Imogene Guthrie, 15 - District 10 female

Nrrrd-Grrrl-Meg

"Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life, but define yourself." - Harvey Fierstien

It is so unbearable, really. The grunts, the pet-names, the secrets released in the dead of night. A different face, a different tone, a different personality for each one. They each had their own quirks that made them stand out in their own way each more vile and revolting than the next. From my spot in the corner of my dirt floor room, I can witness it all, all of the benefit of one person. Me.

My mother sleeps with dirty old men to keep me alive.

The Mayor likes her to talk dirty to him, like he is the peasant and she is the one in control. Willie Jeffers, owner of Jeffers Livestock, wants to leave marks on her, to brand her like one of his cattle. But worse still, by leaps and bounds, is Peacekeeper Carrion. He needs an audience when he performs, much like a seal needs praise before it eats a fish. I am that audience and for now, I am a non-participating audience member in his sexual games. For now. I pray that it stays that way.

As I try not to vomit all over myself, he ruffles my bed-ratted hair and slides his hand under my chin, forcing me to stare deep into his seedy brown eyes.

"Just as beautiful as your whore of a mother," he compliments me, making me shutter. "One day, you will be my little who-"

"I'd rather be dead," I spat at him, my words like venomous daggers.

"You bitch!" His hand is quick and it stings my face, but my fist is nearly as quick, catching him off guard as it connects with his chin. "I will have your hide for this! When Head Peacekeeper Verona hears about this-"

My mother jumps in at just the right time, catching his hand before it could connect again with my face. "I'm sorry, Carrion, I'm sorry. She's just a child and the next session...next one is..."

"Free. And I want want her tamed, not acting like some wild animal." The glint in his eyes rocks me to my core. "Unlike the ones that you are with, I don't like the women I am with to leave behind a calling card."

I wanted to hit him again, to feel the rush of adrenaline as my knuckles connect with his face and watch as that spot grows crimson in color. To know that it is I that left that mark, since he has been leaving his marks on my insides for years. The little words he coos at me before leaving in the dead of night, the eyes that stare through me like a piece of cattle cooked just for him. I guess that makes me his veal.

As a vegetarian, I shutter at the thought.

"Just don't hurt her, Carrion," she begged, her voice shaking. "Please."

Much to my relief, he does what she asked of him. Instead of striking me one more time, he throws his money onto the bed and slams his way out of our home, his pants still around his ankles. Once his form is gone from our sight, my mother snatched up the money he tossed her way and patted the space next to her in the bed. Like a child, I bolt up from my spot on the floor and throw myself into her arms, finding comfort and solace in her warm embrace. She pushes my crimson locks out of my face and kisses my forehead and for just a little while, the world wasn't a terrible place. Life, as I know it, was grand.

But, as the old saying in District Ten goes, 'Even in the most beautiful of fields you can find cow shit'.

The beauty in my cow shit, so to speak, is my mother. Valentina Guthrie; the child beauty turned teen mother thanks to someone with authority, a Peacekeeper, perchance. She has never spoken of my conception, at least, not to me, but that is what I believed to be the answer. Or, maybe, she really doesn't know and that is all the more sad. Not for me, as I could care less, but for her. Maybe had she known or kept in touch with him, she wouldn't have nights like this, forced to sell herself to the highest bidder to men that aren't worthy to touch her. Which makes me feel all the worse, since I know she does this all for me.

"We can afford something more filling than cabbage soup for tonight," she said, kissing my forehead like she did when I was just a child. "Maybe some cheese and bread."

"And some chocolate and imported rolls from another district," I added, letting my mind wander and my mouth drool. "And some mint for your tea."

"Fresh fruit from Eleven and grain to make our own bread from Nine."

"Or, we can make some cabbage soup and you can save it for the next time we are low on cash?" My words sting as they exit my mouth, the thought of my mother repeating tonight's little romp but without payment invading my mind. "I mean, it's not like we'll see money like this any time soon."

She grows quite, her face contorted in sadness. It breaks my heart.

"Mama?"

Her eyes are brimming with tears, but she blinks them away. "What, baby?"

"Live it up," I whisper, a grin sliding across my face. "We can worry about tomorrow's problems when they come."

Her laugh is infectious, filling me with a joy I haven't felt in a long time. On a day like today, laughter is a luxury people like us aren't afforded. We are on the lowest totem pole in the Livestock District, below the cattle ranchers and the milkmaids, below the orphans and the drunks my mother serves in the bar below us. On the nights my mother doesn't get enough tips for dinner, we go to bed hungry. At worse, we don't even have cabbage broth the tide us over. Tessera gives us hope, but it isn't enough to keep us going all month long. Times have been hard lately, with less and less drunks leaving behind big, big tips for us to live off of, so if I see a chance to see my mother smile, I am taking it. After all...

