DISTRICT 11 –
Appoline Krane, 14

''You don't want to talk to me?''

The Krane family was big, and most of the children shared bedroom. The two youngest, Charmer and Aaryan shared a bed, as did Loressine and Jessabelle. The two boys shared the small room downstairs, and as for Appoline, she had her own bed next to her youngest siblings.

It was a crowded room and most people would find it impossible for five children to share the small room, but Mr and Mrs Krane were persistent.

He stomped his boots before entering the small household.

Appoline's brother, Darron Krane, who was the oldest of the family already had age marks covering his features, including a faint wrinkle on his forehead and grin marks around his think lips. He was standing above his little sister's bed, where she had now been sitting for approximately 2 hours with the same book held to tightly by her small hands.

Unlike Loressine, who was sitting across the room joking around with Jeremiah, the reader's hands were cleaned. She had been very strict with her book, making sure it wouldn't get in any worse state than it already was.

Its bindings was used and bent, some parts of the cover had been scraped off, most pages had marks from being dog-eared and if someone was to open it pages would fall out. Some people around Appoline's age would argue that it is silly to say that a novel can change someone's life. They would argue that fiction is simply fiction and that there is nothing more to it. But what is a book to one person may be an alternative reality to another. It may be that person's only sanctuary.

''Why?'' her brother pressed, but Appoline kept her eyes narrowed down at the small letters.

She had been struggling with the book for a while now, trying to make any sense of the chapter. She wasn't a slow reader, but in this chapter it just so happened to introduce a new character who used very difficult words the reader herself had never seen before.

''She's probably mad about her dropout again,'' Jessabelle spoke as she pressed herself into the room from the tiny crack of the door. She brushed her overall off, starting to pull on her bun to let her hair loose.

Even after the possible answer provided by his other sister, Darron kept his eyes steady on Appoline, who was still ignoring him. He was waiting – although he wasn't very patient.

''Fine, I'm leaving!'' he groaned after a while, only causing Appoline to huff.

Turning around, he crossed his arms. ''What? Why are you so upset over school? You know that Aaryan wouldn't-''

Appoline stopped listening.

She always learned a lot from her father: that the sorrow you get labelled with becomes a part of you. And it's because of that sorrow, which is acting like a tide - surprising you with moments when it comes up to the surface and crash down on you with such remarkable power you're close to letting it pull you back with it – that you are reminded that it still happened, even though you think so much time has passed. Even as the years come and go, it's still there.

But just like it acts like a tide, it also works the other way around. It withdraws, and that's when you realize that you actually find yourself standing steady on your feet.

Appoline always have a lot time of her hands to think things through, debating the rights and wrongs – the betas and the alphas… She loved her little brother. There was no hesitation in this small, simple fact. She loved him even though he was just an infant. She loved him even though he was always in the centre of attention. It was something she had gotten used to, just like she had grown used to the nights she couldn't sleep because of a baby's crying.

She loved Aaryan, but she still couldn't help to blame him from her dropout out of school.

School had been one of the things that made her stood out. Her grades made her feel proud over herself, but when the sixth child of the Krane family was born she had to stop and mainly focus on working out on the fields so that the able would be able to survive.

She would never be fully educated, and even though this was a common thing for District 11, it made her feel horrible.

Aaryan would start to work too. He would have to give up his life for the exact same cause. He, just like Appoline had, would carry tools to the people in the fields. As he would grow bigger they would put more work on him. Tougher work, like carrying baskets back to the collection station, which sounded easy at first, but his wrists would eventually give up.

Jeremiah who had just started climbing the trees had been somewhat of an refresher for Appoline. Even though she was one of the most efficient workers in the district, her brothers new company made her happy.

''It's nothing,'' Appoline shrugged, shaking her head. She took a deep breath, preparing herself before she looked up, staring long and hard up at her brother to prove her words to be true. She knew he wouldn't leave until she convinced him to.

Having his eyes bore down at her, she felt herself losing the fight as the seconds passed. Desperate, her fingers clenched harder around the book.

''It's nothing – okay?'' she repeated, this time more rushed and stressed. Darron frowned, realizing his mistake.

His little sister had already been stressed out by not being able to decipher the book in her lap, and he had only made her even tenser questioning her.

''You can take the loft tomorrow night if you want. I could help you carry the mattress,'' the older offered after a while, hoping it would ease her stress. It didn't take long until the girl's dark blue eyes snapped up to meet his, and a grin quickly covered his face.

Appoline always though her brother looked crazy when grinning; his smile was always too big for his face, but she didn't complain. She needed his smile how he brought a sense of peace into the house. There wasn't very much time for laughing in the Krane family.

