Chapter Six:

District Six's Reapings

~~Frank Stallow's Point of View~~

Franklin Armstead Stallow awoke to the sound of his parents fighting. He groaned to himself. They were fighting like this every morning. At the same time every morning. Their fighting was like an alarm clock for Frank. Every day, at the same time. Except this alarm clock didn't have a snooze.

He didn't understand why they didn't just split up already. If they were fighting that often, why keep going on like that? They knew that the fighting was upsetting Frank's younger sister Lily. The anxiety in the house had risen in the past day: the parents had been fighting, Frank had tried to kill himself, and it was Reaping week. It was Lily's first year of eligibility. So naturally, the worry was extreme.

Frank knew that his parent's fighting was his fault. He'd tried to kill himself, and they'd absolutely freaked out. And then the fighting started. Frank didn't know exactly how the fighting had started, but he could tell that he was the cause.

He dragged himself from the safety of his small but loved bed. Walked drowsily to the closet. Grabbed some simple gray slacks and a long sleeved white shirt. He quietly put them on, and then he slowly walked from his room and down the tiny hallway of his family's trailer. His sister was sitting at the table silently, staring sadly at the worn and old table. She heard him limping down the hallway and her head twitched up. Frank saw tears in the corners of her small brown eyes. Her blond hair hung limply around her thin face and she looked totally defeated. Their parents looked up too. His mother had a red mark on her right cheek, and his father looked drunk. He was stumbling around when Frank walked in, but stopped when he saw his son.

Frank sat down at the table somberly. Slumped down in his chair, wishing he was invisible. Wishing he was dead. Wishing that he had succeeded in killing himself. Their fighting was his fault, and it was hurting his mother and sister. He had to find a way out. Run away, or die. Frank had no friends he could live with, no other option. And running away either resulted in being found by his parents or the authorities, or dying.

Someone finally spoke up. "So, it's the Reapin' today," Frank's mother said quietly. "It starts soon, right? What time's it, Frank?"

He looked over at the ancient wall clock and checked the time. It was eleven forty, and he knew that the Reaping started at twelve o'clock.

"'S eleven forty," he croaked. He hadn't spoken in days.

"Well, you two better be off. You look awful nice, Franklin," she said with a small smile. She gracefully crossed the kitchen and came to Frank's side. She bent down and quickly kissed his hairline, then hugged him tightly. He didn't respond. He was just a shell. Just a body, going through the motions. The world moved at full speed around him, but he didn't feel anything.

Depression had sunk deep into his bones like a cancer, and it held onto his soul like a demon's claws. He wasn't living, he was just breathing. Just a shell.

~~Amelia Skyler's Point of View~~

Right, left, duck. Up, duck, swipe, uppercut, left. Same routine. Every day. And Amelia was a Sagitarius! She needed some change in her life. But her mother insisted that they keep to the same routine every day for some certainty.

Amelia dodged all of her mother's hits. Jumping, ducking, blocking. Every day. The training was rigorous. Her mother made her diet, run, work out, and train every day. And it empowered Amelia, but it also bored her. Repetition was Amelia's most bitter enemy.

"Nice, Am. You are getting better, but you're not quite there," her mother said, turning her back and grabbing a water bottle. Amelia was infuriated; she worked so hard every day, she took it all, every day, listened intently. For nothing. All Amelia wanted was her mother's attention. Her love.

When she was just a new born, Amelia's father killed himself. With no warning, no suicide note. Nothing. He just killed himself. And her mother had just assumed that he killed himself because of her birth. It was a foolish thought, but Amelia let her mother believe it. So, when Amelia was just five years old, her mother forced her to train, and raised her to believe that the Hunger Games were a good thing. That she needed to fight and win to prove herself to the world.

And though Amelia was older, and knew more about the Hunger Games, she still wanted to prove herself and fight. After all, fighting was the only thing she was good at. She didn't do particularly well in school, she didn't have any friends. She was an outcast who seeked power.

"Mother, I will never be 'there' in your eyes. I've trained all my life, fought all my life, and all I want is some recognition. Some acceptance. But I can't find it with you. I just can't," Amelia announced angrily. Her mother, whose name was Beth, turned around immediately, shock on her face.

