River Summers POV
I knew my father's workshop better than I knew our house. I loved the piles of soft sawdust and the scent of freshly cut wood in the air. I could tell which of the raw wood and which of the finished pieces came from what tree, and I could see the shapes hidden inside a knotted limb. Watching my father sand a length of oak until it was smooth as glass, I almost forgot how scared I was. He set down the wood.
"It's time," he said. My stomach heaved. I'd been hoping he'd forget, like that would somehow mean I didn't have to go. I nodded silently. I looked at the chest I'd been carving. It was sitting in a corner, still half-covered with intricate designs. I wondered if I'd ever get to finish it. My father hugged me goodbye and watched me leave from the door. He wasn't allowed in the Reaping center, and I knew he didn't want me to see him cry. Me, I was too scared to cry.
Seven usually seemed so full of life. The lovely scenery and natural environment made everyone feel better off than we were. I was usually full of life, too. I wasn't the life of the party, but I liked to be with my friends and I liked the quiet pleasures of whittling. The Reaping center was so quiet I heard a girl weeping somewhere in the crowd as the attendant pricked my finger.
Mariposa Aglet was always one of the more... avant-garde escorts. This time she was slathered in white body paint and was wearing some sort of orange fishnet construction that looked like a twisted hourglass. If that was art, I didn't get it. I laughed a quick, nervous chuckle to stop from crying.
"I'll begin with the boys," she said. The inside of her mouth showed pink against her ridiculous outfit. She picked a slip.
"Hax Banyon!" she called. I felt my heart skip in sympathy for the Tribute I didn't even know. A mountain of a boy walked slowly to the stage. I knew Seven had a chance just looking at him. He seemed to have the same idea. His eyes were wide and scared, but his face was calm. He looked like he was terrified at the odds, but took some comfort in knowing he still had a chance. My breath caught in my throat and I tried not to whimper as Mariposa's lips formed the next name.
"River Summers!" she called. Each letter stretched out like another bullet from a firing squad. When she was done, I bent over and threw up. My first thought wasn't of my family, or even of the chest that would never be done.
I'll never pass on my hair. I'd always loved my hair. It was perfectly curled and as thick as the trunks my father carved into chairs. It reached all down my back and I hadn't let my mother cut it in years. I'd always wanted to have a daughter someday with hair as lovely as mine. What a silly thing to think about, and yet I was still crying.
Hax Banyon POV
In the timberyard, everyone has a place. The smartest of us are the superintendents. The fastest are the fellers, and the smallest carry water. I was the strongest, and that made me a loader. I never felt more necessary than when I hefted a massive log on my shoulders and carried it to the carts. I wasn't stupid or slow, but I was the best at carrying. The others cheered me on and took bets on how much I could lift. I never disappointed them.
"Timber!" the yell came, and I looked up out of habit. We generally weren't issued protective equipment, and a hard hat wouldn't do much against a full-grown tree. The eggheads on our team made sure the trunks would fall the right way and cleared the path before they did, but we all still checked. Accidents happen, but they only happen to each person once. I heard the cracking of thin branches overhead as the massive tree snapped free of its neighbors and slammed into the ground. Workers poured over it like ants and set to work.
Before I carried the logs, I helped cut them apart. It was my job to separate the branches from the main trunk using the largest axe. It was so heavy I could hardly aim it, but it was also so large I could hardly miss. The metal head smacked into the wood with a satisfying crack, and a wedge-shaped split appeared. I hacked at the wood again and again until the last bit of connecting strips snapped clean.
A whistle split the air. The rest of the workers and I dropped our tools and gathered around the chuck wagon for lunch. It was the same as usual: thick pancakes with just enough grease to help them slide down. Food was often short in Seven, and I never knew when breakfast or lunch might show up, but could always depend on lunch. Even the Capitol couldn't get this much work from someone who was starving.
"You gonna eat all that?" Ole teased when I sat down next to him.
"This is just one bite," I said back. We stretched our aching muscles and rested on the soft grass all we could before our short break was over. I knew there was a lot wrong with a country where hardly anyone got to choose their job and so many people went hungry. I felt bad thinking it, since I knew it was shallow, but I'd have cared a lot more if I didn't happen to like my job. Lumberjacks worked hard and played hard. So far, I'd never met a problem that couldn't be solved by just working harder.
Hax is eighteen.