DISTRICT 11 –
Beckett Scott, 17

Beckett Scott had multiple bruises covering his rough and not at all soft skin. 17 years had passed and he was now carved out of wood.

The one around his eye:
Work.

The one across his chest:
He lost a fight.

The one upon his back:
Peacekeepers.

The one that wraps his wrists:
He can bear.

The one he hides:
Evading.

None of them seems to fade.

He was part of a war and the day it would end he would be free. At least that's what he told himself.. Beckett didn't expect to be free anytime soon. He, just like everyone in District 11, was isolated and trapped within the walls surrounding them. He had tried to live the way they wanted him to. A 14-year-old Beckett Scott never needed proof – he never needed a reason not to follow orders. He just followed the rules.

He once saw a fragile little girl fall down to her knees, dropping all her apples in the mud. She didn't go unnoticed, nor did her apples. The peacekeepers were next to her in just a matter of seconds. The younger Beckett had acted as a bystander back then. He himself had dropped his heavy lifting countless of times, but it had never got ruined by the mud. And he was after all mostly just carrying tools other than actual harvest.

''She fell, it wasn't her fault!'' he had wanted to scream at them, but he couldn't get any further than opening his mouth until he was stopped. An old man grabbed onto young Beckett's shoulder, pushing down hard as he hissed into the boy's left ear: ''Keep your voice down!''

Despite his silence, the boy would not stop staring.

He saw the girl get dragged away – and all he could do was to pick up his box of supplies that he had dropped and move his feet as fast as he could. He was different back then. He was always falling behind, just floating in the lines of the harvest collections.

His confidence faded with the youth.

At the end of that day, after seeing the girl his age (if not younger) pulled away by peacekeepers, Beckett had ran out to the fields. He had been greeted by a wave of heat. It blew against his face, sticking to his skin in a scorching mess of sweat and light. He had squeezed his eyes shut and taken a deep breath, taking all of it in. It was only when he could find himself breathe again that he realized he was late and he started to run again. The yet not strong body protested at the amount of exercise under the sun but he pushed through and he got home in time before the curfew.

There are many differences between that boy running his legs weak and the guy walking with a slow pace over the town square. They did however still share some things. Some things were hidden, but they were still there. Like the constant questions about his mother who was always ignorant about everything going around her.

Why would she turn her head at everything remotely wrong?

He still hadn't figured out she was just trying to stay invisible. The only one who still saw her was her son, and she wouldn't even meet his glance.

Now, standing tall with broad shoulders and hard look fitting perfectly on his sharp face he found that he always get less than what he wanted. Is this what your life is waiting for? This routine? This life?

Sometimes the working out in the fields changed. Usually it involved the Games. Two years ago, a twelve year old girl was brutally killed. She was one of the Akanoto's daughters. Beckett didn't know much about her – he rarely saw her – but he knew she was one of the tree climbers. Beckett himself was too big to climb the slender branches, so it was mostly just kids. People like Beckett lifted the barrels and cleared the land.

Despite his lack of knowledge of the girl, he did notice the mourning that lasted for months.

His co-workers worked silently in the fields, picking through all the orchids. Usually, people sang songs as they worked or exchanged pleasantries... It was different after the young Akanoto's death. People's minds were elsewhere: in an arena where one of their own would now never come back.

Above Beckett's head, birds flew through the branches of the trees. Everyone stopped to watch as they glided over the fence into freedom.

They worked for 17 hours that day – and as he started to make his way home, it didn't take long until Beckett ran into obstacles. It didn't even take as long as 10 minutes until he was coughing up blood for the second time this month.

It started with a worker, much like the worker he had seen three years ago – only this time it was an old lady who was struggling to keep her basket of oranges above her waist. Beckett watched all of it happen; history repeating itself. Although this time, Beckett changed his actions.

''Please don't. I have to collect this or my husband won't be able to-'' the old woman begged, but no mercy was offered to her.

It crawled through his vein like a fire, like one of those common diseases half of the district suffered from during cold seasons – and it didn't come out. The fire wouldn't leave him, instead, it would spread and make it's way to his fists, clenching them and making his knuckles burn. This was ignition what not of his own doing, although he didn't want it to stop. He did not want to be a silent observer anymore.

Who the hell did they think they were? His mind screamed over and over again. Intermittently he thought of his father. ''Don't,'' someone said behind him, and that's what triggered the fight.

He didn't stop to see who it was. He just turned around and decked them. After that the rest of the crowd stayed away. The peacekeepers on the other hand didn't. The two who was closest to him crushed his nose with the back of their guns, and almost instantly the blood began to pour down Beckett's nose.