"Excuse me, Amelia?" she asked coldly, glaring at her daughter.

"Oh, I'm sure you heard me," Amelia retorted. She had always been a fiery person. One who always had a comeback or reply. But she had always respected her mother, so she never dared backtalk her. But since it was the day of her final Reaping, and Amelia knew that she would soon have a home in the Victor's village, she decided to do something that she had always wanted to do.

"Amelia Ann, go get dressed for the Reaping. It begins in ten minutes," Beth said, wrapping a towel around her pale neck. She opened the door, and stomped up the stairs. Amelia stood in the middle of the training room, angry. She turned to the rack that was on the far corner of the dark blue room and grabbed a meter long spear. The tip was shaped like a delicate and deadly leaf, and it was Amelia's favorite. She grazed the tip with her thin fingers, admiring its beauty. Then, in one swift motion, whirled around and whipped the spear with a flick of her strong arm in the direction of a dummy. The spear flew straight at the dummy, then ripped with full speed into the dummy's chest.

Amelia smiled. Sometimes, she liked to imagine the dummy as her mother, and she would send the spear tearing into her chest. And Amelia would feel satisfied for a bit, then it would wear off and she would be angry again.

Sighing, she took the spear from the mutilated stomach and returned it to its rack. Amelia turned the lights of The Blue Room off, and sprinted up the stairs to her bedroom. Amelia decided that she didn't have time for a shower, so she quickly combed through her long light brown hair with her fingers. She stood before her cracked mirror and stared at the reflection. A pair of blue grey eyes stared back at her, with pink cheeks sprinkled with freckles. Her hair framed her face in wavy rivulets. She thought of herself as attractive, but she didn't need romance. She was too smart and feisty for a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Or whatever.

She reached into her wicker basket of clothes and found a pair of stylish khakis and a light orange blouse. Amelia quickly stripped her training clothes off, and threw on the clothing she found. She gently combed her hair and put it into a high ponytail. Amelia whipped the hair around a bit, then thought of an idea. She braided the ponytail tightly and tied it off. Now when she whipped her hair, the ponytail was actually like a whip. That would come in handy in the arena, if it came down to that. And Amelia knew it would. She was planning on volunteering that year.

And she knew she could win. Her mother had moved to the peaceful, predictable District Six from District Two, where her father had been training as a Peacekeeper. He was sent, with his wife, to another district, so both of them had traits of a District Two citizen. And Amelia also learned those traits from them. So her parents had begun to train her. They believed that District Six needed a Victor, and they had faith that their daughter could do it.

But then one day when Amelia was seven years old, her father committed suicide. There was no note explaining why, no apologies, nothing. He had been a very happy man, never depressed. He had never shown any of the signs. Amelia and her mother were devastated. He was the joyful one in the family. He cheered everyone up. His death caused Amelia's bitterness and her mother's quietness.

But there was always this sick feeling that there was more to her father's death. Amelia had a feeling that his death was not suicide at all: she thought that it was murder. And the prime suspect was her own mother. He was not the man that would commit suicide. And she was the only person who was close to him in the days leading up to his death.

Amelia kept her accusations to herself though. Nobody would believe a child. And besides: the case had been closed more than a decade earlier, so no one would look at it.

She brought herself back to the present. Those kind of thoughts would ruin her happy mood. Despite the ominous mood of the rest of the district, Amelia was quite excited for the Reaping. She was eighteen and it was her last year of eligibility. Amelia knew she could win. And she knew that the Career pack would accept her. She was good enough, in her own eyes. And in her mother's eyes,too.

Amelia snuck a look at their ancient wall clock: it was 11:50. And the Reaping started at twelve o'clock, so she was right on time. She grabbed an old sweater from the coat rack in their main room, kissed her mother goodbye, and left for the Reaping.

It was her day.

She was ready.

~~Frank Stallow's Point of View~~

Frank forced himself to the District Square. Lily was holding up strong and holding his hand, bringing him to the area. She parted ways with him and went to the girl's line. The man took Frank's hand and pricked his index finger, wiped the blood on a piece of paper, and shoved him away. Frank stumbled away slowly and made his way to the fourteen year old section. As he was stumbling to his section, his crutch gave out from under him, and he fell into a mud puddle. The kids around him laughed and kicked him back into the mud when he tried to get up.

