The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT:

Chapter 10 - District 10 Reaping

District Ten

Eilene Kailem

When I woke up it was unbearably hot. It always is hot here. District 10 is one of the hottest Districts of Panem, in a huge dessert terrain with a swathe of farmland. The individual farms were very far and spaced out, seeing as each farm occupied hectares upon hectares of land. Every family owned their own farm and produced their own livestock materials, which were then collected by peacekeepers every fortnight to send of to the capital. The district's council had a roster of all the different types of livestock farms there were already, and the ones which the capitol wanted and so you had to register a farm under one of the demanded categories by the capitol before you began. Since most people's land was quite big in comparison to themselves, even the smallest farms were quite sizable, most people lived in ranch houses which could afford to be a little bit bigger because of the excess space, so we actually had quite large housing.

But ours was still of a humble size, so there wasn't enough room for all of my siblings and I to have our own rooms. I shared with my sister Lerene. I glanced over to see her lying on her side, eyes closed and seemingly sleeping soundly. But it appeared she wasn't actually in deep sleep because upon hearing the rustling of my covers, she cracked open her eyes and glanced at me.

"It's hot yeah?" I said as way of conversation as I changed into my Reaping clothes, "The heat never stops biting." Indeed it didn't, District 10 was one of the largest Districts in Panem, and the heat seemed to occupy each and every crevice of space like a hot frying pan. There was just a little patch of greenery and grass sometimes for the livestock, and of course, the odd tree or two, but for the most part, it was just dessert. We had adequate ground water and plenty of troughs so the livestock weren't in actual danger of dehydration, and the richer families could afford to build quite extensive shelters, however we were middle class only and couldn't. The richer families lived closer to the centre, and the poorer ones further.

"Wish there was air con," said Lerene. There was air conditioning in the Justice building. We had all felt it's luxuries as we stepped in to bid goodbye to our oldest sister Kairene, who died in the Hunger Games no more than 4 years ago. I still remember her death. It was a cruel and bitter thing. She promised us she would have to try for us, and so she made it out of the cornucopia alive and floundered for several more days in the jungle like arena, we watched and poured in our life's savings as she slowly weakened from thirst and hunger, and in the end, died to another tribute. Her death was quick, but it hurt to see her suffer. Kairene was a kind and gentle soul, she did well in school, she was friends with everyone, even the unpopular kids, she couldn't bare to see another person suffer and when she grew up, she wanted to own a bunny farm. She wasn't made for the Games, and I half wished she just stepped of a mine early and died a quick death there and then without suffering for several more days before her timely death.

"The heat is terrible, but it wouldn't be home if it wasn't hot," I said, "District 10 - the land of sunshine."

And so we laughed into the morning before Lerene peeled off her covers, got changed and then we both washed up in the bathroom. Kairene had been the eldest of my siblings, she shared with Hemene, who was 20 this year. After her death Hemene couldn't bare to replace her so she slept in that room by herself. Lerene was 17, and I was 16, we shared a room ever since we were babies and remained sharing one. Kallomie, who was the youngest in the family, was 12, he slept by himself in the last and smallest room of the house. Most families in District 10 were pretty big because the more hands for farm labour, the more profits and security your family had. Most ranches were built with many bedrooms, though some more intensely occupied and shared than ours. I liked reading books and writing my own. When I was older I wanted to write my own books, have a large family as I loved the idea of one, and go horseback riding in my spare time. That was the life I dreamed of.

After we dressed we went downstairs for breakfast. We had fed all our livestock and left extra food in their pens yesterday because we just wanted to focus on the Reaping today. Otherwise we would have woken up earlier, it was better to get up at the crack of dawn and do things before the full heat of the sun came out. Most families were early risers in the District. And we used horsepower to get about because the capitol weren't kind enough to supply each individual farm tractors or anything. Horses could cover the distance from one end of the farm to the other in a jifty, and they each had their own distinct personalities and temperament. I loved horses and horseriding.

