CHAPTER 1

THE AWAKENING

QUINCY

I woke up to my brother kicking me in the gut. "Gage," I whispered, "Cut it out." He just groaned. "Gage," I repeated, slapping him on the shoulder, "Stop it."

Gage groaned again, and then opened his brown eyes, the same color of Nala, our cow's, fur. "What do you want, Quincy?" He asked, still dazed.

"Stop kicking me," I quietly exclaimed.

"I can't help it, we're in a queen with four people." He did have a point there. In our family, there were seven of us kids, Gage, Merrill, Kayla, Beau, Phelan, Gilliam, and me. We had three beds in our small house, two of which were in the kids room. The kids room had shabby wallpaper, tearing at the edges, which once was a beautiful aqua, and was now a faded blue.

"Whatever, let's wake up the others." The process wasn't too hard, as we were used to it, and didn't involve us dumping water on each other, because, quite frankly, we didn't have an abundance of the stuff!

We all wore the same outfit-some sort of undershirt with pants, and jean overalls-so it was pretty easy to keep track of us.

Here in District 10, where we specialized in raising livestock, what you wore didn't matter, as by the end it would be soaked in sweat, mud, or rain. I put on my blue rainboots that were the color of the wall, and trekked downstairs to get breakfast ready.

I jumped over the creaky stair, not wanting to wake my parents up. My dad worked long days in the shops, trying to sell our eggs and milk, trying to make a few extra pennies. My mom stayed in the pens all last night, as Nala, the cow, was about to have her heifer, which explained our namesake.

I toasted some of the rough bread made from tessera, grain that helped keep our family alive, but made me put another slip of paper into the shiny, glass ball.

But that's another story.

Phelan walked down the stairs, almost tripping over the bottom one, as he was yawning and trying to pat down his mussed blond hair.

"Hey sis," he said, "What's for breakfast?" He spoke without an accent, all of us did, because we lived in the land that was once called the Midwest, not down South.

"Same old, same old." I muttered. The only days we ever got extravagant breakfasts was on Reaping Day, which could also turn into one of the most depressing days.

Last year, the girl tribute representing District 10 was named Lila, and she was one of my closest friends. Unfortunately, she was killed in the Cornucopia Bloodbath, and was the fourth dead.

We had a grand number of four victors, there in District 10, two of which have just won since I was born.

Phelan brought me out of my thoughts with the sound of breaking china. One of the jars, filled with marmalade, had burst apart on the ground, and I screamed at him, "You idiot! Why didn't you let me reach it?" I swatted his head with a towel that Mom made out of thread from District 8.

"Because you were making toast!" Phelan reasoned.

"You could've interrupted me!" I heard footsteps coming from the hall. "Great, you've now woken up Mom and Dad!" I blew some of my brown hair out of my eyes, which were the color of hazelnuts.

"What's going on in here?" Dad asked, yawning.

"Oh nothing." I slowly said. "Can you get a broom from the cellar?"

"Sure thing." Dad winked at me. I can see why my mom married him. He looked just like the other men in District 10-tall, with brown hair and eyes-yet he was endearing, and witty, and charismatic, and the list could go on and on and on.

At that moment, the other five of us walked in, all in their usual outfits. "Okay guys," I directed, "I'm going to need full attention today, as winter is coming, so we need to gather enough crops, so we will have enough to feed the cattle." I had to tell them what to do, because I was the oldest, and without order, these people would be as lost as a spoon in a bail of hay. "Kayla and Beau, you will be collecting the eggs since you are the youngest, the rest of you need to milk the cows. Phelan and I will get the plows going."

We couldn't afford a decent breakfast, much the less electric plows. Oh no, we had some of our oxen pull a contraption that farmers came up with years ago.

"But I don't wanna collect the eggs!" Kayla whined. "None of the chickens like me! I wanna milk the cows!"

"Kayla, why don't you get a head start on shucking the corn."

"Fine!"

Mom walked into the kitchen, and a few seconds later, the toast ejected from the toaster. It was made in the Capitol, and could hold ten pieces at once. It was a gift after Wyvern Holdem won the Games a few years back.

"Hey guys, guess what?" She asked.

"What?" We all asked in unison.

"Nala had her heifer! Isn't this great?"

"Yeah. Has she stood yet?"

"Nah. But she'll get there."

Beau didn't know how to collect eggs. That was an understatement, actually. Where did the even come from? That was a question the seven year-old couldn't wrap his tiny head around.

He reached in the small pen, which was just an old bookshelf covered in hay, and grabbed the egg. He remembered what Daddy had told him, Check their ears to find out what color egg they'll be laying.

Beau didn't understand why. Who cares what color egg the hen will lay anyway? But he would follow orders. That's what his sister, Gilliam, told him to do.

He put the egg back in the cubbyhole, and then grabbed the hen. She pecked at his arm. "Ouch!" he squealed. There were no ears, well not the ones that looked like his at least.

