On to district 10! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, I love reading your responses and as always I hope I do your characters justice.

District 10 Reaping

Agrona Falco (18)

There is blood on my dress. No matter how many times I scrub at the fabric the stains refuse to come clean. Really my mother should have known better than to buy me anything colored white. White fabric has no place in a butchers shop.

Blood on my dress, blood on my hands, blood on the counter, I guess it's all just part of the business.

The inside of the butchers shop is well lit; there have been no blackouts today. The collection of knives on the counter in front of me gleams under the fluorescent bulbs. One of the ranchers had brought in a calf with a maimed leg this morning. My father had been out so the job of skinning and preparing the animal had fallen to me.

The animal had bellowed as I approached it but a knife in it's throat had been all it that taken to silence it.

Even now I can feel the heaviness of their coin in my pocket. I smile. The ranchers always pay well.

Someone lets out a little shriek and I turn to see my mother standing in the doorway to the shop. "Agrona you're a mess!" She herself looks very tidy in a white blouse and dark blue skirt. Her dark hair has been pulled back, not a hair out of place.

My father looms behind her. "She looks fine Belinda. You shouldn't nag so much."

"But look at her! She's covered in blood." My mother gestures as if by flailing her arms she will make her point more apparent.

My father only shrugs. I can't help but notice the bloodstains on his own pants. "It's just part of the job ain't it?"

My mother shakes her head. I've often wondered why she married my father. The daughter of a grocer she can't stand the sight of blood and has a penchant for cleanliness. Everyone says I take after her in looks. I've inherited her dark hair and pale skin. Even the foreign cast of my eyes is from her. Yet when it comes to personality I'm my father's daughter through and through.

"Well if she doesn't hurry she'll be late." If there's anything my mother hates more than dirt its tardiness.

We step out into the dusty streets of District 10 and I let the door close behind me with a tinkle.

District 10 is warm even in winter, but now in summer the heat is near unbearable. Above, the sun burns in a cloudless blue sky. The harshness of its rays long ago washed all the color from the low adobe buildings that constitute most of District 10's main town. They line the street, white shells with dark, empty windows.

Most everyone will be in the square by now anyways. Attendance at the Reaping is mandatory.

As we walk we pass by an old ash tree, one of the few in District 10. I avert my eyes. When I was younger we'd had an dog named Walt. Neither of my parents had cared for him much—accused him of being too vicious—but I had doted on the old beast, feeding him scraps from the butchering block as often as I could. When I was nine he'd gotten out of the yard. I'd gone after him but not before he'd managed to bite one of the neighbor's kids. As retribution they'd strung Walt up by the neck from one of the lower branches of the tree.

I shudder as we pass the sight and am relieved as we round the corner and the tree slips out of view.

The relief is short lived, however. Soon enough we've reached the square where the justice building looms above us with it's bright terracotta roof. My mother hugs me so tightly I think she might just squeeze the life out of me. "Good luck darling."

My father pats me on the back. "It'll be over before you know."

"I know." I smile. It's my last year, the final hurdle before I will be free from the reapings forever.

There are tears in my mothers eyes and I know she's imagining the unthinkable: that I will be chosen. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

I nod and they wish me well. I step into line with the other eligible teens and soon I'm ushered into the roped off area where the other eighteen year olds stand. Up on the stage in front of the Justice Building the red flag of the Capitol gleams.

There's nothing to be afraid of.

Caleb Frasier (17)

District 10 smells like shit. There's no getting around it. If you get that many animals together they're sure to cause a smell after a while.

While Capitol officials and even the occasional town folk complain about the stench it's never bothered me much. The smell of animals is the smell of life after all.

I dig my shovel into the massive pile of manure and scoop another heap into the already overflowing wheelbarrow. At the other end of the farmyard a shipping container is waiting. All this dung will soon be on its way to Districts 9 and 11 to fertilize their crops.

I wipe my forehead with the rag I keep at my belt, careful not to get any of the much on my face. It wouldn't do to show up to the reaping covered in manure. It's hot out. Summers in District 10 often are, but this year has been particularly brutal. Only last week one of our horses had collapsed from heat exhaustion. While that could be remedied the poor thing had stumbled on the way down, breaking its led. There'd been nothing for it other than to put it down.

The sound of my grandfather's truck rumbling up the dirt path catches my attention. Few people in District 8 have cars. But years ago my grandfather saved up the money to buy the old rusty pickup truck. Over the years its proved invaluable for hauling feed and tack. I empty my barrow into the shipping container right as he pulls into the front yard. The door slams shut and he climbs out.

"Hey there Caleb!" He waves to me. Despite his advancing age my grandfather is still muscular, a testament to years spent working on the ranch.

I clean my hands in the water trough and go to help unload the back. When we've unloaded everything—mostly hay and a few spools of rope—he mops his brow.

"Go fetch Grace and Mara from the house would you?"