"Kallomie, I bought you a special something," said my father, taking a sawtooth necklace and giving it to him, "this year is your first Reaping and I wanted you to have this as a token in case you were Reaped. It's been in my family for several generations, and now I can finally pass it of to the eldest son."

He accepted it gingerly. My mother dabbed at her eyes. Ever since my sister's death we didn't talk about the Reaping, the Games, nor the 28th Hunger Games in our family anymore. Before that though, we used to talk about it all the time, and play stupid games of 'who would live the longest' if they were reaped. People said I would be an unexpected survivor, the one who managed to live the longest, as I was brave and curious, and those traits would see me well. Plus, I knew how to live in a dessert environment so I would get an advantage if that was what the arena was like, I could be underestimated, I had basic water-finding, edible plant and medical knowledge, and I was good with horses and maybe some other animals.

"Are we ready?" asked my mother once we were all done eating, "let's get seats in the civics building before the heat of the midday hits us." And so we scrammed to do last minute checks on our hair and clothes before we left.

I glanced at myself in the full length mirror in the living room for Lerene was occuping the one in our bedroom. I was about 165 centimetres tall and normal build at 10 and 1/2 stone. I had red hair, pale skin, freckles and green eyes. After a check that my clothes weren't too wrinkled, ruffled or out of place, I headed out to the stables to get ready for the ride to the centre of the District. The horses that were used for transportation around the farm and District were kept in stables near our ranch. The District was often nicer on the Reaping day, with the ones living nearer in trying their best not to ride their horses to the Reaping and walking in the humid heat for as long as possible to save pen space.

A few of the families nearer to the centre of the District freed up their stables and pens to allow for horses from the outer families to be stocked whilst they were at the Reaping, providing adequate water and shade and helping families load their horses in. The ones from the middle to outer district rode their horses to the civics building. There was just enough stables for all the horses every year, though every year the number of families and horses was steadily increasing and it was becoming more squishy. Soon the council would probably have to chip in and build more pens beyond the usual number they provided.

Once we were there our parents tended to the horse, whilst my siblings and I hurried into the building to find our age groups. I met up briefly with my friends before the Reaping was to begin.

"Hey. Do you guys want to hear a secret?" asked Harriette, 16, her family worked somewhere under the local council and she lived closer to the centre than any of us. My two other friends Jaye, 16 and Lomi, 15, leaned in with me as we frowned at each other.

"What?" asked Jaye.

"Apparently this year's arena is going to be very special," said Harriette, "I saw in a promotional clip that was playing on the mayor's television in the council room when I wasn't meant to."

We leaned in even further.

"They kept saying it was 'End of the World' and apparently this arena was going to be super special. Sorta like an End of the World theme. Apparently there's a steep drop somewhere,"

"Flat earth?" said Lomi with a frown, "didn't know the capitol was that stupid."

"Maybe they're playing with the idea of the flat earth that people were think about when they used to think 'end of the world'. Either way, the arena's related to the theme," said Harriette.

"Thanks, and remember the promise that if one of us is Reaped, we all out our pocket money towards it and do everything we can to help each other survive," said Jaye.

"My sister didn't have that," I murmured, "her friends didn't think to arrange such a thing. When she was reaped they were so horrified it didn't come to their mind. They mostly just weeped and then she died and-"

"It's okay, it's okay," I felt the strong comforting reassurances of my friends' hands move around me, holding me close. I bit back tears, but vowed that if I ever got Reaped, I would give it a go, and actually make it out. I was brave and curious, I liked exploring things and finding new situations or things, I was more of the type of person who was prepared for the Games. Not my sister...who was a kind and sweet soul that wanted to own a bunny farm and really did not take too well to the Games.

"We'd better go," said Lomi, pointing at the fact at the Reaping was nearly about to begin. We quickly split up.

Fifteen minutes later.