Whatever, he thought to himself. I'll just tell them that I am allergic to chicken feathers! He put the hen back in her pen, and then swiftly grabbed the egg. One down, forty more to go.

Hen number twenty-eight was not very cooperative. Beau was too short, and couldn't reach any of the chickens on the top row. He went inside the farmhouse, and got one of the wooden stools under the dirty sink. After swatting the cobwebs, he walked back into the chicken house.

After many failed attempts, Beau finally got the hen partially out of the shelf. She was being stubborn, and rather unpleasant. He had scratch marks on his arms to prove it. After one final hoist, he doubled back, right into Quincy, who decided to come in at that moment.

The bruise would not be pretty, as his elbow made contact with her face faster than you can say corn niblets. "Ughhh!" She let out. Tears welled in her eyes.

"Sorry," Beau squeaked.

Quincy looked like she just swallowed a lemon. "Why don't you help us milk the cows instead? I'll have Merrill collect the eggs."

"Okay," he said, his voice barely audible.

Quincy started hastily walking out.

"Wait, Quincy, I have a question."

"What is it?"

"Where do eggs come from?"

As the oldest children, Phelan and I had the luxury of working in the stockyard and slaughterhouse. Dad told us all that once we were fourteen, this would become a part of our duties. Since Phelan had just turned fourteen a few weeks ago, he was still a newcomer.

I comforted the cattle and other animals before they went to get murdered. Dad taught us how to use an ax, as that was the easiest way to quickly kill the livestock. They also had multiple uses, like cutting down trees for kindling and firewood.

I never wanted to go in the slaughterhouse again. After my first time at age fourteen, the putrid stench of raw meat and blood has made me pass out. I would never make a good tribute.

I sprinkled oats from District 9 to the chickens, running my fingers through their plumage, until I got bitten by a rooster named Chuck.

I never liked them anyway.

"Which one's next?" Dad hollered through the cruddy logs of the slaughterhouse.

"Why not some of these roosters? Preferably Chuck."

"Gotcha, hun." He walked out the door, grabbing a pen of roosters with his strong, bronze arms, and then ran back into the building.

I noticed one of the roosters waddling away, clucking occasionally. I hoisted him up, and then threw him into the slaughterhouse. "One got away, I think it's Colo." To confirm my suspicions, I looked at his feet. Slightly mangled from a fight with a coyote, and scaly with orangey-coral claws. That's him.

I saw Phelan walking out of the slaughterhouse, trying not to vomit, but still gagging. His hair shined in the sun, but the temperature was plummeting, as it was late autumn. He had dirty-blond locks, the lightest hair in our large family of nine.

"So how was it?" I asked. "Entirely nasty?"

Phelan nodded. "I don't know how Dad can spend a day in there, much the less an hour."

"Ugh." I said, "Eat some mint leaves, your breath smells like the place where cows go to die."

"It's ironic, considering I was just at the place where cattle go to die!"

I smirked. "But seriously, eat some mint." Here, herbs were not a delicacy. My family was somewhat wealthy, as we had two floors, with six rooms in total, a garden, a barn, slaughterhouse and stockyard, and acres upon acres of land.

Even though we barely used them for reasonable causes.

In the shucking area, a place where tracker-jackers were abundant, and all of the maize was sent, Beau was dying of thirst. Of course, the others (besides Phelan, Quincy and Gilliam-he wasn't quite sure where she went) were with him, helping making feed with some of the tesserae grain and ground corn.

You may wonder why those kids weren't in school. They were homeschooled, as most kids working on family farms were, so they could meet their required amount per capita.

Beau decided to pipe up. "Can I get some water from the well?"

"You do realize that the town well is two miles away, right?" Merrill reasoned. "It's worth too much effort. Besides, we have fresh milk!" He jingled a canteen, with it's contents swishing around the metal inside, attempting to keep it cool.

"Oh, can I have some of that?" Beau asked dreamily.

"Sure." Merrill said, "Catch." He threw the canteen to Beau, which knocked into his head. Beau landed on a tree stump with a thump.

"Oh my god!" Gilliam said, just now arriving.

"Is he dead?" Kayla screamed.

"No, I think he's just unconscious," Gage confirmed.

Phelan and Quincy walked into the shucking area. "What happened?" Quincy asked.

"Beau got knocked unconscious by dimwit's canteen over here." Gilliam said, pointing at Merrill.

"Well, what did you guys do?" Phelan wondered.

"Oh, we just let him lay there." Merrill informed with a grin.

"Ugh. This family needs more girls," Quincy said, "Let's get him inside." At that, the four oldest siblings, Quincy, Phelan, Gage and Gilliam, hoisted him up into their arms, each grabbing a different limb. Merrill must have thought this was some sort of joke, because he bounded into them, knocking them into a scraggly, thin apple tree.

They all fell down, which made Quincy think of the song, Ring Around the Rosie, where everybody falls down laughing.

Except no one was laughing.

In fact, all of these negative vibrations must have agitated a hive of tracker-jackers, because they were starting to leave their papery-gray hive.