She deserves it.

District Ten's Reapings are later in the day, thanks to everyone in the Capitol clamoring for a chance to see the brutes from One, Two, and Four and refusing to wait a minute longer than possible. Those tributes are, what has been dubbed by most The Careers, the ones that seem like they've waited all their lives for this, yet have 'received no special treatment'. Yeah, and I'm President Cross's long lost daughter! We get to wait longer to find out who is going to be the next to die for the sins of our parents. What they don't know is that I suffer the sins of my mother, just as she suffers for the sin of my existence. It is a vicious cycle that we must make our way through if we are to survive this new Panem.

By the time the sun begins to rise, I give up any thought of getting sleep. My stomach is in knots; both Carrion's threats and my potential death looming ahead of me, making my life seem as though it is no longer in my control. Am I fated to fall into the hands of a sexual deviant or dying at the end of another child's sword? Or, do I make my own fate?

Any way I spin it, I'm pretty well fucked.

Without making a sound, I grab my Reaping outfit (nothing more than a simple white shirt and brown skirt) and make my way to the billowing creek only a quarter of a mile behind the two-floor shack that doubles as both my mother's place of business and our home. In the swirling light of pinks and oranges, I slip out of my bedclothes and dip my body slowly into the warm and gentle water. The dirt of yesterday drifted off of my body and flowed down with the current, taking with it the shame of what I witnessed, as well as my stress. Usually, this is something I save for the cover of night, as I am not one to parade around nude, but Carrion couldn't exactly perform without my olive green eyes watching his every move, I couldn't exactly leave my home to do this. Knowing my luck, he would have followed me.

Whispers and laughter break through the serenity, bringing me crashing down to reality. With one quick move, I am out of the water and using my nightshirt to cover myself up.

"Well, look who we have here, boys..." The voice is sing-songy and a little high pitched, belonging to only one person; Chester, son of the Peacekeeper that is trying to get his mitts on me.

"Don't cover yourself up just yet, princess!" The second voice is huskier, belonging to the Mayor's piggy of a son, Flint.

The laughter grows closer and louder before the four boys make their way from the cover of the trees and descend on me. Exactly what I needed at this point in time. Between Chester and Flint are their sidekicks, Russ and Rig Wrangler, sons of a local Cattle Rancher and one of the many drunks I see on a nightly basis. Hell, I'd drink my life away too, if I created little shits like those two. On their own, they are pansies, nothing I can't handle. But they are in a group and I am sans clothing, so this isn't exactly looking like the odds will be in my favor.

"Drop the shirt beautiful," Rig taunted, trying to make a play for the only thing keeping my body from being on display.

"Give us a little show!" Russ followed up, coming closer than his twin and succeeding in pinning me against a tree. "Chester, she's shy!"

The twins backed off, letting their leader take their place. For a child that has never known hunger like I have, he is scrawny and tall, having almost a full head over me and his limbs are thin and lanky. His nostrils flare, making his freckles seem like they are dancing across his face and his crooked grin shows off his cracked and yellow-tinted teeth. His breath was hot and smelled of a food I had never the luxury of tasting and it lingered as he drug his nose up my neck and placed it by my ear.

"My father wants you for himself," he whispers softly, not letting even his lackeys hear. "But I want to beat him to the punch."

"I'm not a trophy to be passed around," I reply, turning my head away from him. "And your father will not have me."

As his eyes grow wide at my words, I take advantage of the situation and bring up my knee, catching him between the legs and dropping him down to my height before I follow it up with a forearm to the nose, breaking it wide open. He lets out a mangled cry before falling over completely, which finally wakes up the rest of them and they start on me. Flint's meaty hand comes at my throat, pinning against the tree and it takes everything in me to keep a hold of the nightshirt and the little dignity I still have left. Instinct and adrenaline kicked in, using my free hand to swing wildly at Flint until the last blow catches him in the chin and gets him to loosen his grip and I slammed myself into him, knocking him onto his back like a turtle.

The Wranglers come at me as pair, catching me off-guard and sending me retreating backwards, as to not show them my back end, until I hit something sturdy. When it moans slightly, I realize that it's a person, not another tree, and I'm worse off than I was before.

"Back off of her boys, she's with me."

Rex. Of all the people...

Russ and Rig grab their counterparts and make a hasty exit, but not without sharing some empty threats with no one in particular. Behind me, I can almost feel Rex grinning like a madman, knowing that he didn't have to lift a finger to send those guys packing. Meanwhile, my arm and hand are killing me and my nightshirt is left a tattered mess and he gets all the credit for it. Nice.

