building. At first, I didn't hear anything. Just like every year, I had my hands pressed over my ears. As long as I didn't hear anything, I always thought, I didn't have to hear my name. If I didn't hear my name I could go home. I could leave with the others and just watch the televisions as I did every year.

Patroclus called again. This time, a peacekeeper took me by the elbow, prying my hands away from my head. I heard the applause. No! I hadn't heard my name!

"There she is! Terra Fylde everybody!"

The clapping stopped before I reached the veranda. I was thankful for the silence. I didn't have to cover my ears as I climbed the granite steps to what would be my death and was able to spare myself some dignity.

"Ah, welcome, my dear!" Patroclus ushered me to one side of the stage where I stood dumbfounded, watching the bright sun glint on his bald head. The lightness of his touch, however, and the movement of his lime green eyebrows told me he thought me beneath him, a girl to be pitied. Another farmer's daughter from District 9. Another girl who would die in his Hunger Games.

The sudden realization hit me then. Looking out over the faces gathered in the square, I realized I would die before I saw any of them again. My ears strained for the cry of a volunteer, someone to take my place. Again, silence.

I scanned the crowd, finding my Aunt and Uncle. Their grey eyes, faded from a life time of hard work in the fields, met mine and held fast. I felt the first hot tear drip quietly down my cheek

"And, now for the young man." I didn't watch Patroclus pull the name of my fellow tribute from the reaping ball. I was small for sixteen. I didn't fight. I made biscuits. Surely, he could easily kill me.

"Rowan Seedar."

Very easily.

Rowan Seedar was eighteen, over six-feet tall and built, or rather bred through generations of farmers, for heavy labor. Maybe I could convince him to kill me painlessly before the other tributes could get to me.

I watched Rowan climb the steps to stand beside me. His dark eyes were soft but his mouth was hard. He walked with a purposeful stride his stare fixed on Barrick Larkspur who would be our mentor. Surely, I thought, he would try to win. I hoped he would.

"There you have it, Ladies and Gentlemen of District 9. Your tributes for the fifty-fourth Hunger Games." Patroclus Zed waved his arms around and Rowan and I shook hands.

I'm so sorry. Rowan mouthed. I couldn't even nod, afraid of tipping out all of my tears like a tea pot.


"Terra!" Cried my Aunt Rhye as they let her and my Uncle into the room where they were keeping me before I was loaded onto the train to be carted away like cattle. She ran to me, surrounding me in her embrace. I collapsed into the soft suppleness of her. She wrapped my long ponytail around her hands and held my head tightly. Uncle Mill rubbed heavy-handed circles on my back. This is how I spent the first night after my parents' deaths. Even now, during such a time, I took comfort in them.

After a long time, Aunt Rhye let me go and held me at arm's length. She looked me up and down just as she had done this morning after I had dressed myself for the reaping. We both knew she was looking at me for the last time.

Uncle, Mill, though, was more stalwart.

"Don't be gone too long, now," he said as if he might cry. "I'll be needing plenty of help when it comes time for the harvest."

I shook my head. It was a lie. I wouldn't be coming home.


"So," said Barrick over dinner that night on the train to the Capitol. "You've spent a lot of time in the fields, you're obviously strong. But," he grabbed another roll. I had lost my appetite when I woke up this morning and it had not returned. "Don't focus on that. Every boy from District Nine is built for farm work. What else can you do?"

"I can use a scythe," said Rowan.

Barrick, with his long hair tied back in a loose ponytail, contemplated this new information.

"That will be good. It's a rare weapon, but if you do well enough these next couple of days, the Gamemakers might throw one in the cornucopia for you."

"What about you, Dollface. What have you got for us to work with?" Patroclus asked me.

"What?" I pushed some kind of purple pea around on my plate, feeling overwhelmed and sighed. He did not repeat his question, but echoed my sigh.

"Oh, look at her, Barrick," said Patroclus, waving towards me with his wine glass. "the only weapon this girl could ever use is a knife and only against a carrot." To emphasize his point, he speared one on his fork. "If I were you, I'd focus on him." A green eyebrow raised in haughtiness as he pointed his now empty fork at Rowan.

Barrick just gave him a glare of his own.

"If I remember correctly, I am their mentor. I wish you would trust me to do my job."

He turned to me, wrapping my hand in both of his.

"Terra," he said, "I'm not going to give up on you." With one finger he tipped my chin away from my plate so I was looking him right in the eye. I saw his determination there and could almost feel a spark rise in myself.

"I promise you," he told me, "I will never give up on you, but you have got to help me out."

I might have even smiled.


Up soon will be the next part of Terra's story as well as few other tributes I've thought of. If you guys have any ideas or would like to see anything happen in particular, shoot me a PM and I'll give you a shoutout! Please leave a review this is my first Hunger Games fic and one of my first first-person pieces so I would love the feedback.