"EILENE KAILEM". I took a deep breath, and marched on stage. The Hunger Games was a battle, a challenge, but one I'd meet with bravery I will, I thought. What luck was it that 2 tributes from the same family got drawn in recent years? I will have to make it back, I thought with a surge of determination. Thinking of my family home, the voices and laughter of my siblings, the look on my parents face. I will make it back as a victor, win the Games, and prove to my family that they didn't have to lose another daughter. I will not let my sister die in vain. I will learn from her mistakes, starting from the fact that she mostly ran away from the reality of the Hunger Games since she was reaped, didn't create much of an impression nor image for herself with the capitol, and just wasn't ready. I will start planning and plotting from day one, I thought as I boldly graced the stage. I will plot and plan and be determined to win, calculating and judging everything. I'll have a strategy and the motivation and ire inside me that wants to get out, make it out alive. Bring both myself and the haunted memories of my sister out of the arena. Maybe my people could think of her death with more ease knowing it, and her experience, helped me understand the Games better and defeat the capitol at it's own cruel Games by emerging with my life and the blossom of hope along with the memory of her.

District Ten

Cattle Fenced

I woke up early in the morning at the crack of dawn. This made for smooth running of the farm as the hot sun hadn't come out to bother people, and made for a more productive series of tasks - achieving more than slightly later in the day. I went out to change the water for the sheep and cattle. My family's farm was a wool and milk farm. The majority of our efforts went into producing wool which got sent to the capitol, then sold to District 8 for a mark-up, and milk. It was important to keep the livestock in good health for when they depleted their use for wool or milk, we sold them of to some of the meat production farms only, which had large abattoirs for the production of meat. The majority of our livestock were female, as they were less aggressive than males. Though we had a deal with the bull farmers to borrow their bulls for a breeding session every year. The majority of the livestock in the District were female animals actually, as male ones could definitely pack a lot of damage without much warning. For a District with average healthcare, low income and resources, and little regard for our lives from the capitol peacekeepers, anything that threatened the District's population in the day to day happenings of one's job wasn't great.

I loved my job. To be on task was incredibly important because you needed your full attention and energy to complete a job well done. There was no going half way, there was no point in doing something but missing the minor details, or skipping around here and there. To do a job completely right from start to finish, was a luxurious act in itself. My father had always raised me to be the best I could be. He was less wealthier in his childhood, not the poorest or the worst family, but he was substantially below average, and he worked himself up, building this farm from scratch and expanding it from wool to milk. Originally he chose wool, believing milk was too overdone, but after some time and seeing that there were in fact numbers, he expanded to include milk as well. This was a sensible choice, if there was a plague one year that only affected sheep or cows, we would still have the other.

When I was older, I wanted to start a new farm which was focused solely on meat. They were the most profitable industry and the richest families, or the ones with the greatest profits from their products, were those that ran large meat abattoirs. But to manage a livestock farm which solely produced livestock for meat (and they mostly had to be male as the flesh was tougher, held it's shape better and more tender and juicer once it was done) one generally had to be big and strong. Or at least, have several well built people in the family in order to manage it.

I finished my jobs of changing the water, putting in new food, sweeping the dust, debris and fallen branches of trees out of the enclosures. Of chasing the sheep and cows around the paddocks slightly on my horse, Rover. It was good to chase the animals around at least once every day. It gave them exercise which lowered aggression against each other (even among the females of a species, there could be some slight drama between them), made them less frustrated and improved their immune systems. Animals tended to fare better under harsher conditions that come to the farm if they have a little bit every day. It wasn't too much nor harsh, just enough of chasing them around on horseback to give the ample amount. Then I did a basic check of the animals to see if any was obviously injured or ill, all before hoping back on horseback and riding to the home ranch.

My family lived fairly close to the centre of the District. We weren't the richest, but we weren't too far off from it either. One tier down, so our farm was a respectable size and it was a hearty gallop back to base. I got of the horse, led it to it's stables where I changed it's water, restocked it's food, brushed it's fur and rubbed it's neck gingerly - horses were like humans too, they all had their individual personalities and it was worth building a bond between them, before heading inside where I cooked breakfast for my parents before waking them up and getting changed for the Reaping.