"I wasn't looking, I promise," he stammered out and from the sound of his voice, I can tell his face is as crimson as my hair. "Why don't you go get your clothes on before they regroup and try to come back?"

Without saying a word, I do exactly that and rejoin him by the tree that I was once pinned against. His eyes can barely meet my own, but I can still see a sense of humility and shame in those brown pools. If I was a normal girl in this district, I would have swooned. Thanks to men like Carrion and the others that find their way into my mother's bedroom, I am not what one would call normal.

"I had it, you know," I sputtered out, lowering my own eyes, but staring at my knuckles that were starting to swell. "I've handled them before."

His smile never wavers and his eyes glance up at my own. "A 'Thank You' is usually warranted when someone saves your life."

He reaches his arms out to place it on my shoulder, but I cringe and pull back completely on instinct. The hurt in his eyes almost makes me feel bad, but he knows my feelings on being touched. Even if he hadn't, I wouldn't have cared anyway. Do not get me wrong, I'm not an unfeeling, heartless wench, I'm just...I'm a difficult nut to crack, I guess.

"I don't want or need your help," I respond, knowing it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. "But thanks, I guess. Shouldn't you be with your sisters or something and not spying on me while I'm bathing?"

His hands go up defensively as his cheeks grow red once more. "Whoa...that was not on my agenda today."

Right.

"Whatever," I respond, with little effort in my voice. "I've gotta go, the Reaping can't go on with me and my twelve slips." And with that, I abandoned Rex Kingston and his hopelessly stupid grin.

At one point in time, Rex Kingston and I were friends. Good friends, actually. Then again, that's like saying that at one point in my life, I was truly happy – it is ancient history. But, alas, it doesn't change our shared past, no matter how ancient of history it is.

As a child, I had no clue what my mother had to subject herself to so that I could have food in my belly and a roof over my head. I knew her official job, swinging drinks to the lushes at One For the Road.Hell, I knew those guys better than I knew the other kids in my class, as I sat with them every night and some even helped me with my homework. Rex had been a true friend, loyal and fun to be around. He let me be the cowboy when we played together and for to me, that was everything. I even shared Colt, my wooden horse, with him and not even my mother was allowed to touch him, as it was my only toy. The other kids would come and go, but Rex and his sisters were constants in my extremely small circle of friends.

And then, the rebellion came and failed. Life in Panem changed and with it, things became harder on my mother and her other job was exposed for all to see. Soon, the children heard their father's discussing Valentina Guthrie and they were told to stay away from her daughter because she must be a chip off of the whore block. I was mocked, teased, and harassed, by both children and adults, and no amount of threats from both Rex and myself would keep them away. So, I left school and learned what I needed to know to get by in District Ten by hanging out with the men in the bar and helped my mother by briefly getting a job as a milkmaid, before being forced to quit, thanks to the owner of the ranch hitting on me and attempted to force himself on me. From then on, I refused to trust anyone except my mother, who was always there to pick of the pieces.

This meant kicking Rex and his sisters to the wayside and slowly becoming the girl that slowly walked to the Reaping with her dirty bedclothes in her hand.

Even with taking the long way to the Town Center, I was early and the first child within Reaping age to show. Smaller children, be they from large, starving families or orphans, were paid a pittance to prepare the stage that they will one day soon associate with being the portal to death, the smiles on their faces both refreshing and sad. Sad that they need to prepare other children for death just to fill their pockets with a few coins. Peacekeepers watched on, their eyes trained to find them doing something, just so they can fill themselves with the joy of watching a child suffer. Luckily for me, Carrion was no where to be seen, but someone much worse was in the middle of it all.

Head Peacekeeper Verona.

As Peacekeepers go, Verona isn't too bad. He has been in District Ten since long before my birth and rumor has it, he has given up the chance to be reassigned a flashier district since a year or two after the rebellion failed. He is strict, yet surprisingly fair. Once or twice, he even stopped a few of the boys from getting their asses handed to them by yours truly and threatened them for their jeers of myself and my mother. All of these things should make him a stand-up guy, almost on par with Rex and the guys in the bar, had it not been for one thing.

The way he stares at me.

Take this moment, for instance. Once he takes notice to me being the only of-Reaping age child in the Center, he makes eye contact, but it isn't the usual looks and gestures I am used to from the men in this place. His glare is almost sad, haunted. And then I remember the apples he has given to me over the years, the half-smiles...it's like he wants to make a connection with me, yet not in a sexual way like most of the perverted bastards around these parts. While the advances of the others refuse to leave a mark in my life, he does. He stands out. Why?