"Time to go, is it?" I hadn't realized it was so late in the day. It takes about an hour to drive from our ranch at the edge of the District to the main town. Still I hadn't thought we'd be leaving for another hour at least.

"Aye." My grandfather nods.

Today the truck will not be hauling supplies, rather it will be transporting all of us to the Reaping for the 48th annual Hunger Games. I'm just turning towards the large stucco ranch house when the door swings open and my mother and grandma appear. My sister Jade trails behind them, her blonde hair flashing in the sun. All of them have worn dresses for the occasion. I'll admit it's a bit odd to see them looking so formal. I'm used to seeing everyone in jeans and work boots.

"We heard the car." My mother says, pushing a strand of blond hair out of her face. "Is it time to go?"

"Just about."

They're all looking at Jade and I now. The reaping is our show after all. We exchange glances. Her mouth is set in a hard line that makes her look older than her thirteen years. I give her a reassuring smile. "Let's go."

We all pile into the old truck, the girls in backseat and me in the front with my grandfather.

It's a long drive and no one is very talkative. I spend most of my time staring out the window, watching the feed lots and pastures flick by. Anxiety bubbles in my stomach no matter how hard I try to tamp it down. I know my odds of being reaped are slim. I haven't taken out a tesserae in years, not since I started working. Still there's a special sort of terror that only the prospect of being drawn for the Hunger Games can inspire.

By the time we reach town its almost one.

They drop Jade and I off near the town square with many wishes of luck before driving off to find a better place to park the car. We slip into the roped off area reserved for eligible teens right as Mayor Coolage begins his customary speech.

The crowd around me shifts restlessly. Town kids, ranchers, and work hands all stand together in their anxiety.

When Coolage is done speaking our escort takes to the stage. I'm expecting to see the distinctively tattooed face of Darius Bright but instead a woman in flowing saffron robes introduces herself as our new escort: Tulli Lumer. We give her a polite round of applause and she tells us how honored she is to be in District 10. Despite her words I can see the way her nose wrinkles when the wind shifts and how she gazes at us with a hint of distain.

Tulli wastes no time in getting down to business. She dips one hand into the girls reaping ball and pulls out a slip, holding it triumphantly between two talon-like fingers.

"The female tribute this year will be Agrona Falco!" She reads off the words as if she's proclaiming a fabulous gift rather than a death sentence.

The crowd draws back as a pale, dark haired girl makes her way up to the stage. I recognize her vaguely from the few time I'd gone with my grandmother to run errands. She's the butchers girl I think. That at least might explain the some of the dark stains on her white sundress.

I wait for her to faint or start crying or something. District 10 has never been very fortunate when it comes to the Hunger Games. But Agrona Falco does none of those things. She just stands there, head tilted slightly to the side, staring blankly at the cameras. I wonder if she's still in shock.

I'm not given much time to dwell on it, however, because in a matter of seconds Tulli is pulling a slip of paper from the boy's reaping ball.

Not me. Not me. I silently pray. While I understand that the Games are necessary to keep peace in Panem—that's what I learned in school anyways—the idea of competing the bloody show has never appealed to me.

"Caleb Fraiser!"

Damn. I stump towards the stage, people scattering in order to clear a path for me. I mount the stage and try my best not to look as terrified as I feel. Tulli actually shakes my hand with both of my own as I come to stand next to Agrona. It's so ridiculous that I can't help smile.

Then she steps aside and gestures to both of us. "I give you the tributes from District 9!"

Agrona and I shake hands. Her grip is form and her dark eyes narrow as she looks into my face. I can't help but wonder is she'd make a good ally in the games. Because of course I'm going to need allies if I'm going to survive this.

Not if, I correct myself, when I survive this.

Agrona Falco (18)

"Agrona," My mother's eyes have welled with tears, "are you afraid darling?" We're sitting in one of the waiting rooms inside the Justice Building. The air is cool here, regulated by some sort of machine. I can't help but wonder how many girls have sat here before me.

I shake my head. I know I should be. The Games are a horrible way to die. But then I've been surrounded by death all my life.

"Everyone dies eventually, why should I be afraid now?"

My mother lets out a little sob and my father pats her awkwardly on the back.

"You'll try to win won't you?" He asks and I can hear the concern in my voice.

"Of course." I don't think I could ever just lay down and accept death like another animal brought to the slaughterhouse. Somehow, I don't think it's in my nature.

Besides, I think of the rewards for winning the Hunger Games. District 10 only has two victors but both of them live in fancy houses in the Victors village. They wear capitol fashion and can always afford to buy the best of everything. A life of ease and plenty, it sounds like a dream.

If I close my eyes I can almost picture it.

But of course, in order to have all that I'd have to win. Could I?

I already know how to use a knife. That's more than most kids can say. It'll just be people instead of animals, how different can it be really?

My mother hugs me, soon followed by my father. I lean into their embraces but my mind is already a million miles away. If I want to win I'm going to need allies, and not just some scrawny underfed kids from the outer districts. I'm going to need strong allies.