Ashes In Your Mouth by Megadeth

Now we've rewritten history
The one thing we've found out.
Sweet taste of vindication
It turns to ashes in your mouth.

Pre Reapings Part Two

Santana Belmont, 16, District Two

"Dad?" I creep down the stairs that lead to the basement. The lights are off even though it is well into the morning and I know he will be awake by now. I exaggerate my steps so that he will be able to hear me coming, he never was one for surprises and that is even truer now. By the time I am at the bottom of the stairs I still have not gotten anything back from him and I start to worry.

"Dad?" I say a bit louder. I stop at the bottom of the stairs to listen and I hear nothing still. Panic sets in and I burst through the door that was built to separate the two floors. Mom had the lock removed, against what Dad told her about keeping it there 'just in case', so I don't need a key anymore.

The basement is dark and I shudder at the memory of spending so long down here. I let my eyes adjust so that I don't trip over anything. My dad has become notorious for leaving things around- says that it will protect us because intruders will trip and fall and he will hear them. We've long stopped arguing with him that there will not be any more intruders. His mind just doesn't seem to be able to get out of its wartime state and it's far too tiring to try anymore.

I step into the single bedroom that we created out of the furnace room a few months into the war. I almost don't see the shovel before it comes just inches from smacking into my face. Almost.

I throw both hands up and block the blow before it can reach me, biting the inside of my mouth as the pain echoes through me. Anticipating another hit, I take a step back and flick on the overhead light. "Dad! It's me."

My father's eyes are wide and panic-stricken, the bags under his eyes even more noticeable than the last time I saw him. He looks at me for several seconds before recognition and relief wash over him and he drops the makeshift weapon, coming at me with his arms open wide.

"Oh, oh, my dear I am sorry. I am so sorry." He strokes my hair and clings to me like a young child. I try for a second to wrap my arms around him to comfort him, but the gesture just doesn't feel right and I let my arms drop back down to my sides.

"It's fine," I say, pulling him off of me as gently as possible. Mom said that he just needed time and that he would snap out of, well out of whatever the hell is wrong with him. Every time I come down here he looks worse- either crying on the mattress or toying with something he found that almost looks like a surveillance camera. He's getting worse, there is no doubt in my mind about that one.

"You should stay down here where it's safe," he whispers, suddenly very serious. He does this often as well. I remember about two months after the war when he came upstairs one night. I thought he had finally come to his senses, but I was very wrong. He started insisting that Mom and I come back downstairs and wouldn't calm down until we did. He could have gotten us in trouble with the Peacekeepers. Nowadays they are looking for any reason they can find to arrest or whip citizens. Disturbing the peace would have been enough to land all of us a few lashings at least.

"It's safe upstairs, too." As soon as I say it I regret the words. His face contorts with fear and he grabs at the sleeves of my shirt, bringing his face so close to mine that I can smell his putrid breath.

"No, no. No it's not. Santana, the Capitol is coming for us." His body is shaking by now and I have to hold onto his arms to keep him steady as I begin to move him towards the mattress. "They're going to kill us. Not us if we stay down here where it's safe. Not us, not us. You'll be safe."

"Don't worry, we're safe," I say as I set him down on the mattress. I wish I felt worse for him. I know his mind is just stuck back in the time when we would sleep down here in fear of a Capitol bombing in the night. But it's over and he is a grown man. He is supposed to be the responsible one, not me. I try not to resent him for having to care for him, but it is hard to so that sometimes. I wish I could sympathize with him, but my emotions escape me once again. Just as they always do.

"Go get Mom," he whispers even as his eyes close. He must be really tired, it is not usually this easy for me to calm him down when he gets like this. "Bring her down here. She's not safe staying upstairs. The bombs-"

"I'll go get her," I say, cutting him off before he can go off on another tangent. "You just sleep and I'll bring her down here. We'll both be fine, just sleep."

He doesn't even answer me, his breathing steadying as he falls asleep. I pull a blanket down from his desk and place it over him. I'm relieved that this was as easy as it was. It is draining to deal with him sometimes.

I close the door as I go back upstairs and into reality. Coming down into the basement is sort of like a short escape- if you can even call it that- out of the real world. The world where a whole district of people is trying to rebuild after a defeat that was probably unavoidable from the very beginning.

August Overture, 17, District Ten

It's back to the old ways that things used to happen before the war took over.