The square slowly fills and I am soon sucking on my pricked finger and left among the rest of the fifteen year old girls. They giggle and stare, speaking in mock whispers as though I am too stupid to hear their comments. I am not stupid, I can hear their comments. I just don't care enough to respond.

Flint the Piggy's father, Mayor Potbelly himself, or Mayor Calhoun to the rest of the District, cleared his throat and made his way to the podium. He was an older, balder, fatter (if that is humanly possible) version of his son, and one of the more disgusting clients of my mother and has a flat, monotone voice that makes each Reaping that much more unbearable. Finally, he introduces Synthe Brickette, our escort since day one, a rather relaxed and mellow man, compared to the others I have seen during Reaping recaps on the television over the past few years.

"Welcome, welcome District Ten to the Seventh Annual HUNGER GAMES!" His uppity, Capitol accent-heavy voice is a surprising lovely departure from Mayor Potbelly. "Now, as you well know by now, it is time to select the lucky boy and girl that will come with me to the Capitol and represent us all in this years Games!"

Joy.

With his long, dancers legs, which are covered in indigo colored leather chaps and topped by a pastel flannel, he glides his way to the girl's bowl. The tension in the air is thick and almost chokes me as the perfectly folded white slip of paper is plucked from the safety of the bowl.

"Why, the lovely young lady with a chance at becoming your first victory is..."

The suspense...it's the suspense that kills me every year.

"IMOGENE GUTHRIE!"

Over the murmurs and the laughter, I can hear a scream that without a doubt in my mind belongs to my mother. The girls around me quickly back away from me, as though we are playing a real-life game of Plague Person (a favorite of ours once, when I was just a child at play), which draws the attention of every camera in the square. With fists clenched and a glint in my eye, I march my way to the stage. They want a sobbing little girl, a Bloodbather waiting to happen.

I am no such girl.

As I look out among the people of District Ten that I will never see again, it is Carrion's gaze that my eyes find first, the look on his face is one of amusement. Now I know who to thank for being up here, especially since my lonely twelve slips of paper among thousands hardly make for the odds to be against me in such a way. I smirk in his direction, my face saying what my mind is screaming.

You won't get the chance to touch me!

Thanks to my staring contest with the biggest bastard in all of Panem, I missed the second name called by Synthe the Clown. However, the same reaction I was given (minus the laughter and mutterings) happens in the sixteen year old's section.

Rex.

No.

This can't be happening.

He is from the middle class, not poor, nor rich, with probably no tessera to speak of, and yet, he makes his way to the stage with a sense of poise and grace that he usually presents us all with. His sisters are sobbing, I can hear them over the crowd, over the heavy beating of my heart. He is his parents only son and the protector of those in trouble, a hero to his sisters, especially little Aelita. I can see her now, hysterically clinging to her mother, who is trying to hold it together for her baby. The heart I didn't think I actually had anymore breaks.

If I am to make it back to my mother, their big brother needs to meet his end.

Rex smiles sheepishly at me as he shakes my hand, which only makes this harder on me. The Treaty of Treason makes for the perfect backdrop as we stare at each other, the fight of this morning still fresh in our minds, as is our childhood together in the fields of golden green grass and fresh prairie air. He protected me back then, attempted to shield me from their harsh words and grabby fingers. The scars still made their way to my body and soul, but less so, thanks to Rex. And now, thanks to our need for freedom and vengeance, we are forced in the Hunger Games where only one or none of us can hope to return.

The Justice Building is a departure from the plains and fields and animals of Ten, filled with lavish décor and plush interior. For some reason, I half-expected a leather couch like I've seen the tributes sit on while being interviewed by the amazing Kleon Gradizean, but was greeted instead with a velvet one that most have made its way from Eight. I can't help but notice how much the color matches that of Scynthe's pants, but before I can laugh the door distracts me.

"Imogene!"

My mother, her face aged since I last saw her this morning, her eyes red from the tears that stream down her cheeks.

"MAMA!" Her arms are like a shelter that I never want to leave. "Carrion...he'll hurt you if I'm not here!"

She snaps back, her eyes now red from the fire growing inside of her. "Don't you dare worry about me out here when you are forced to fight for their entertainment! You focus on coming back to me, my sweet angel."

The kiss she plants on my forehead brings tears that pepper my eyes and cloud my vision. I blink them away, refusing to have my last images of my mother ruined by something as trivial as tears.