''This is your third warning, Mr. Scott,'' one of them threatened, already familiar with the surname. ''Two more and we take you to the cell for a week.''

He didn't say anything as he walked away from them. He tried to tilt his head back to stop the blood from ruining his already covered shirt, but as soon as he did the liquid iron jus started to drip down his throat. It created a disgusting taste and his whole body lunged forward, coughing it up.

He was having an inner vendetta; it just hadn't set off just yet. He was still trapped in the world of the district, unaware of the rest of the nation.

It was their entire fault - all of that army of peacekeepers. After all, they condemned the people of District 11 to this way of living. And Beckett made himself a promise. He was going to kill every last one of them.

Appoline Krane's POV, 14

When the lights go down, I settle in my room – unnoticed.

It's odd - because I feel calm. There is hardly any trouble in the district the night before the reaping. For once, it is silent. I close my eyes and for once I could think.

Just earlier during the day I had worked until I couldn't feel my fingertips anymore, side-by-side with Jasmine. Even though the work had been exhausting, Jasmine was fairly talkative today. Usually she would just try to find birds's nests instead of working, but today she wasn't smiling. It shouldn't have come to much of a surprise. Most people didn't smile around this time of the year. In fact, some people started to grow anxious the week before.

For some that time from last years reaping was short. It was like the second you let yourself relax the beautiful escort is back with her big fancy costume and hair. As I had tried to remember the last year's outfit, the wind in the trees had started pulling on the leafs surrounding us, creating a soothing hum.

''Everything is moving all the time,'' I had complained as I climbed further up the tree I was working on. Now thinking back on it I am not quite sure how she interpreted my small protest, but she surely must've found some further meaning behind the words I had actually meant by the time being.

''It's okay to be stationary,'' Jasmine had uttered, right out of the blue.

As Jasmine had spoken I had not been able to find her face. It was always hidden behind that big set of dark hair that she never seemed to find enough time to tie up. I was usually wearing a headband and my hair tied up – but she wouldn't bother.

When the shift was over for the day and we said goodbye, her words were still printed on the back of my head. I just didn't know how to convince myself that what she was saying was true.

I never had to walk home by myself. Usually Jeremiah would join as a company, but this time I couldn't find him. He was probably off pranking someone with his friend Marx. Still, I found someone to walk with.

You never really want to walk home alone anyway – taking it that there were peacekeepers roaming the roads and streets pretty much everywhere. And even though the person I found was neither a familiar nor a person very high on my list, I decided to stick with him anyway.

He seemed somewhat taken back when I jogged up to catch up with him, but welcomed me with a nod.

His name was Jonas and he was one year older than me, although he acted more mature than my oldest brother. His family didn't live very far away from my house, I think..

Jonas used to be a friend of Jasmine, but one day he had just stopped talking to her and she had later found herself talking to me instead. It was only weeks later when we heard about what had happened, and by then it was too late to ask him.

For some strange reason, I didn't have to ask this time either. He just shrugged, burying his hands into his pockets before opening his dry lips to speak.

''It's been 11 months,'' he muttered, kicking a rock in front of him - making it jump off the dirt road we were walking on.

''Since the accident?'' I asked, and he nodded. Gulping, my fingers trail the hem of my dress and I try to avoid eye contact. Who would've thought he would talk to me out of all the people he knew? It wouldn't be a surprise if it were Jasmine, but me? It didn't make any sense.

''How is life without your best friend?'' I ask, finding myself regretting the question the moment it left my mouth. It's just that I wanted to know the answer so badly. It was rude to ask but I had grown tired of not knowing.

Jonas, however, didn't seem to notice my regret. He just sighed, narrowing his eyes at the road in front of us. ''She wasn't a best friend. Or rather, she wasn't just a best friend,'' he started, frowning.

I was now blushing because I didn't expect him to be honest with me. He was not even finished yet. You could see it in his eyes he had a huge urge to just explode with words, but he stopped himself and kept himself contained and concealed.

''She was more than that,'' he continued. ''Like a sister, you know?''

Chucking, he shakes his head. ''Sorry, I'm just rambling. I didn't understand, you know? Family is important.''

I didn't answer. I just nodded, wishing him good luck on tomorrow before rushing over to my house, desperately trying to escape from any further conversation or rather confession with Jonas. Not to mention my embarrassing blush giving away how uncomfortable he had made me feel.

The sky was orange and the sun set a few minutes I had shut the door behind me.

When I lay in bed, knowing I should be sleeping, I just end up laying there mostly thinking about my siblings' laughter, their smiles and how I haven't gotten to experience them in a very long time. I am happy I have them. My family is important to me, and sometimes I find myself forgetting about them.