I look out on the huge field, a smile coming to my face when I remember playing in the bright grass everyday and Pop would prod the cattle towards the stable. The place looks so much different than it did back then.

Even after months of the war being over, my family has still only just begun to rebuild. We're only up to four cows when we used to have dozens. The grass is dead or dying in most of the areas- no matter what we do we can't seem to keep the grass blades from being strangled by the shrapnel. It's everywhere, these little pieces of metal. Well I'd bet if I dug my hand into the ground and picked up a handful of it I would see more debris than roots.

The war was tough in District Ten, people have said over the past few months. I don't know what it was like for any of the other districts but it was mighty scary here. Everyone lost so much, and I don't just mean cows.

People died. So many people. My father and oldest brother were among the thousands that were buried in the mass grave on one of the more destroyed parts of the district. There just wasn't enough ground to bury them all properly, so only the real important and wealthy people got that privilege. Even then, only when they could recognize the bodies.

Mom couldn't find the money for both of them, and she said it seemed wrong to just bury one of them specially. She said it was better that they were at least together, and that they wouldn't have wanted us to spend so much on them anyway. Elm says that she doesn't really mean that, and that she feels terrible about it, but she says she is fine and I don't think she would lie. All of us feel bad about it, she wouldn't even be the only one.

The ranch is so quiet, it's almost frightening. It reminds me too much of the raid, the one where I got separated from Pop. It was quiet before that too. I shudder at the memory and put my hat back on my head. When I am unable to shake the feeling I decide to go inside for lunch.

The house is a lot louder than the outside porch. We live in a small farmhouse that probably wasn't meant to be lived in by nine people, or I guess seven people now. The kitchen is nothing special, cooking stuff and a big old table in the middle with chairs squeezed all around it. My three sisters are sitting around the table, peeling potatoes that I hope will be lunch.

"August!"

"Hey August!"

"Where have you been all day?"

The three voices come all at once and they turn and smile at each other. I put my hands up in mock defence but am unable to keep the grin from spreading to my face as well "Hold on, hold on, one at a time."

Jubilee and Magnolia roll their eyes in perfect unison and Astrid raises an eyebrow at me. I throw them a wink and sit down at the table. "So what are you girls making for lunch?"

"Carrots, if you didn't notice," Astrid smirks and the twins giggle into their peelers. It takes me a second to understand what's so funny about carrots but then it clicks.

I pick up one of the potatoes and eye it closely. "This is a mighty big carrot, if I do say so."

"Mom's in the back room getting the big pot," Jubilee says a-matter-a-factly. "We're making stew."

"Sounds good to me," I grin. "I'm starving."

"How are you hungry already?" Magnolia shakes her head at me. "We had breakfast two hours ago."

"It's been two hours, that's how I'm hungry."

Her and Jubilee roll their eyes again. "Boys, I'll never understand how you eat so much. If you're hungry you better ask Mom for something. We haven't even started cooking and it'll be a while still."

As if on cue my mom walks into the room holding a huge, silver pot with both hands. She puts the pot down on the table and looks at me with her hands on her hips. "August you are going to eat us out of house and home one day, I swear."

"Hey, how'd you know I was hungry?" I say defensively. "Maybe I just came in here to say hi?"

"Nice try, honey," she chirps, plopping a handful of the cut potatoes into the pot. "These walls aren't as thick as you seem to think they are."

I turn my face away to hide my blush. She laughs, so I guess I don't do a very good job of covering it. "Lucky for you we have some leftovers in the fridge, but don't tell your brother. He's getting almost as bad as you about eating between meals, I swear."

I run up and hug her from the side and give her a quick kiss on the cheek and she smiles. A second later I am in front of the fridge, pulling out a little bowl full of last night's mushroom soup. I grab a spoon out of the top drawer and dig in.

Mom turns to me and smiles. "That can't possibly be any good cold."

"It's almost as good as yesterday," I grin, my lips closed as I swallow another mouthful. With the table full I decide to take my snack outside, after all it is my job to look after the cattle now.

Melita Crescent, 15, District Six

I hear the door close quietly and I want to laugh at the thought that Radimir thinks I am asleep. It's past midnight by now I am sure, but I don't feel tired at all. Radimir always sleeps well into the afternoon and I have gotten in the habit as well since I began living with him. I don't expect that I will be asleep for a few hours at least, but of course I'll pretend that I am when Radimir comes in after he's finished with his clients.

