Now we turn to District 5. Like District 3, it was never excited nor saddened by the reaping day, it was a day until it was over, and therefore no one listened nor cared. It was more than a day, however, to those whose children were reaped. Other than that, it was not given much thought. It looked like any normal day, windy and cloudly, with an almost definite chance of rain, or large showers. The clouds seemed fearfully close and almost black, capable of the worst lightning. Because of this, people scurrried around, not spending too much time outside or near anything that seemed ready to catch lightning. All little children were indoors, for the fear of being killed in a storm. Luckily for this district, these kinds of storms were common and therefore, the Square was indoors and well protected by lightning rods. There were no street urchins, for all sold everything they had, so that they would have a house to hide in when storms came, even if the house was freezing and half broken down, which lots were. In the middle of the city, was the Square, the only grand building in the place, tall and golden with flowery wires tightening it's grip around it. Outside the Square, were the tallest houses, not the victors' houses, but the tallest ones, belonging to the few rich families and mayor's families. The Peacekeepers' Headquarters was on top of the Square, which was where they gladly lived. Nice, and almost luxurious shops surrounded the nice houses, and smaller, less luxurious ones behind them. Behind the shops were more houses, quite small, but decent. Then there was a large river in between the good side and the bad.

The bad side, was a dirty, musty, old-smelling, rotten broken-down place. It was like a public graveyard, with tons of corpses lying along the river bank, barely a few feet underground with common weeds and dandelions above, to show respect to those who had families. Those who didn't, weren't even buried, they were thrown in a large hole planted at the end of the pathway near the river. The river itself was not a thing of beauty. Lots of garbage and even some bodies floated with it's mighty, large waters. Behind this, the land could only be described as dead and abandoned. Old plants were dug up and thrown carelessly onto the ground. If one wasn't careful, they might find one of their feet caught in a bed of thorns from an old rosebush. The houses behind, were old and filthy, made of old rock which would easily crumble. There no streets, just houses lined up unevenly and carelessly. All sorts of ugly people lived there, broken down, underweight, and shaggy people, with crying children. No one decent would enter these "wastelands". By midnoon, this empty land would fill with the dirtiest, darkest, smelliest men and women, and even children, walking carrying heavy loads on their own backs. Small, barely suitable shops lay around. The most decent shop was the bakery, a brick building which smelt of burnt salt, the inside was mostly burnt, but the foods drew hungry people to them, the woman in charge would shoo these people away with a broom. She was a broad, bulky woman who looked as though she had been broken and reformed by mutts of the Capitol. She wore a dirty, hole-filled dress, and had three tender boys, whom she beat and shouted at. They were not lazy and almost always at work. Nearly everyone outside agreed that if this woman had a daughter, she would be of the finest, not her skinny scared boys.

Things here were busy as always, everyone worked, from children, to women, to men. Seeing one clean here was the same chance of seeing a rich person besides a Peacekeeper enter these filthy, cursed land. These humble, patient, crying, unclean people were nearly buried alive in dust storms, and cooked in storms. They felt no real feelings and cried no tears, they had forgotten to when they were children. They were tight knit together, like a family, one knowing the other and sharing griefs. They never cursed the rich people, they never thought of them. They worked, they fed their children if possible, they dressed in dirty clothes, they were miserables, unhappy. There was no laughing, no happiness, no music, no flowers. If one cut out this unfortunate and unhappy scene, they would've seen a beautiful green land with decency and sweetness. Flowers blooming, grass growing, children smiling, having fun, Young boys picking flowers for their mothers, little girls dancing with their fathers to the beat of nature. The only houses larger than the ones in the middle were the victors homes, a pretty, playful place. Winds barely harmed these beautiful lands. Storms blew away no signs nor hurt anyone. Everything was bright and happy, besides the Games.

It was no doubt the Games. The poorer side struggled for things to wear, while the richer side bothered themselves with their beauty. Two Peackeeperes unwillingly made their way to the river, readying themselves for unpleasant sights and smells. As they grew closer, the grass and flowers decreased as so did the singing of birds and the tweeting of insects. The sounds were miserables as they grew closer, they saw a line of poor people, looking almost clean and nowhere near tidy. They grimly let down the bridge, which allowed these poor people to cross over to the place of happiness. As they did, everything seemed to freeze. It was like a parade, of monsters. These poor raggad, broken, misshaped, seemingly monstrous people crossing into a town which had never seen such miseraberality. These people marched in a straight line, not holding out anything, not even bothering too. They knew these people to be snobby and selfish, so what was the point in begging them and looking like fools. Coughing and the sounds of bleeding were heard from these crowds. The children of the middle and upper classes held unto their parents, hid behind them, blocked their young, innocent eyes from this horrific scene. It is worse than anything to see people suffering and dying before you. Too see people drop on their knees, to cough and raggle up like a doll being punctured. It made them cry out of fear, within their young selfish minds, they could only think that one day they might suffer like these people. Adults looked on these people with soft pity, that did escape their eyes easily, but their minds remained on the subject. The march lasted half an hour, as the poor made their way towards the nicely decorated Square. Some cried, it was the most beautiful thing they had seen. They shuffled into the back, which was small and cramped. But these peoples were used to it and could stand it.