Just like Darron had promised, he had helped me carry the mattress up to the loft. We usually never spent a night sleeping up here. Mostly because we were used not sleeping alone, but mainly because of the cold temperature offered.

He promised not to tell mother and father, and even if they did know I would spend my night up here they wouldn't stop me from doing it. My mother was a woman of respect, and she valued independence. She knew I needed privacy, and I was grateful for being left a lone for a while, even if it would just be for a night.

Just because I don't have any problem with being by my own and taking care of myself does not mean that I enjoy it; that I for some reason would prefer it. I've just learned that sometimes people can't always be by your side.

There was only one window here on the loft, and thankfully the moon was blocked out, turning the room coal black. For once I enjoyed being blind. It made it easier to think.

This particular night was different. This was the night I always reset my questions and worries before the reaping, just in case someone I know leaves. There was so much things I knew I would never get to do in my life, and that some were still within reach: I just had to reach out and grab it.

Physically, I couldn't get much farther away from my possibility on coming back to school, and it wasn't Aaryan's fault. Sometimes it feels like my mother and father found a way to make it feel even further away. It wasn't their fault either.

But I still feel it.

I guess I should let it go. I guess there will be a point where I will decide to stop trying, maybe because it's too late or because I found something else. Although, I've never been a big fan of replacements… my family was filled with replacements – my whole district was. If one were to fall, someone would take their place. Just like Darron took a fallen tributes place after anticipating in the last years games.

I hardly make my own schedule. And I'm so very tired all the time. It always seems like the plans are always made for me. I make very few choices in my own life, and I can't seem to find a way to be the one who gets to decide. Either I am too young, too selfish, too quiet, too loud etc. There was always something blocking me from doing something I wanted.

I need more time.

Time was so short. Time in school. Time at home. Time to sleep. Time to just be me. Time to do nothing in particular. My time was running out too fast – and I thought I had more, but the reaping just ripped the time away from my body like it had always belonged to them.

Beckett Scott's POV, 17

''He's asleep. Go to bed.''

My mother's droopy and red eyes glared up at me as she was desperately trying to keep them open. She was probably struggling and fighting with her sleep again, although it wasn't because of the reaping. She had gave up on showing up to them when I was 13.

I wasn't going to leave that easily though. I had to talk to her about how he had been acting this morning when he told me to borrow his suit. ''But he was –'' I urged, but I didn't get any further than that. She was already interrupting me.

Neither of my parents was very talkative. My father was an bastard and my mother was pretty much a ghost, always acting distant. She would, however, talk to me about my father. She was always claiming that I had to learn to live with him and that I was acting foolish.

Maybe she was right, but I was not going to stop anytime soon.

''I said .. go to bed,'' she hisses, clenching her fists, but I wouldn't move. I leaned closer to her and the door, trying to get a closer glimpse of the bedroom they shared. I was trying to figure out if it was safe for her to go back in there. It certainly wasn't if he was still awake.

As if being able to read my thoughts, my mother pushed me back and away from her. ''He will not harm me,'' she insisted, rather toneless with almost no hint of emotion to it when doing so. Then, clearing her throat, she hung her head low, staring down at her feet. ''But thank you.''

She must've noticed my bruise on my jawline, because she decided to discreetly close the door behind her, close to making no sound at all as she placed her small hand on my back and led me towards our kitchen.

''Let me take care of that for you,'' she mumbled.

I was sat down on one of our chairs and she started to boil up some water. While waiting, she wouldn't meet my eyes; avoid all kind of awareness about my presence. This was how she acted most of the time: like I didn't even existed. It was only when she first pressed a stinging warm tissue against my cheek that she spoke up again.

''We've been through this before, remember? The last time your father acted like this..?''

I sighed, closing my eyes. ''I know… I know he had a bet with some guy to be 'the best father in the district'.'' I huffed as if it was a joke, but kept my eyes closed. ''I mean, it was the first time he ever actually talked to me,'' I continued, hoping she would understand what I was trying to say: that I had been fooled and that I had actually liked being the fool.

''But you knew he was going go back to his regular self. Why would you start to believe he would stay like that?'' she challenged, sounding annoyed as she pressed the damp cloth against my sore skin again, trying to wash it.

She wasn't trying to be gentle – she moved fairly quickly, showing her annoyance. She was probably upset I was going to show up to the reaping looking like shit. Oh, little did she know most children at the reaping looked like wild savages.

''No, that's the thing. I didn't know.''

It was after I said this that she stopped. Opening my eyes again I could see her turning away from me, suddenly rushing to clean up the mess she had made with the pot and the tissues. ''Mother?'' I asked, but I didn't get any answer.

