Hercules Strong, 18
Life doesn't come to a stand still for the reaping, not in District 9 at least. Sure all the stores wedge their doors shut and draw down their blinds, but that doesn't mean that the rest of us get a day off. Not that they're really getting the day off anyway, I'm sure they're feeling as low and nervous about the whole thing as the rest of us. Only difference I guess is that people like me still have to get up in the morning and find something to eat. There are a lot of mouths relying on me that I need to feed.
The good thing about 9 is that I don't have to leave the boundaries of the district to find game, not like in the other districts. Stories travel down from the guys on the trains about people who've ventured into the woods and had their tongues cut off in penance, or just plain and simple had a bullet blasted through their brain. Here in 9 you're only looking at getting in trouble for poaching or out of hours trespassing, and between you and me; I'm good at talking my way out of it.
I slip through the gap in between the wire fence surrounding field 6b. It's a corn field that's a bit out of the way and an easy place to catch various critters of the flying and four footed variety. Every night for the past four years I've been coming here and rigging up a few little snares here and there and returning in the early hours of the morning, before the sun has risen and collecting my pickings.
Some days there's no more than a few wild mice, but well, you can't expect miracles every morning, least not in a place like this.
My first trap is not far from the gate and by far the most simple; a wretched old piece of wire netting Cook found in the garden shed one morning. It's a bit tatty and some parts of it have fallen prey to mildew, but if I throw it over a few of the corn stalks I'll usually have a few birds trapped in the netting by morning.
It's an ok haul today, three blackbirds and one big fat nasty looking crow. The smaller birds are easy to do away with, all of them almost dead as it is from struggling against the net, but the crow struggles, pecking at me and flapping its wings against my hand as I try and get a grip around its neck.
I kind of really hate it when the animals go limp in my hand, knowing full well I snuffed the life out of them. It's necessary of course; if I didn't kill them we'd starve, but the dull feeling follows the action every time.
I find two rabbits in one of the other traps but that's it for the day. It's a little bit disappointing, I'd been hoping for at least one or two more animals. With a deflated sigh I put the rabbits into the old grain sack I use for a hunting bag and turn back to the fence. I don't have the time to scout out any extra food this morning, Cook wants the food back as soon as possible so he can prepare a post reaping broth for the kids. It's his speciality, apparently.
The walk back to the orphanage doesn't take too long. Cook has left the back porch light on and I can already smell the beginnings of his broth boiling away, drifting through the air from the kitchen window. Almost on cue his head pokes out of it, a thin saggy bald thing with pokey out ears, as though he sensed my very presence. Or the food, more like it.
"Got me some goodies this morning boy?" He calls out, his one front tooth jutting out awkwardly as he smiles at me.
"Well it's no bumper crop, but it'll do fine for your stew I reckon."
"It's not a stew Herc, it's a bloody broth. How many times do I have to tell you there's a difference?"
"How many times do I have to tell you I don't care?" I laugh back at him as I come through the door and drop the sack on the bench closest. He opens it cautiously and frowns.
"God, it ain't going to be no fancy dinner tonight, that's for sure."
"I don't think any of the kids will care." I say, hoisting myself up onto the bench opposite. Cook sees me do this and narrows his eyes. He hates it when I do things like this but after years of me helping to top up his food supplies he's started to let a few things slide, begrudgingly of course.
"I don't know what I'm going to do without you around here you know." He says quietly. "It's gonna be mighty hard work to find a kid who can rig a trap and hunt anywhere near as good as you do."
"Well you've still got me for another month, maybe more, depending on how charitable old man Eames is feeling." I reply, feeling unsure of whether I'll even get that long. I've been lucky enough as it is to stay on here after my eighteenth birthday.
"Have you worked out what you're going to do with that brother of yours yet? He asks, eyeing me with his trademark caution, as though he's always worried he's going to overstep the mark.
I shift uncomfortably, barely able to look up at him. The thought of having to take my brother out of the relative safety of the orphanage just because I'm now one year too old for the place is almost too much to bear.
"He'll stay here until I can find some work and a place for us to live comfortably. No point both of us starving if he's still eligible for a bed here hey?" I try to smile as I say the last sentence, to try and show I'm attempting to make a joke of the situation, but all I'm able to produce is a weak sort of grimace.
"Now don't go talking like that Herc. You'll be fine, you're a resourceful young lad." Cook croaks back, his voice unnaturally soothing.
"Yeah I know," I say, finally pushing the smile through, even though I'm not sure I believe the words that just left my mouth. "I'll be fine."
I don't know how sure I am about that though. Truth be told I'm scared out of my wits.
