SCEPTOR WHISHART, DISTRICT 10 MALE
Working in the slaughterhouse is a nasty job. But someone has to do it.
I got up early this morning, like I always do, to come and carve. Unlike some of the rednecks who spend all of their time out in the fields rounding up cattle and other vile creatures, I actually have a job. Sure it means I carve up animal corpses and occasionally snap the odd neck, but why is that a problem? I don't understand all of these squeamish people who won't come near me because I have blood on my apron.
As soon as I enter the large warehouse, the familiar stench of animal blood strikes my nostrils. My eyes feast on the sight ahead: pure, perfect carnage. I hate animals. Their meat is delicious, though. And another benefit of working in the slaughterhouse is that I can sometimes steal meat. My family gets fairly well fed off my income, let's say, although not all of it is precisely honest.
Pulling on my apron, I make my way over to the livestock station and grab a chicken by the neck. I then grab it's tiny, feathery body and proceed to twist it's head around sharply. The crack of bones tells me that I've done my job successfully and a small, satisfied smile comes onto my face.
"Bloody hell, Sep, did you have to make such a mess?" Turning around, I spot my co-worker Angelo staring at me, a look of disgust in his eyes. I shoot him a look, before walking towards the gutting station, swinging the broken necked corpse in one hand.
I slam the dead chicken down on the chopping board and briskly grab my gutting knife, beheading it quickly before setting to plucking it. When it's done, I pull a plastic glove onto one hand before reaching up to grab the creature's guts. Yanking them out, I deposit them in the box beside me (poor families love chicken guts..), then begin to cut up the animal.
When I'm eventually done, I move on and do a couple more. After two hours or so, I take off my apron and head home to get washed up for the Reaping. Although being Reaped and already covered in blood might make me look tough, I doubt I'll get picked. I'm sixteen, but I don't take tessera. Anyway, worst comes to the worst, I'm pretty deadly with a knife...
Walking through the streets, I get accosted a few times. Most people here are animal lovers, and anyone (like myself) who works at the slaughterhouse is automatically despised. That doesn't matter though: we're pretty much a community of our own. But they can't protect me in the outside world.
"Hey, butcher boy!" a voice comes from behind me, but I don't answer. I'm still covered in chicken blood, and my previously white, clean shirt is now stained red. "Go kill yourself! Nobody likes murderers."
"If I didn't fucking carve up those animals, you wouldn't have your dinner tonight." I shoot back, shaking my head and letting my curly brown hair cover my eyes. I yank my hood up, before walking a little faster towards my house on the other side of town.
They follow me for a while, shouting abuse about how they'll come for me in the night and carve me up with my own knives, before going to shag horses or whatever they do in their spare time. A small grin comes onto my face as I think of it.
I eventually reach my house, and kick my boots off before entering. My mother is very particular about tidiness, and I doubt she'd be too happy if she finds me tracking mud and animal guts into the house. Dropping the boots my the door, I pull my hood down and wipe my hands on my shirt, before walking upstairs. I'd better take a bath before my mother sees how covered in blood I am.
The bathroom door is shut, and I can hear my mother arguing with one of my older brothers. I've got three: I'm the baby of the family. There's Tobias, who is twenty three (the one arguing with my mother, by the sound of the voice), Rollo, who is twenty one, and Bjorn who is eighteen (the one most likely to be in the bathroom).
For a second I just bask in the chaos that is my house, before going over to the bathroom and banging on the door. Just as I expected, I hear the sound of splashing and Bjorn's deep voice.
"What?!" he shouts from inside, not opening the door. With an exasperated sigh, I fiddle with the lock and click the latch from the outside before bursting in. Then, with a yell of shock, I cover my eyes. He's in the bath! Oh well done, Sceptor, well done...
"Get the fuck out!" he snarls, grabbing a towel and covering himself with it. Slowly I edge my hands away from my eyes and, seeing him decent, grab him by the shoulders and shove him out of the room. He's smaller than me- I managed to have a growth spurt recently which has worked to my advantage in bathroom rights- and is easy to push.
"I need a bath!" I call to him, ignoring his outraged shouts. Grabbing a stool, I shove it against the door, before stripping off and getting into the tub myself. After spending a few minutes washing the blood off me, I get out and run to my room, stark naked. In there, I pull on my Reaping clothes before quickly running out of the door and walking briskly down the street towards the town square.
It doesn't take long to get there, but I'm late. I spot my friends from the slaughterhouse near the front, with the other sixteen year olds, and I hurriedly register myself. I get an intensely dirty look from the Capitol official in charge of registering, and a Peacekeeper prods me along with his gun.
The escort pulls a name out of the Reaping ball before I can even reach the other sixteen year olds.
"Sceptor Whishart!"
I don't even get that it's my name at first. I barely even hear it- I just keep pushing to the front. Everyone is staring at me. It's only when the district escort starts wiggling her taloned fingers at me that I realise something.
"Whoa. That's my name." Now that made me sound like an idiot.
Shock is the first thing that registers. I stand still for a second with the fifteen year olds, feeling my legs turning to jelly. For a few moments mixed thoughts run through my head, before I shake it clear and begin to walk towards the stage. And oddly, I'm not even that frightened. There's the beating of my heart against my ribcage, but I can barely feel it. Overall, there's a sense of... of excitement?
After all, how different are humans from animals... right?