"You are a fighter, my girl," she continued. "No matter what this life throws at you, you refuse to change who you are. Do not let them change you. You can fight, you can win this. Your fists are deadly, promise me you won't go down without a fight."

"I promise Mama," I reassured her, my voice unshaken. "I will win this and take you away from those perverted men."

She pushes Colt into my hand and kisses me one last time. "That's my girl!"

A Peacekeeper, one I don't recognize, pulls her off of me and like a quick change in the wind, she is gone from my life forever. I fall on to the couch, trying my hardest to remember every inch of the woman who gave me life and so much more, but I am interrupted by the door opening up once more.

Aelita Kingston, age eight years.

"Please...please don't let my brother die," she stammers, her eyes never meeting my own green ones. "He's my hero, Ms. Guthrie."

The waver in her voice, matched with the tears that fell onto her chubby baby-like cheeks, it was too much for me. Any walls I had built up around me feelings broke and I found myself sobbing into the shoulder of the little girl who's brother I might before forced to murder for my own survival. Moments pass, nothing is said and nothing needs to be said. I can't come back if it means Aelita growing up with her big brother.

I'm sorry Mama, but I might have to break my promise.

The sound of her cries drown out the sound of the door creaking open and it isn't until she is ripped from my arms like a rag doll and thrown from the room with a thud. The tree trunk-like arms I recognize right away as belonging to only one man.

Carrion.

"You think you can leave me?" He advances on me, his voice pounding in my ears. For the first time since he entered my life, I am legitimately afraid for my life. "You think you can't get away with what you did without some sort of repercussion?"

His hand is around my neck, quite the same way his own son's was just a few hours ago. The irony would have crossed my mind, had I not been fighting for my life against this crazed and brutal man.

"Right here, right now, I will get what is owed to me!" His free hand goes for the buckle of his pants and my fists find his arms, but do little to quell his actions. "So pretty...just like your mommy."

As gravity takes his pants and his mouth forces itself onto my own, the lack of oxygen begins to have its side effects kick in. My vision blurs, my mind races for an answer to my predicament. His hand fights with my top, tearing it just enough to ruin it for good and I lose the war against reality.

This is it. I am not going to die in these games while my mother watches. Carrion is doing the job the Capitol is supposed to have.

The world around me begins to fade away, with his hands going for my skirt and the door to the Goodbye Room slamming open. I recognize the voice the demands my release, yet I have no power to put a face to it. Instead, I let the damage done by this man take effect and I slip into the unknown.

I'm sorry, Mama...

Rex Kingston, 16 - District 10 male

Sixty9ing Chipmunks

The oranges and pinks that accompany the nearly perfect sunrise begin to trickle their way into the windows of the slaughterhouse, which brings with it light that brightens the dark task at hand. With my club firmly in my hand, I close my eyes and mutter an empty apology as I bring down my wooden death stick, splattering the back of the pig's head, covering my once white apron with scarlet liquid. At one point in time, he was dubbed Sancho the Pig, but now that he has passed on into the hereafter, I hurl his carcass onto the conveyer belt and start onto the next one. It is difficult not to think of these animals as the piggies that my sisters helped to raise and fatten up, to shift my thoughts to anything else but. Sometimes, it's a bully that's been picking on my little sister Aelita, other times it's a Peacekeeper. When I am feeling particularly daring, it's President Cross himself and it's in that moment that the club comes down a little harder, that the head snaps forward like a twig under my boot. It's in those moments that I force myself to take a step back and pull the pieces of my shattered humanity back together.

Do not think of me as a monster, for I am the furthest thing from it. In District Ten, there are very few ways to get by in life and one of them is to work for the slaughterhouses that plump up those flamboyant bastards from the Capitol and bring just a little extra meat to my family's plate. As long as my sisters are fed and my father doesn't have to kill himself by working twelve-hour days as a Cattle Rancher, then I can live with the horrors of my work. For my sisters, I will do anything.

"Rex, my boy!"

The voice belonged to one Mr. Jorge Galloway, the night manager of the slaughterhouse and once a high-ranking member of the rebellion that brought upon us the Hunger Games that I am trying to avoid today. He's a sturdy, strong man, with a salt and pepper beard and hair that is just beginning to thin out and, more importantly, the reason why my family has been able to get by for the past few years.

"Yes, Mr. Galloway?" I respond, tossing the last remaining pig onto the belt and watching it slowly fad from sight.

With a smile on his face, he hands me a satchel, specially designed to keep meats fresh for deliveries on foot. This is a bit on the strange side, as I haven't done a delivery since I changed my hours from day shift to night. No one else is awake at this hour, except for the drunks that are performing the drunken stumble home and the idiots like myself and Mr. Galloway, that love working under the light of the stars.