Demeter Ross, 17
I hate the walk from my house to the town square. District 9 is pretty sparse, and my house is right on the outer reaches of the poorest section, which is about an hour's walk away. If I'm able to cut through the wheat fields I can cut the journey down to about half that, but doing that on reaping day would be unwise. It's a punishable offence to be caught in a field during off duty hours, and while it's easy enough to get away with every other day, doing so today would be a pretty dumb move. Every square inch of the road in town always seems to be crawling with peacekeepers come reaping day.
"Eight. We've seen eight peacekeepers now. That's gotta be some kind of record right?" My friend John asks as we walk along the road. My thirteen year old sister Hestia is trotting along behind us, trying to keep up with John's long strides.
"I don't know about that. My dad says that in the first few years after the war you couldn't go ten metres without seeing a peacekeeper on reaping day." I reply, cupping my hand above my eyes to block out the sun as we walk along. Its rays are glaring extra hard today.
"Well it's a new record for our reapings then."
"Can you even remember how many we counted last year?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
"Well no, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't this many."
"We saw six." Hestia pipes up, her voice so high and shrill it makes John jump.
"How do you even remember that?" He asks, rolling his eyes at her playfully.
"It was my first reaping, I can even remember how many buttons were missing from Emile Coster's blouse." She grins.
"How many was that?"
"Two, both of them up the top so you could see just about everything." She replies, her voice only a little bit smug.
"You're a strange kid Hestia. If I didn't have a hopeless crush on your….." He begins, but his voice trails off and his gaze locks onto something up ahead, his expression clearly troubled.
About twenty metres ahead of us is Wilma Bartlett, one of our neighbours, and a stout boy I can't seem to place. He's got her barrelled up against a utility pole and from what I can see the exchange is anything but friendly.
"Hey!" I shout out, running ahead of John and Hestia. The boy's head snaps in my direction and he doesn't look the slightest bit happy I've interrupted him. As I get closer I can see that Wilma has a small paper bag clutched desperately to her chest, which presumably contains her lunch and is the reason for the conflict.
"What do you think you're doing?" I yell at him when I reach them. By now I've managed to at least remember that he's in the year above me, and though I can't remember his name what I can remember of him is not in the slightest bit pleasant.
"Get lost Ross, this doesn't concern you." He barks at me through gritted teeth.
"I don't care whether it does or not, let her go." I spit back. He lets Wilma go, pushing her against the pole hard as he does so and turns toward me, his face almost amused.
"Yeah, what are you going to do, punch me?" He laughs, stepping towards me. I don't move an inch, not even when he starts cracking his knuckles. "You gonna fix me up real good huh?"
"She might not, but I will. You can bet on it you little rat," A voice snarls behind me. John's shadow has completely blocked any light from hitting the bully boy and he steps back, his confidence fading fast.
"I wasn't gonna do anything Little John, it was all in good fun." The boy stutters, his eyes darting in every direction.
"Did you think it was fun?" John asks Wilma. She shakes her head. "She doesn't seem to agree with you."
"Well errr uhhh I was..." The boy starts, but John cuts him off.
"Just get lost."
The kid does as he says without any of the back chat I'd received; high tailing it away from us faster than anyone I've ever seen run before.
"How do you do that?" I ask John as Hestia rushes over to check how Wilma is.
"What do you mean?"
"You know, get them to run off with their tail between their legs."
"Oh, that. Well that's easy. You've just gotta be intimidating" He laughs, winking.
"Little john is intimidating?"
"That's just my stage name."
I laugh and shove him away playfully. "You're a weirdo."
"Yep, I am. I'll be a late weirdo too if we don't get a move on." He says, pointing at the scratched up watch he's worn on his wrist for as long as I can remember. "If it's still telling the time as reliably as it always has, we've only got about forty five minutes to get to the greatest show on earth before it starts without us."
"Well," I start, grinning up at him, "We better get going then."
Hercules Strong, 18
Our Escort is one scary looking creature. Emphasis on the word creature, because I'm not entirely convinced the over-sized chunk of plastic walking across the stage is human. Apparently it's a woman who goes by the name of Eudora, but if you asked me what she was I'd feel more comfortable saying she's a mannequin that's been dip dyed in a vat of toxic waste. The green kind, the one that stains your skin.
She's fidgeting around on the stage as the propo plays, seemingly as bored as we are by the film. The new President's voice over was interesting, but that kind of novelty wears off quickly, leaving it just as boring as usual. The same footage year in year out gets a bit draining. I found it absolutely enthralling the first time I watched it, but once you get older and you're actually at risk of getting reaped it doesn't seem as fantastic as before.