The next day, like expected, I didn't show up in a suit. I was in a pair of slacks and a somewhat dusty button up tucked in. Most people around me had tears in their eyes, and if not, they certainly wasn't looking brave. Some people were just better at hiding the fear.

Not that I was the one to judge. I was nervous too. The guy next to me kept tapping his feet. There was a lump in my throat that had been there ever since this morning in which I had had an apple for breakfast, not to mention the cold glare I had gotten from my dad before leaving.

''War, terrible war,'' the video started playing on the big screens next to the Justice Building, but I kept my eyes locked on the shoes in front of me, still muddy from yesterday's work.

It was only when the female tribute was first reaped that I found myself distracted from my stare. I looked up to see who it was. The girl, coming out from the 14-year-old section was not easy to miss. She was one of the few residents who wasn't ethnic. Her skin was tanned, but nowhere close to the girls surrounding her.

As she stumbled towards the stage, I stared at her back. She was wearing a white dress, with pink dots covering it. Even though my sight wasn't the brightest, I did notice the blonde patches of hair found in the strawberry blond hair.

When the girl reached the stairs she fell, making a few gasps emerge in the crowd. No one could help her up though. Soon enough two peacekeepers lifted her up by grabbing her elbows rather carelessly, and even from afar you could her a small whimper escape from the girl.

I could hear a growl next to me, but I didn't turn around to see who it was.

''And now, for our male tribute,'' the escort continued after the escort, who looked even more ridiculous than last year. The woman's hair was no where to be seen, but instead overed by a weird cube he would only assume could be a hat. It basically looked as if someone had taken a cube and smashed it onto the lady's big stupid head and covered it in some colour making her look like a complete-

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when a firm smack on my back made me gasp for air at the sudden impact. ''Go you idiot. Move,'' I could hear someone snap behind me, so I just started moving.

It was only when I was standing next to the girl up on the stage when I realized what had happened. I was going to the Capitol. I was a tribute of the Hunger Games.

Up close I could see the girl's features a bit more detailed. Her sharp cheekbones had small freckles that spread up to her grey eyes and for some reason her arched eyebrows were frowning at me.

One other detail I noticed was that her dress was not white like I thought it had – but it was just faded. It had probably been passed down in the family. Who knows how many times it had been worn?

''Well look who got themselves reaped!'' one of the peacekeeper snickers as I find myself dragged backwards and into the Justice Building. ''I hope it's brutal this year,'' he continued, and before I could do as much as find momentum for my fist or to find something to aim for I was pushed into a room.

I was alone for about 3 minutes until the door opened. I didn't expect anyone to come and see me, unless someone who worked the same hours as me were just trying to act polite, but as my mother walked in I found myself caught off guard.

''Hello, Beckett.''

''What are you doing here?'' I asked, taking a step back and further into the room – away from her.

I never shared a tear as she repeatedly continued to close and open her mouth, failing every attempt to find anything useful or meaningful to say. She was probably here to escape the guilt she would feel later when I was gone, but it was already too late for her. She would never be a good mother.

The second my time with my mother was up I was pulled out by the peacekeepers again. The girl, Appoline was crying silent tears as she was guided out of her room. I felt an urge to talk to the girl, but I had to sort out my last priorities before we left. I sighed when my mentor finally showed up, hurrying up to her.

I grabbed onto the old victor's arm, pulling her close. She looked afraid and almost ready to attack for a second, but stayed put, waiting for what I had to say.

Staring into the close to back eyes of my future mentor, I narrowed my eyes at her. ''For future reference, I don't really want to see any of my family members when I come back home.'' I was going to kill people. I needed to make sure they would listen to my request.

''In fact, I don't want any type of visitors, got it grandma?''

She glared up at me for a long time, shaking her arm loose from my grasp to free herself. Taking a step back, she brushed off her blazer. ''You're acting dangerously confident, kid,'' the mentor grumbled under her breath, and I gritted my teeth at what she was saying. She clearly hadn't been listening.

Whether I could come home crowned or expecting a funeral, I didn't my father or mother anywhere near me. ''Either way I am coming back to this district, I don't want them to see me, understood?''

''Understood.''

I'm sorry I haven't got a chance to edit it, but I promise that I will have it somewhat pulled together and fixed in 24 hours :) I am also very glad to inform you guys that District 2 is already finished - so the wait won't be as long (!)

1. Any feelings on District 11?
2. Thoughts on the tributes?

Please feel free to add a song of your choice to the review!
Until next time - A sante sana, squash banana, we we nugu, mi mi apana.