"That is a little something extra for your post-reaping dinner tonight," he states, as if this was no big deal. "Just a little 'thank you' for a job well done."

With eyes wide, I open the flap to the satchel and find several pounds of fresh cut bull and chicken meat, enough to last my family for a week and eliminating a need for my father to take overtime this week. Tears attempt to pepper my eyes, but I sniff them away.

"Mr. Galloway, sir...I can't take this," I stammer out, handing him back the satchel.

He shook his head and crossed his arms, as to block his hands from behind handed the bag back. "Just return the satchel after the Reaping so Diego can take use it to deliver the Mayor his prime beef cuts."

I fight the urge to hug him and instead, offer him my hand. "Thank you! Thank you so much, sir!"

"It's nothing, my boy," he answered, his face beaming with pride. "I owe you more than that. Business has boomed since you took the night shift. Now, run along and get yourself presentable for the Reaping." His voice grows cold at the end, knowing that I'm not the only one that has to chance to be Reaped today. "You're name is only in the bowl five times, if memory serves, so the odds are not exactly against you today."

He was right about that. Thanks to this job, neither myself, nor my two sisters, Sunny and Spring, have to take tessera and add our name into the Reaping bowl any more than just the allotted slips. However, we all know this means nothing, as just last year the Mayor's youngest daughter, Samara was Reaped and her name was only in the bowl once. She met her end quickly and painfully at the end of the victor's spear during the opening moments of the Bloodbath. I still remember her pale, chubby cheeks as they became sprayed with her own blood, much like that of the pig who's brains liter my feet.

The walk to my family home is a lovely one that takes me over the little creek and around the back end of the local bar, One For The Road. It takes everything in me not to stop and knock on the side entrance door, the one I know for a fact leads to the rooms above the bar. The steps that lead to Imogene Guthrie.

No. She can't see you like this, still reeking of slaughtered animals that once slept in your sister's bed. She's a vegetarian, for crying out loud! Plus, she hasn't even made eye contact with me in years, not since her mother's secret was exposed for all to see and her life was turned upside down. And while I was more than happy to make those that mocked her lives miserable, it wasn't enough to quell the violence and taunting that became her everyday life. In the end, she shut out everyone with the exception of her mother and put up walls around her so thick, that she can barely breathe behind them. So now, I keep my distance and my eyes open.

"Don't cover yourself up just yet, princess!"

I know that voice. Flint Calhoun, the plump son of the mayor and once older brother of Samara. If he is calling someone princess...

Imogene!

By the time they came into view, Peacekeeper Carrion's son was on the ground, his nose splattered across his face and the piglet himself, Flint, was sprawled out next to him. Imogene had her back to me, which was left open for the whole world to see (and, if I am to be honest, it was quite the view!) and the Wrangler twins were advancing on her. Before I had a chance to think things through, I found myself standing behind her and she bumped clear into me, while the twins' eyes grew wide.

"Back off of her boys, she's with me."

No one said a word as they tucked their collective tails between their legs and I couldn't help but smile. The damage done by one tiny girl was nothing short of amazing. I guess growing up the way she did, it transforms you into a fighter. She's gotten better at it since the last time I saw her use her hands on someone, I'll tell you that.

My eyes made their way down and I was reminded of how very naked she was, with the exception being the torn nightshirt she used to cover her front.

"I wasn't looking, I promise!" I stammered out, my cheeks turning hot. "Why don't you go get your clothes on before they regroup and try to come back?"

It takes everything in me not to watch her as she goes behind the tree she was once pinned to and put herself back together. With her luscious crimson locks and large olive eyes, she was a beauty fit for the Luxury District, not for the district of cow dung and pigs blood. She would be a prize for any man that was lucky enough to snatch her up, had the world not ruined her already. Within moments, she joins me, wearing a simple brown skirt that flows down to her knee and a white shirt. Nothing special and it suits her, she doesn't need a lot of glam to catch your eye.

"I had it, you know," she spits, her words like daggers. "I've handled them before."

I smile and my gaze meets hers. "A 'Thank You' is usually warranted when you save someone's life."

Without thinking, I attempt to place my hand sympathetically on her shoulder, but she recoils away as if I was made of fire. My heart shattered worse than Chester's nose and yet, I could tell she didn't really care about hurting my feelings. Part of me wanted to say something, but I knew exactly why she is the way that she is. Instead, I'll just hate the monsters that made her this way.

"I don't want or need you help," her words, once again, hitting me hard. "But thanks, I guess. Shouldn't you be with your sisters or something and not spying on me while I'm bathing?"