It was just my father and mother in this household. I didn't have any siblings. My father was an ambitious man who empathised good work ethic above all else. He taught me that whatever job I needed to do, to do it well and give it my all. My mother was a school teacher, she was often quiet and serious in demeanor, spending a lot of time at home pouring over lesson plans and teaching to the curriculum at school. She empathised organisation and punctuality above all else.

I had been told I was quite a serious person. I didn't have many friends because I was too focused on learning how to manage the milk and wool industries when I was younger, as well as researching how to manage a meat production farm, that I didn't put too much effort into them. I didn't mind. I could joke and talk to people if need be, but I just felt no desire to. I was serious because I didn't do anything frivolous nor silly with my time, though I was fairly normal in all other regards.

I glanced at myself in the mirror. I had grown unusually tall, being an astounding 7 ft, weighing about 250 lbs and somehow putting on muscle easily. Both my parents had been tall and well built, but I towered over them by a foot or so. I had light brown hair that had a natural sort of zaniness to it, and was never really straight, and corresponding light brown eyes. I had a plain and serious expression on my face the majority of the times.

After checking that my clothes were decent, I headed downstairs to eat breakfast with my family, lapsing into my own thoughts as I did so.

I was planning to volunteer for the Reaping this year.

The kitchen clock ticked. The striking of the clock's second hand bringing me back to memories years and years ago at the same table.

Twelve year old me, sitting here, against the flat wooden table, food in front of them, watching a rerun of the Hunger Games on the old black and white tv our family was lucky to afford with a wide-eyed, mouth open grimace at it.

Asking my parents why we were suddenly watching the horrific events on our television when usually we shut of our screens and didn't visit the square save to donate a decent amount every single year after the Reaping occurred.

"It has significance because you're old enough to be reaped honey," said my mother.

"What does that mean?" I asked, confused at the significant part.

"It means you now have the responsibility to be called into the Games at any moment to play against 23 other tributes across Panem with only one victor," she explained.

"A responsibility that's on your shoulders the moment you turn twelve to eighteen," said my father, "there's no escaping it."

The clock hands wound themselves irreversibly forward, the shadows stretched across the room as days and nights passed until another year was gone. Thirteen.

"It's an embodiment of the system. Inescapable. Once you're between the age," my mother had said.

"Trying to, running away from the District, pleading at the capitol, committing suicide obviously in the arena. All results in severe punishments and hardships for your family. You can't run away from your responsibilities," my father had said.

"Why do we have this responsibility to play the Games well?" I asked, frowning, "doesn't seem like the ideal society for youth from our school's sociology textbooks."

"That," my father said, "is just a product of this country's sick sick psychology. But still, responsibility you have, responsibility you should learn well."

Years flashed by. Time ticked. Fifteen now.

"What should I do to prepare?" I said, "In case I get reaped."

And then my father spoke for the longest time I'd ever heard him talk.

"You do what you can do to survive. It is your responsibility to understand and accept gracefully you may have to be called into the Hunger Games to fight against 23 tributes across Panem at any point in time between this age. It is your responsibility to understand and accept that you cannot run away from the District, plead the capitol or do any sort of outlandish desperate attempt at getting out of it. Because that's not the way the society's set. That's not being responsible, it's just going to get you or your family punished in horrific ways. It is your responsibility to know that should you get accepted into the Games, you try your best so your watching family and District isn't ruined by watching your demise. It's disrespectful to go into the Games without consideration for what your parents did to raise you this far. At least try your best and give it a proper go in case you can get out and see everyone again. And also represent the District well. It's in everyone's responsibility to accept the Games graciously and accept the reality of the Games graciously and with dignity too, if you are ever Reaped. And all of that responsibility lies on your shoulders within this society."

"So your best bet," I said, "is to not cause trouble for your family politically by doing anything overtly against it. But to accept it and prepare to fight with all your might if you do get reaped?"

"Your responsibility as a 12 to 18 year old," he had said.

Sixteen. Last year. I had been thinking, flexing in front of the mirror.

"Suppose I had a chance," I said.

"Anything could happen, and anything does in the arena," cautioned my father.

"Don't count on it," said my mother.