Victors stood on the top, within large spaces and grand pillars, with plushy seats to sit on. These poor people had nothing but air to comfort their sore legs and backs. Their children hung unto their skirts and pant legs, for balance, and cried. The tributes were crushed between many people, away from their families with eyes more emotionless than a bird's. The mayor's family and the Peacekeepers were up with the Victors, clenching their noses when the stench of the poor reached them. Some coughed unintentionally. Middle and other upper class families sat in the front, in the seats resembling ones like in today's movie theatre seats. It was unhappy and gloomy, but no one rejected or showed it. Everyone was silent, except for the cries and groans of children. Every few minutes, a person would turn and shush those who were crying and groaning out of pain. It hurt them to do so, but anyone who disturbed the peace of the District, would be directly and severly punished. The anthem of Pamen roared through the place, everyone stood, except the poor who were already standing. They stared at the flag as it was hoisted upon the golden podium in the middle of the stage. There was obviously no time to waste. The middle class was near suffering to paleness from the stench and horrific sights of the poor, who while looking almost decent, were still marked poor and ugly. No pity was shown, or was allowed to be shown to this unfortunate, yet brave and humble people. The escort of this District, Mimi Blancos entered the stage and immediately made her way towards the girl's basket, which was embroided in pink and gold. She was short and girlish with an almost District look. It was obvious stylists had done her in at Beauty Base Zero. However, to the poor, she looked beautiful and radiant, so they looked at her with wide eyes. She read from the girls' names.

"Amarillys Carmellia" she announced looking out at the crowd, as if trying to decipher who it was.

This girl was among the middle class, which was fortunate compared to having a tribtue from the poor. She had sharp eyes, brown hair. She narrowed her eyes barely noticeably. If it were today, she would've been called an Asain with her eyes and gentle looks. She was pretty indeed, not like most of the ordinary looking kids of her class, nor the poor, scraggly kids of the poor class. She walked up to the stage, with a confident if not strong look. She kept her head held high, her satin dress flowing with her in a sweet grace which attracted the audience like Junebugs, which she happened to love. She slowly made her way upon the stage, her neck showing completely with her head held high and back, she looked like a well-dressed soldier,ready for orders. Where to die, or live. Applause and tears was the response of this brave remark, this girl walking up the stage, ready to take on the world. Ready to take on the Games themselves. While the audience was clapping, Mimi had made her way towards the boy's basket, embroided in blue and gold. Her eyes were tired when she read the name aloud.

"Ultimas Brevoche"

When she read this aloud, there was a burst of tears, all eyes turned to a very poor girl. She was only fifteen and would've been beautiful, except for her missing teeth, her cut hair, her terrible cough, her ugly tacky dress. She coughed a storm upon the floor and began to sob. A Peacekeeper made his way towards her. He picked her up, and slapped her across the face. Suddenly a boy from a rich family shotued.

"I volunteer!"

Everyone turned towards this boy, Hunter Wildthorn. A tall, reckless boy with an air so fantastic, it was breath-taking. The poor girl who had looked ready to attack this man, stopped and blinked at this boy curiously. He walked towards this poor, broken, ugly, dirty creature. She let a heavy breath and errupted in coughing. He made his way towards her. He loved her, it was now clear. And she did not respect him, until now. She did move when he squatted by her. She sat there, on her side. Her blond hair falling into her face. Her face was emotionless, a large red mark of blood decorated her pale face. He wiped it off with his hand. She gritted her teeth and watched him. Then she coughed, violently. He wrapped his arms around her and helped her up. Suddenly the Peacekeeper's knife was under her throat.

"What do you say, whore?" he spat the last word with such crueltly, it was hard to bear. The crowd murmured and gasped.

She looked at him plainly and opened her mouth, only a little, but enough to utter those two words.

"Thank you"

These words were quiet, but everyone could tell their meaning was much more, and could hear it. There was a few sobs from the crowd. The knife lowered from her throat. The little who had been called, exited the stage and ran to his sister, falling at her knees, holding onto her skirts. She held on back to him. But her eyes did not leave Hunter. He touched her cheek. She took his hand from there, and kissed it gently. With a pitiful, unhappy look, the boy made his way towards the stage, without a look back. He looked proud, like someone who had recieved a badge rather than a death sentence. Suddenly the girl choked out.

"Hunter!"

Her voice was scraggly and tight, but it shocked the entire audience. Hunter finally turned and raised his hand in a final good-bye. This was much too moving for some watching. The girl bent her head forward and cried, unhappily. This poor girl, who was once beautiful and admired, now ugly and alone with a little boy to take care of. The younger boy comforted her, and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She then cried into his torso, and he into her hair. Hunter took his place beside Amarillysvand they both bowed, before leaving without so much as a good-bye.