My hands shoot up, going on the defense as my cheeks grow red once more. "Whoa, that was not on my agenda today."

"Whatever," she response, her voice flat. "I've gotta go, the reaping can't go on without me and my twelve slips."

And like a thief in the night, she is gone and I'm left half a person. Just once, I'd love for it to be the way it once was; us playing in the backfields of the slaughterhouse I now work at, her letting me use that stupid wooden horse of hers that she never let anyone touch, sharing awkward glances as we grew older and knew what our friendship might one day turn into. For now, I am stuck with the ghost of what once was and praying for the chance to make it alright.

The rest of my walk home is uneventful, which was peachy by me. The woods gave way to a small farming community, with small fields littered every so often with a reasonable-sized home. They weren't much, especially compared with some of the houses I once delivered meat to, but it was the place my family grew up and to me, that's all that matters.

"REXY! REXY!"

Running at the speed of a mad bull, Aelita leaps into my arms and knocks me to the ground. Her dark locks mimic my own, but are pulled into tight pigtails that flow down to her shoulders, her grin missing a few teeth. Out of everything in my life, she is my absolute favorite.

"LITA! LITA!" I mimic, giving her a kiss on her pudgy cheek. "Where is everyone?"

"Papa's at the ranch and Mama is making the twins get ready for the reading."

"REAPING, Aelita," I correct her, tussling her hair. "Reaping. Someone I pray you will never have to worry about."

"OK," she shrugged, before noticing a wondering chicken and chased off after it.

Unlike most houses in our section, ours has three floors, which gives everyone their own space when needed. At the top of the house, in what was once a storage room, is my tiny abode, with just enough room for a bed and small chest with my work clothes and Reaping outfit. My window overlooks the woods I just made my way out of, which is a nice view on nights when I'm not working. Below me is the room that my three sisters share and is the largest in the house, as they have to fit three beds and chests in it, as well as a desk for school work. Next to them is my parents room, which to me, isn't enough for them, as they deserve the best for everything they've done for us. However, the door I enter leads to the large kitchen area, big enough for a large table and stove and topped off with a small refrigeration unit that Mr. Galloway was able to get for us not long after I started working for him. Standing at the sink, cleaning the dishes from yet another tasty breakfast, was my mother, Dawn. After three kids and a failed rebellion, she is still a beauty, with her dark blonde hair and large green eyes, the same that my twin sisters share.

"Who wants fresh meat for our after-reaping supper?" I exclaim, my voice echoing through the house. "Bull and chicken, fresh from Mr. Galloway to us Kingston's!"

She gasped as she saw the contents of my satchel. "Rex, honey, that is – that is too much for him to be sharing with us."

"I tried to tell him that, Mama, honest!" I placed the bag on the table and gave her a hug. "The bag just has to go back after the reaping."

She nodded as I pulled away. "Speaking of which, if you aren't ready to leave in fifteen minutes, we'll all be late for it."

Skipping every other step, I launched myself up both stairways until I was safely in my bedroom. I guess getting a bath myself is out of the question, so I tossed on my nicest pair of slacks and a blue top before barreling back downstairs in time to grab an apple and head out the door with Sunny and Spring in tow. Before long, we are off to the town square and left in our respective pens, slowly dying of boredom, thanks to Mayor Calhoun's lovely speaking voice. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he released Synthe Brickette, our colorful (to say the least) escort.

"Welcome, welcome District Ten to the Seventh Annual HUNGER GAMES!" His voice was dripping with a Capitol Accent to the point that you can barely understand what he said, but the gist of it was there. "Now, as you all well know by now, it is time to select the lucky boy and girl that will come with me to the Capitol and represent us all in this years games!"

His long legs, which were tastefully covered in indigo colored leather chaps and topped with a pastel colored flannel, danced their way towards the girls bowl. With a few moves, my life was changed. As I beg for the odds not to be against my twin sisters, nor Marlene Jones, the girl I grew up with, her name is called.

"Imogene Guthrie!"

Small pouts of laughter and mutterings erupted around me, but they didn't begin to register until I saw her walking towards the stage, her hair was a dead giveaway among the usually darker-haired farmer children. I even faintly catch a scream that has to belong to Imogene's mother. It takes everything in me to right this injustice, to make everything all better again. My fists, clenched and shaking, begin to turn white as the next name is called. It isn't until Ross Fox's eyes go glassy that I realized who was called.

Me.

Rex Kingston.

Forced to fight to the death or left to die. Forced to live while the girl I spent my life protecting dies.