This was why. These stupid kids were Frank's reason to die. They attacked him with words mercilessly. They also attacked him physically, pushed him into walls, kicked his crutches out from under him, and punched him. He would remain quiet and not tell anyone about the abuse. He decided from then on that he wouldn't talk.

And his sister would try to save him from them, but that would worsen the bullying. They teased him and told him that he needed a little girl to fend for him. But Frank just let them hurt him. He was past the point in fighting. There was no point in trying.

So that's why Frank just lay peacefully in the mud and waited until the kids left him alone. It took quite a while, but the imbeciles, as Frank saw them, eventually got bored of it and stopped.

And when Frank finally managed to get himself from the calm and kind mud, what he heard was the worst thing he could have expected: his sister's name was being called.

Frank's heart shattered and collapsed in one beat. The kids around him laughed and pushed him around.

"Aww, Poor Little Frankie's protector girl is gone now. Guess he'll have to take us on himself," a boy said with a laugh.

"Is there a Lily Stallow in the audience anywhere?" the hideous woman on stage said. She looked around in the sunlight until she saw the little girl with sad brown eyes and limp blonde hair climbing the stairs. "Ah, here we are! Hello, Lily!" Lily had reached the middle of the stage to where the woman was. "I think it's totally useless," she whispered to herself, "but do we have any volunteers for this pretty young girl?"

And to Frank's surprise - to the entire district's surprise actually – a girl's hand shot up into the air.

"I volunteer!" a pretty girl with long brown hair yelled. Frank, stood up as tall as possible, and saw that she was coming from the eighteen year old section.

"Oh-oh my word! It looks like we actually have a volunteer this year!" the escort shouted. "Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in District Six history, we have a volunteer! Come on up here, dear!"

The girl sprinted up to the stage.

"And what is your name, young lady?"

"My name is Amelia Skyler, and I guarantee you that you are seeing your future victor for the 32nd Annual Hunger Games before you right now!" she exclaimed proudly. Frank smiled. She was a kind soul, saving a twelve-year-old's life like that. That gave Frank a bit of hope that there were still some okay people left in the world.

Lily ran off the stage after hugging the Amelia girl and thanking her.

"Okay, now we have our male tribute!" the escort, Priscilla announced happily. She bounced over to the glass bowl with names in it, and quickly snatched a slip of paper out.

"We have- oh my – Franklin Stallow! Oh dear…" Priscilla said. "Come on up, Franklin."

And, for the second time that day, Frank's world shattered.

"Frank? Frank? What's wrong?" Lily asked.

Frank's parents hadn't come to the Justice Building goodbyes, for some reason.

Frank couldn't have cared less. He didn't care about anything anymore.

He didn't hear anyone.

He didn't react.

He didn't feel.

He was gone.

Gone in himself.

~~Amelia Skyler's Point of View~~

Amelia kissed her mother goodbye as she left the Justice Building. Their goodbye was nothing special: some tears were shed, I love you's were said. Amelia truly loved her mother, but that murder thought couldn't escape her mind. It was like a poison, eating at her conscience.

She got into the car quietly, kissed her mother goodbye, and tried to reassure the poor boy that she was with.

She had seen the scars on his wrists. She knew why he was so silent.

She saw his empty face when he heard his name called.

He was gone.

Poor little boy.

A/N: I'm sorry guys. And I know: this chapter is really short and strangely vague. I was just trying to get into their characters. Sorry.

Two months is too long. I know. I really am sorry. Guys, I feel awful. I am pretty sure that I have lost all readers on this story. Oh well. I guess that's my own fault. :/

Here are some trivia questions (not all having to do with Hunger Games):

1 – What is the elemental abbreviation for gold?

2 – Who has been casted as Finnick O'Dair in Catching Fire?

3 – Who's brother and father died in this story?

Okay, and, as a treat, the amounts you can earn for trivia have been doubled! So try to answer!

Thanks guys!

Sorry for my absence, I feel so bad about it.

Love y'all.