"Say I did. Say I was the best person equipped to handle the Games. Could I possibly win it, spare another tribute of suffering if I could."

"Well, to be very realistic, height and muscle are two fields given their weighting in the arena and the capitol betting pool," said my mother, in her usual logic no-nonsense way, "They would net you some advantages."

"Suppose I'm the one better equipped to handle the duty. Better equipped for the Games. To carry it out," I said, "suppose it's not a fear that keeps chasing me every year where my name could be called at the Reaping. Suppose it's a challenge."

"Goodness me, you're not thinking of volunteering are you?"

One year later and I still hadn't changed my mind. Three hundred and sixty-five days later, it still seemed a good idea. It was calling out to me, like some sort of duty. It made sense. I sized myself up and down in the mirror. Even the careers were generally not more than a few inches past 6 feet. I don't doubt there were well-fed, heavily trained youth in the career Districts of that stature, but for some reason, the more closer to average ones tended to do best in whatever sick little pre-games fighting they had to determine the outcome. The problem I sensed was, the career districts were too restrictive in their training. Too stick-in-a-mold. For the male tributes they hoped for someone a little above average height, around 6 feet or so, but no taller. All their techniques, all their self-defence, martial arts, weapon techniques, it was all made for mostly, that perfect tribute which fit that exact mold. They didn't teach the particularly tall tributes any ways to manage that extra height to their advantage. Or a natural way of fighting that came to them. It was mostly stick them in the same mold, and the winner of that mold gets Reaped. They had a certain sort of unaturallness to them sometimes, that could only be from years of training.

Which stronger tributes or the naturally athletic in the outlier Districts didn't. We had a natural sort of athleticism and skill that they were simply just lacking. At even just a few inches past 6 feet, the careers would be a whole foot shorter than me. They'd go up to my shoulders pretty much. And with broad shoulders, and a little muscle to add to my height, I could pack quite some damage.

It just seemed logical to volunteer.

Two hours and thirty-five minutes later, all the ceremonial activities and the like aside. I was standing in my age section of the Reaping, when...

"Troyler Ovan."

"I VOLUNTEER," I screamed.

The crowd parted. People gasped. There were murmurs of shock and dissent echoing all around the District. Like a cobra's waves before making the strike. The cameras fixated on me, their beady little bulbs watching as I stepped forward, and filled up the screens on my way there.

I was going to show them what I was capable of. I was going to show them my duties and make them regret ever making poor scrabbling Districts go through this. I was going to win it easily, kill the careers brutally, it wasn't something I wanted to do, but it had to be done, and seriously win the Games and save another poor tribute from this fate when I believed it was within my power to do so. It would be a boring Games this year, I thought, but it would be played morally right and contain a victor on the right side of moral good.

Author's Note: Some people have their readers design the arena or vote for which one they want etc. But I just wanted to say that I have a good idea of the arena for this story and the inspiration really hit, so just so you know, there'll be no voting for arenas etc in the future chapters. That part of the story's been set.

Also thanks for reading and reviewing aha, I'm so pumped! Only 2 more chapters to go and then FINALLY the Reapings are over and the pre-games can begin! Isn't it crazy? I'm so excited! We're getting closer to the end (of the Reapings)...aaaahh :D

Also, get ready to answer a big series (but not too big, reasonable :P) of questions in the chapter after the Reapings end! I think I'm going to contain a small short POV of each tribute for the goodbye in the Justice Building, then write a perspective of the tributes through someone watching at the capitol (so you get a sense of what the capitol is seeing from each Reaping, remember, at this point you actually know more about the tributes and their backstories than what the capitol has gotten a glimpse of! And to let you know how their angle for the Games is being developed) and then have a decently big series of questions after that. Sort of asking about each tribute or gimmicks or predictions etc etc, just, everything that would be of interest to ask after the 12-chapters of the Reapings, and get ready for those too! :P (But I won't have that in District 12's Reaping chapter because I feel that deserves it's own chapter and not just tackled on the end of 12's Reaping)

Right, thanks for reading and sticking with the story this far, I hope you review and -

Over and out,

Whymsicalbell