Knowing that every camera in the district is trained on me, not to mention the fact that my sisters and parents are going to be coming unglued, I release my fists and walk towards the stage, leaving behind everything I've ever known. Inside, I am dying, my heart is slipping down into the bowels of my stomach, but for Imogene and my family, I wear a smile. The thought of letting any of them down weighing heavily on my chest, as well as the thought of never coming home again. With a sweaty palm, I shook the hand of the girl I once called friend.

We are soon whisked away to, the Justice Building and shoved into separate rooms, where I am quickly joined by Marlene Jones and Ross Fox.

"Come back, Rex," Marlene cried, her arms tight around me. "Do whatever it takes and just come back."

Ross, a quieter, usually unemotional boy, had tears rolling down his cheeks as he pulled Marlene away and wrapped his arms around me. "Make allies, get weapons. Show those Career bastards that it's District Ten's year to shine!"

"I'll do my best," was all I could muster up.

They are quickly replaced by the twins, that are already sobbing their little hearts out. Just knowing that they are safe for one more year is all that matters to me.

"You can't leave us, Rex," Sunny begged, her arms entangled in my legs, refusing to let me leave that spot. "You just can't!"

"Please! Please, please, PLEASE, don't go!" Spring followed, her cries echoing in my ears. It takes everything in me not to join in their cries, but I had to play my role as the big brother for just a little longer.

"I have to go, I'm so sorry," I whispered, unable to work up the nerve to speak.

"We can hide you!"

"Don't go!"

Kicking and screaming, they are forced to leave by Peacekeepers.

Little Aelita came in alone, her face pale and tear-stained, with is all I needed to see to let my guard down. She doesn't say a word to me, and together we sit on the velvet couch and sob, drenching each others shirts. Finally, her little voice squeaks.

"Who's gonna protect me from Wayne Pruitt now?"

Honestly, I didn't know how to answer her and I didn't. Instead, I told her that I loved her and that I would think of her every single day. That I would fight like heck to return to her, to save her from bullies and bad guy. That I would see her again one day. My parents came in and let her go into the hallway with the twins.

"You can do this, son," my father began, patting me on the shoulder. Jacob Kingston is usually a man of few words. "Use all you have learned at the slaughterhouse and think of the others as just little piggies. I know this is easier said than done, but you have to come back home to us. I love you, son."

"I love you too, Papa!"

My mom grabbed me and held me close, her tears joining my own and Aelita's on my shirt,"I know you, Rex Kingston. You will try to protect everyone, to save everyone. It is the hero complex that lives inside of you. Please...don't do it. Save yourself and only you, you promise me?"

How do I make a promise like that? Well, you tell her what you want to hear. "I promise, Mama. I love you!"

"I love you too, my baby boy."

With a swoop of the door, they are gone from me and I am drug into the hallway and towards a backdoor. Frantically, I search for Imogene, but there seemed to be a commotion from around her door. A Peacekeeper, Pius I believe he is called, was dragging Carrion out of her room while he kicked and screamed, while Verona emerged with Imogene limp in his arms.

"NO! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?"

The Peacekeeper that led me away suddenly grabbed from around my waist and fought with everything inside of himself to drag me away from Verona, but he was unsuccessful. Ducking down, I was able to slide out of his grasp and barreled towards him, nearly making Verona drop her. Before I have the chance to grab her out of his hands, Pius gets me again by the waist and drags me out of the Justice Building and into a separate car from Imogene. Instead, I find Pius and Scynthe in the car with me.

"What happened?" Synthe asked and I am unable to determine if his question is genuine or not, thanks to he accent and tone of his voice.

"There was an incident between Miss Guthrie and my fellow Peacekeeper," Pius stated, matter-of-factually. "Nothing to concern yourself with, she will be fine in very soon and no one will ever know," his last comment was directed towards me.

"If he hurt her-"

"You will do NOTHING!"

Surprisingly, the train station wasn't crawling with photographers and reporters, jamming microphones into my face and flashing cameras in an attempt to get something from me. Instead, it was only the same people that left the Justice Building, with Verona still carrying Imogene like a father would carry his baby. He made light work of the steps and entered the train with me close behind him. As my mouth dropped at the sight of table set before me, Verona made his way into the first door on the right and sat her down on the bed. For a brief second, I thought I saw a tear fall from his dark green eyes, but I had to of been mistaken. This is a Head Peacekeeper, we are talking about. He followed it up with a soft kiss to her sweaty forehead and for a moment, I swore I heard him tell her he was "sorry for everything".

And with that, he was gone.

"Come, come child!" Synthe exclaimed, patting the chair next to his own at the table. "We have a lot to discuss."

"Buddy...you ain't kidding."