EVA LASH, DISTRICT 10 FEMALE
As I ride through the fields, I feel a wild joy filling me. It starts in my stomach then rises into my throat, and I can't help but want to scream out with it. I am free, I think to myself, as I ride towards the cattle fields with my best friend Isla a little way behind me on a slightly slower steed.
Letting out a whoop, I hear her laugh behind me and I grin too. The feeling of riding to work each morning... It feels like escaping. It feels like I'm escaping the Capitol, escaping District 10, riding towards freedom. Truly, it's an almost orgasmic feeling.
When we eventually reach the cattle fields, I'm breathless from the ride up. The cattle are ready to be fed the chemicals we must feed them, counted then herded, but we have to do that on foot. Jumping off my horse, I walk over to it's rear to grab the large sack of chemically engineered food hanging onto the horse's flanks.
We have to give them this weird feed to make them fatter- I guess the Capitol likes fatty, chemically meat. It hurts the cows too, I think, but not giving them it would mean losing our jobs. And currently, I can't afford to lose my job. With my parents both currently unemployed, and my Uncle Eugene living with us too, I'm the only source of income.
Hoisting the heavy sacks over our shoulders, Isla and I head towards the herd, over by the back corner of the field. Despite the adrenaline heavy ride up here, we're both a bit droopy. It's the Reaping today, the one time we both have to be in town. I don't like being in a crowd, because it makes me feel so enclosed. And being picked? I can't even think about being picked.
What would happen to my parents if I got chosen for the Hunger Games? I don't even know.
With a small grimace, I take a handful of the disgusting feed and toss it towards the gently grazing cattle.
"Go on, you big lummoxes, go get it!" I shout cheerily at them, trying not to let my anxiety come into my tone. The bull of the herd lets out a low moo, before trotting towards the feed. I try to control my guilty conscience at feeding the creatures such destructive crap, as they begin to feast on the foul stuff.
I toss another handful, and then another and another, until it's all gone. Isla and I wait a few moments until the herd are all chewing, before moving around them to count them. We come up with the exact number, and watch them eat for a few seconds, before walking back towards our horses.
"Hey Eva..." I turn to see Isla looking at me, with a slightly sheepish look on her face. I shrug and smile, although it is certainly forced.
"Yeah?"
"Are you... you know... worried about the Reaping today?"
I think for a few moments. Should I admit that I'm absolutely terrified? I doubt I'd be too terrible in the Games, since I'm sufficient with a knife and good with a whip. I'm tall and toned from years of looking after cattle, but... How good would I be against the Careers from District 1, or 2, or 4?
Thinking about it brings back painful memories... I flush with hatred against the Capitol. My family has had a bit of a reputation for being picked for the Games. Sometimes, I swear it's on purpose: three of my cousins have been chosen, as well as countless aunts and uncles have been chosen over the years. The closest we've come to winning was when my cousin Harvey got into the final fight. I go slightly green at the memory.
"Nahh." I lie in return, hoisting myself up onto my horse's back. She does the same onto hers, and I take the whip off my belt and uncoil it. Stretching it between my hands grimly, I continue, "It'd be too much of a coincidence for me to get picked after Harvey and the rest. Somebody would notice."
Isla sighs, before flicking her reins, causing her steed to take a few steps forward. I do the same, and we soon settle into a trot towards the herd. Side by side, we ready ourselves.
"Sure somebody might notice, but what would they do?" she says quietly, before clicking her tongue and inciting both her, and my, horse's into a canter. Splitting up, we ride either side of the herd and guide them towards the pen. There's less excitement in this, since it's so controlled, but I work well with Isla.
Once we've eventually got all the cattle sorted, we ride back towards town. With every step my horse takes, I feel another pang of worry. What if I get chosen? What if Isla gets chosen? Gripping far too hard onto the reins, we ride towards the stables on the edge of town. My heart thumps up and down with the horse's hooves.
After dismounting in the stables, we bid each other farewell and go our separate ways. Shutting my eyes tight, I walk towards my house and enter quickly, before going upstairs and washing the dirt and sweat of this morning's ride off my body. Then, with a small gulp, I go into my room and pull on my Reaping clothes. Then, after dragging a comb through my pixie cut to try and neaten it up a bit, I go out onto the street and follow the tide of people towards the town square.
When I get there, there is already a crowd of people. I find Isla and we go and stand with the other fourteen year olds, as the escort comes onto the stage and begins prattling on about the Dark Days. Although some find comedy in her voice, it just installs more fear in me.
After a few minutes, a boy begins shoving his way through the crowd. He's one of the slaughterhouse lot; probably just got back from carving up poor little animals. I give him a foul look as he pushes past.
"Sceptor Whishart!"
He pauses. A look of shock comes onto his face. I can barely stop myself laughing- he deserves it. Sceptor makes his way up to the stage and stands there. Watching him carefully, I notice that he looks vaguely indifferent about the whole thing... I feel a rush of hatred for him.
So I suppose he's just going to go into the Games and butcher people just like he butchers animals.
The district escort goes over to the girl's Reaping ball, and fiddles around in there for a moment before taking out a slip. My heart freezes as I wait, trembling, for a name to be called.
"Eva Lash!"
It's... It can't be a coincidence. Not another one. My God. No. My eyes open wide as I barely suppress a gasp of horror as somebody makes a comment about "Not another bloody Lash.."
Sceptor shoots me a dark look as I begin to walk up to the stage.