District 1: Luxury Goods for the Capitol
District 2: Mining elements and making weapons (also unofficially provided Peacekeepers)
District 3: Electronics/Technology
District 4: Fishing
District 5: DNA Splicing/breeding
District 6: Medicine and other scientific research (aka morphlings)
District 7: Lumber and paper products
District 8: Textiles
District 9: Food Processing
District 10: Livestock
District 11: Agriculture
District 12: Coal mining
District 13: (now terminated) Graphite Mining (used to make nuclear reactors)
Chapter 1.
I walk across the woods wind in my hair and all around me. This is my home. Not the stuffy government provided one, the real one that lives within my heart. Here I feel free, the trees are my extended family, but the real family lay hidden so deep I have to really hurry before it gets dark or I'll get lost.
There they sit, in the small hut I constructed. Mylar, and Palma, and also their daughter that I helped birth Pillar. I throw down my bag. Yes, this is my true home where I can do no wrong, where there is no such thing as despair, depression, drunkenness, abuse. This place is warm, though the rain water drips through a couple openings. But I can fix that. Mylar and Palma have lived here since I can remember which is about when I was nine years old. They were refugees after the uprising of District 8, our neighbor district to the west. Pillar opens my bag and grabs the herbs I had snagged from several trees earlier today. Since I'm part of the "lumber gathering system" and I'm tiny, I have to climb to the top of the tree to get the small twigs out before the jacks can go in and actually cut down the tree, all the twigs I get, along with other people's, make our surplus of firewood that supplies the whole district, but what the law enforcement doesn't know, that when summer hits, fruits and flowers with nectars bloom up there and I secretly keep these for my family and close friends. When I say family, I mean the people going through my bag right now. My real blood family doesn't need the nectar because they have that vile drink called vodka.
"Lizza." Pillar calls. "What plant is this?" she examines it with care.
"That is a bulb; I found it at the base of a tree." She inhales it deeply.
"Smells like…hickory."
"I don't know." I look far off into the woods. "Didn't look." I've seen so many trees, I've lost count. I've been climbing since I was 7. Though my job is to climb trees, my secret hobby is to climb rocks. It's much more exhilarating and much more stable. But I am thankful I wasn't stuck in the paper factories like a couple of my friends. It stinks and you work well until 2 in the morning, then you come home, and of course wash yourself off because you smell like pulp and then collapse on the bed, often without dinner. You get 25 minutes for lunch and dinner there, but if you bring food, people will attack you so fast, it'll be gone before it touches your lips. Especially if its meat. Since we live in such a dense area, you'd think there would be plenty of animals around. But there's not. What with the jacks clomping around, and us scurrying up trees where there would usually be squirrel nests, we've scared into the fenced off area and into District 12. Most of us are herbivores, and vegetarians. I've actually never tasted meat in my life. Usually, I just eat mash, which is like oatmeal but bland, and apples and pears from my friends, and nectar from the flowers I find, and if I really want to, I can roast bark and make a delicious meal. Pillar grabs the bag and puts my findings in a pot of rainwater she has collected from the hole, she places it so close to the fire, and it just starts to boil. The greens mesh with the strains of red herb that I can only guess is saffron. The scent is heavenly. I pull myself off the hard and cold earth floor and brush myself off.
"Wouldn't mind if I stayed over tonight, would you Palma?" He mumbles a yes. Palma doesn't speak much, just tunes the radio they brought with them. Every night he tries for hours for a signal, and then listens to the Rebel air cast and names of dead rebel fighters, of course, not all of them are named. There are too many to name, but the ones we've heard of, the major ones who have whole platoons are important. District 7 is pretty secure. We don't really have food problems to complain about, there's always plenty of wood to burn. We get lots of rain and snow so we're good on water. Summers aren't hot because we're under trees. From what I've heard on his radio, I'm not going to begin complaining any time soon. I fine with the Peacekeepers as long as they don't mess with me. And, yes that sounds selfish but in theory, our district is fend for yourself or get turned up cold. People don't care about you up here. Don't mess with their family. We all have very strong families in our community and your last name matters. Usually, I'd be alright. The Masons have a place in society, or at least they did. People respect me. But I don't pretend like I don't know why. It's because of my traitor sister. The whole reason my father is drunk and snoring right now with no fire and drips of nevaeh sap sitting on the unsanded wood table. The only one thing I truly loathe is that god awful waste of flesh. Johanna had promised to never go to the games. Promised my mother she would never abandon me. Promised my father that whenever she said eat she would think of him because his name is Enosh. She never promised anything to me or my little sister. What did they do when my sister tore that tracker out of that girl, cat-something? They led my mother to the square, and shot her. What did they do to my sister when she got sick and I took her to the healer? They let me sit there for two days with no heat or food or water, and then, they gave her a poison so that she would die. All so Johanna could see their suffering on her behalf. She never writes, or calls, or contacts anyone back here. Her normal days were gone 5 years ago when she lied to everyone in the arena. Just like how she lied to me everyday, telling me she loved me. She had a job here. My fingers get numb with cold everyday because I pick up her slack that she long ago left for me to do. I'm glad Palma and Mylar aren't from this district. I can actually talk to them without harsh looks, or pity which is even worse. I don't get sympathetic glances for them. I am not judged because of what my sister did. I know that lying is bad, but I am not above to be able to be myself around someone.
Palma finally finds the station he's looking for 127.13. Of course, that's where the rebel base is. District 13. That's where my sister sits, no doubt addicted to morphling. And then I hear it. I hear that undeniable voice, filled with hope. It's Peeta. He can move mountains with words. People swoon over him all the time, forgetting about Katniss. Katniss is pathetic and rude and only thinks of herself and Peeta. Its her whole fault my sister isn't back here. Now Katniss goes into a report about people taken by the Capitol. And that's when I hear it. Johanna Mason, and a second later, I look out the door, and I see…planes. I quickly jump on Mylar, sitting with Pillar and Palma, covering the radio, and spilling the pot of herbs over. I look up and in an instant, everything is orange and yellow and black and I can smell it before I see it. We are like Katniss Everdeen. We are on fire.