I know that he knows I am not stupid, so I don't quite understand why he always tries to be quiet when clients arrive after midnight. I know why they're here and I know what they're doing back there. It doesn't really bother me if I am being honest. Any way of making money is a good way of making money, especially after the war made it so difficult for most people to do it.

Ah the war. Now that's a memory that I haven't entertained in a while.

I shake my head to keep the thoughts from coming up, but of course they don't listen. When have they ever? I open my eyes are realize that I am holding onto the bed frame and when I take my hand off of it I can see the indentation marks. I never have been one to allow memories of the past to be in my present, but just because I don't let them into my mind doesn't mean they leave me alone.

Memories of the war are still as fresh in my mind as if they had happened just days ago, even when I know the war has been over for months. Almost all of them are bad- horrifying visions that make my stomach churn and my heart race. Somewhere in the mix of fear, grief, and hopelessness I manage to pull out the one memory that I can bring myself to cherish.

The day I met Radimir.

It was during the early stages of the war, just a month after I lost my mother between the crossfire of a rebel attack. I was living on the streets by then, only managing to get by with what I could take from other people even as the memory of my first whipping was still fresh in my mind. There was no choice, I had to live. I could have joined the rebel army, but the thought of supporting either side sickened me. I wasn't ready to die for a cause just so I could have a place to sleep or food to eat.

I can still remember the feeling of the boy's arm as it locked around my neck, the voice menacing as it spoke into my ears. The way my hands shook, not even stopping when I realized he wasn't going to hurt me because I really could never have been sure that he wouldn't. Being alone makes you think like that- that everyone is out to get you. It doesn't help when there is so much that you could be tried for.

It took many months after that before I moved in with Radimir. I learned about his business, even considering it for myself for a small while until I came to the conclusion that I would never be any good at it. My body had an automatic response to pull back from people; to shudder at any touch and to tense at any hint of connection.

Radimir never pushed me to get into the business. He probably knew that I wouldn't make very much money if every client left unhappy. Besides, I was a better pickpocket. I used to take money from his clients who would leave their bags unattended outside as they ventured into his room, but Radimir put a stop to that. Now I worked in fractions, it was easier to prevent myself from getting caught this way.

A fifth has always been the magic ration. For the richer clients, it would hardly be enough to make a difference to them, and for the poorer ones, well, I wasn't taking much anyway. The extra money is beyond helpful, especially now that Radimir has taken on a houseguest. We don't live in any sort of luxury, but we're not starving anymore. The end of the war has done wonders for business. People aren't scared to leave their houses or fearful of being robbed if they leave with enough money to buy themselves a good time.

The door creaks open and I hear the dreamy chattering of a woman as she gathers up her belongings, minus about sixty dollars or so. Radimir thanks her profusely, as he always does, and I can picture him taking her hand and pressing it to his lips as he encourages her to come back another time.

It used to disgust me to see him doing this. Trying to charm the women he brought home even after they had already paid for his services. I didn't understand the need, but he knows this business better than me. He's told me before that he is building up his hype, whatever that means. Basically he's trying to make repeat customers who tell their friends about how good he is. Frankly the idea of older, usually married women discussing things like this about my seventeen year old friend makes me want to be sick.

The back door slams shut and the apartment is silent again. He comes in faster than I had expected, and I don't have time to shut my eyes and continue the facade that I am asleep, but I try it anyway.

"I know you're awake," he chuckles as he lays down on the cot across from mine. I always wondered why he didn't sleep in the back room since it is so much nicer than the curtained off room he made when I moved in. I remember him saying something about feeling more comfortable in here, but it sounds pretty stupid if you ask me.

"What are you talking about," I whisper, opening on eye to see that he is already passed out on the cot. That has always been him, asleep before his head even hits the pillow. I sigh and close my eyes again. I guess it is getting pretty late.

Song: Ashes In Your Mouth by Megadeth.

A/N: Hey all! Updates seem to be going pretty well so far. Shorter chapters generally mean speedier updates so that is a good thing. Hope you enjoyed these three tributes, and if they are yours I hope I did them justice!

Basically I am going to be asking the exact same questions probably every one of these chapters but here I go again anyway.

What did you think of these three tributes? In comparison to the last three?

That's basically it, leave a review if you can spare the time? Should be updating in a few more days with the next three.