When it ends the unbearable looking lady thing onstage licks her lips and even her tongue looks plastic. "Gives me chills every time I watch it, simply marvellous."
I get chills just looking at her, not the good kind either.
She grins at the audience, her awful orange irises glinting in the sun. "Well, I think it's about high time we got to the main event hmm? As always, ladies first."
She's quick about the whole picking a slip thing, I've at least got to give her that. Somehow I get the feeling 9 isn't one of the Capitol's favorite districts to watch and that she more or less has to hurry the show along a bit. She picks the first slip her fingers touch and brings it back across to the microphone hastily.
"Hmmmm….well now….Demeter Ross." She calls out.
The crowd is silent for an excruciating amount of time. Then out of nowhere a girl with auburn hair appears in the mid-section, walking up to the stage. She takes her time too, each step sort of uncertain, as though she's not altogether sure she can actually walk. Eudora offers the girl a hand as she makes her way up the wooden steps, which seems to give her a little bit more confidence, not much though.
"Well aren't you a divine darling!" Eudora grins. "The people in the Capitol are just going to eat you right up I'm sure of it!"
Something about the way she says that makes me feel sick, like she's insinuating something more than the usual fanfare the more attractive tributes receive.
"I think they might find me a bit tough and gamey." Demeter replies, her voice sort of slow and unsure as she says it. Eudora laughs.
"Oh aren't you just the sweetest! Now, let's find a lucky boy to join you shall we?"
Eudora let's go of Demeter's hands and scuttles across the stage to the other reaping bowl. Just as quick as before she picks out the male's name and makes her way back to the microphone. Demeter watches her, her amber eyes clouded over with worry.
Eudora pulls the black tape off the slip and reads the name over, before glancing back up at the crowd, her expression beyond ecstatic.
"Well, isn't this ironic! Our male is Hercules Strong!"
Demeter Ross, 17
The boy that makes his way up onstage is twice the size of me, even bigger than John by my guess. He's got wavy blonde hair the color of wheat and has eyes grey as stone which are set just as hard. Somehow seeing him make his way up onstage beside me makes everything feel more real.
I'm going into The Hunger Games and I'm going to die. He'll probably die with me.
"Can you believe it! Two tributes with mythical namesakes! Here's hoping you live up to your namesake hey?" Eudora beams, looking at Hercules hungrily.
He seems uncomfortable being so close to her and shuffles back a bit. Other than that though he seems fine, quite peachy really.
He flashes Eudora a wide smile. "Well I'll try my best."
I envy the confidence he's exuding, like it's no big deal he's just been reaped for the games. He's probably got more of a shot at winning this than the rest of the outer district kids but still, it'd be nice if he seemed even half as nervous as I do.
Eudora sort of giggles and then turns back to the crowd. "Let's hope he gives it his all. That is unless there are any volunteers, for both he and Demeter?"
Not a single person offers to take our places but I'm glad for the moment's rest from focusing all my attention on Eudora and Hercules. As she lets the obligatory few seconds tick by I search through the crowd, looking for my sister and John. It's hardly bearable to see Hestia crying down there in front of me, but seeing John with tears streaming down his cheeks at the back of the crowd is another thing altogether. I force myself to look away from the crowd and in doing so notice Hercules is doing the same.
It crosses my mind that perhaps there is someone down there who loves him too.
"No? Well then, I guess its set! Ladies and Gentleman of District 9 I present you your tributes, Demeter Ross and Hercules Strong!" Eudora announces through the microphone. Both Hercules and I turn towards each other, ready for the obligatory hand shake. As his hand wraps around mine he smiles at me, and it's not flashy or showy like the one he just used for Eudora and her Capitol Cams. It's friendly, but even more surprisingly it's sad, or maybe even afraid. Against my better judgement I decide to smile back. It takes an awful lot of effort to smile while also trying to stop myself from crying like a blubbering mess, but somehow I manage it.
For a moment it's comforting, to be able to share in the fear I'm feeling. For a moment I'm able to forget that I'm about to go into a game that's really only set for single players, with one winner overall. Then Eudora is urging us to break apart and I'm alone again, left with my brain to remind me that only one of us is able to make it back home alive.
I decide there and then that no matter what, it's going to be me.
I swear to god Camp Halfblood is hiding away in the fields of district 9. I didn't even realize both these guys had Greek (or in Herc's case Roman) mythology names until I finished Herc's first POV.
I love it!
PJ feelings aside, We only have three more reapings left, which is a very exciting prospect...at least for me anyway hehehe.
Well I hope you guys liked Hercules and Demeter, they were quite enjoyable to write.
Onwards to District 10!