Smoke is the way to get rid of them, Quincy remembered. That's what her dad had told her at least.

She ran away from the hive quickly, with all of the other kids calling out for her to come back immediately.

"I'll be just a few seconds," she screamed through the wind, bolting into the house. Quincy grabbed a box of matches, and ran into the woods separating District 9 and 10 apart.

A few minutes later, she had a large bunch of green wood, which would start smoking like crazy if lit. Quincy also grabbed a knife back at the house, but she would save that for later.

Arriving at the shucking area, Beau was still unconscious, and Gilliam was trying to force some milk into his mouth from the tip of the canteen. Tracker-jackers were now swarming parts of the meadow, and some of the others were swatting them away.

Quincy set down the heavy wood, and felt the fatigue lift off of her shoulders. "Okay guys," She said, "Let's just light this and get away from here." She felt a sharp pinch on her arm, and immediately started getting dizzy.

She heard a crackle, and saw a bright flame on the tip of a tan stick, and attached it to the wood. It burned out.

The second flame was more effective, and the smoke started billowing in large puffs. The tracker-jackers were literally falling from the sky, yet some managed to find their way back to the hive.

Quincy chucked the serrated knife, hoping for the edge to at least scrape the thin material

surrounding the hive. It pierced the gray covering, and the hive fell on the ground. The remaining tracker-jackers attempted to sting the seven of us, but the smoke got the best of them.

Stupid insects.

Around the ochre dinner table, our large family of nine sat in silence.

"So," Dad started awkwardly, "What happened to you guys?"

"I got nailed in the face by Beau and a chicken," I said.

"I gagged at the slaughterhouse!" Phelan exclaimed, as if that was a good thing.

"I passed out!" Beau continued.

"My overalls are covered in milk!" Kayla cheered, holding the rough material of her overalls out for emphasis.

"So the norm." Dad said with a grin.

I smirked. "Basically, yeah. So what exactly will we eat? I skipped lunch for the third day in a row." This happened more than a lot. I frequently had too many chores, and before I knew it, it was six o'clock, and I was starving.

Like I said before, our family was partially wealthy, not like the people in the Victor's Village of course, but we were never starving.

We lived in the richer part of District 10, along the border, where two rivers meet. Here, farmers, barn managers, milkers, and ranchers live. The other side of town is where we send the meat after it's killed, but other than that, it is so fresh, it could practically walk.

I seldom visit the other part, mostly because the people there are downright creepy. On weeknights, the eery glow of the candles dotting the streets is the only light for miles. Much apart from us, where we keep working, even after the small shreds of light slip under the hills, only to appear once again in the morning.

"Quincy!" My dad shouted at me, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"What?" I asked.

"I've been saying your name multiple times. Why didn't you answer?"

"I didn't hear you. I'm sorry. What did you want to tell me?"

"Well, I wanted to tell you that we are eating this," He slid a giant bowl filled with leafy greens, kale, dandelions, and a sweet vinaigrette. In other words, it was my favorite dinner, dandelion salad.

"Dad, where did you get this?" I said with awe in my voice.

"Well, the thing is, I traded Nala's heifer, Marmo, with some butchers on the other part of town. He must've known someone from District 11, because that's the only way he could've gotten all of that."

"With the butcher?" I shouted. "Great, now someone is probably eating expensive beef in the Capitol!"

"Honey, that's not true," he said, trying to comfort me, "It might be someone in this district."

"Ugh. You're unbelievable."

The rest of dinner was spent in another period of silence, and the sound of forks banging against our only set of plates, and the repeated munching of the salad that could probably buy a new set of pots and pans.

"You know," Dad said to me in between bites of lettuce, "I was going to offer you, Gage and Phelan a semester at a leadership university in District 1. But if you don't want to go, then Gage and Phelan can go without you."

Gage and Phelan perked up. "How can you manage to pay for a vacation for three, much less three beds?"

"Well you see, at my work the other day, one of those Peacekeepers dropped a receipt for something, so I decided to check it out. It turns out that the receipt was a lottery ticket, and I managed to have the winning numbers. And what is a better way to spend that money than on my three oldest children, for a trip to learn more about responsibilities and leadership positions?"

"I don't know," Kayla piped up, "On some decent beds!"

"This is anarchy!" Merrill screamed.

"You know, Glenn, it might be a bit wiser for us to take a vote on how to spend the money," Mom said, patting Dad's shoulder.

"I will hear nothing of the sort!" he bellowed, "Phelan, Gage and Quincy, you are going

to District 1!"

"Fabulous," I muttered under my breath.

Hey guys!

*Tries not to be too creepy saying this* I'm back!

So, this is a somewhat-long chapter, and hopefully I will upload Chapter 2, Colonel Felix's Tribute Academy, on Sunday.

Keep an eye out for A Promise Well Kept, my Percabeth skiing fic, but I'm not sure when I'll upload it.

Until then,

-Thesixthfaction