Reaping IX


Virtuoso : /ˌvəːtʃʊˈəʊsəʊ,ˌvəːtʃʊˈəʊzəʊ/

(ver-tew-oss-oh)

a person highly skilled in music or another artistic pursuit

"a celebrated clarinet virtuoso"


Gingko Lyat

~14~

District 9

I look up at the bright yellow sky, as I casually wipe the beading sweat away from my forehead. The sun is hot today, the beating heat relentless in its assault on the Earth, quite typical for a traditional District 9 day. The sun is so bright that it's light seems to reflect off of the ground, causing the sky to have a yellowish tinge as opposed to its bright blue nature. It gives the illusion of a muggy day, with a blisteringly warm blanket of air that covers the atmosphere.

There isn't too much shade in the town of District 9, and there aren't too many huge buildings that can block out the light, so I have to make do with what I can. I am used to the heat however, most born in District 9 are just made to be heat resistant, it's the cold that we can't handle.

My backside rests against the wooden fence, that surrounds the entirety of the Town Square. I look upon the setting in observation, feeling the atmosphere of this day. There are people setting up the stage, as well as organizing entrance points and a variety of other things. Young children that are accompanied by their parents look on fearfully, as the Reaping is set up before our very eyes. If I had to describe the atmosphere, the one thing I could describe it as, is tense. Tensions are high, as people warily pass the Town Square as if it had some contagious disease.

I don't blame them. District 9 aren't usually that successful in the Hunger Games. We don't often win, and in fact, we don't often make it past the Bloodbath, yet alone the halfway point. We prove to serve as cannon fodder, casualties for entertainment, with the extremely rare occurrence of a Victory.

This is why Reaping Day is sometimes, my most successful day! With such tense spirits in the air, the entertainment I can provide tends to lighten people up a bit, and make them a little more relaxed. Sure, there are the people that cannot calm themselves no matter what, but most tend to feel relieved at the uplifting performance I tend to bring.

I can't help but smile a little, feeling the corners of my mouth curl up with my own self-glorification. I cannot deny that it is gratifying to help others feel a little better, it makes me feel as if I have a purpose. Although it's not the real reason as to why I began to do this in the first place, it's still one of the bonuses that I get to experience. Eventually, I conclude that it's time to begin, whilst I still have time and the Town Square isn't too packed.

I lay out the case in front of me, opening the clips and lifting the lid off. I caress the smooth polished wood, before running my finger nail over the metallic strings. I pluck a few of them, hearing the sounds that emit as a result. Closing my eyes, I create a subtle tune that only those close enough can hear.

Once again, I open my eyes and rest my gaze upon my guitar. It took my life savings to purchase this guitar. I had always been fascinated by it when I had passed it in a shop window. The colors, the sleek wood design, the hole in the center would always bore into my mind, begging me to buy it. I had only enough to make up half of the price, from money that I had made from petty tasks at a younger age. Eventually, I relented and found a job in the wheat fields, and after three years of saving a dollar or two from every pay check, I had enough money.

The first thing I did, was sprint across the district until I arrived at the store. Before my eyes, all the money that I had ever saved for myself, was removed and replaced with the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. The very guitar I had admired for three years, was in my hands as my very own.

It took me a further few years to learn how to play it properly. A local busker that I had befriended, was the person that helped teach me the basics. Initially, I had to pay him for every lesson, but that was until he reconnected with his long lost daughter. That daughter happened to be our most recent Victor, Ryess Cyth. He no longer needed money, and taught me for free.

That brings me to now, my guitar in my hand, rested up against my body, ready to be strummed. I take a deep breath, before releasing a soft surge of my voice. I follow this up with plucking a few strings, creating the soothing, almost angelic blend of vocals and acoustic guitar. A few people instantly turn their heads, showing an inept interest of what I have to perform. I have often been told that I have an incredibly soothing voice, one that can be soft, and instantly become powerful. If that is indeed true, it proves to be working, as people begin making their way over appearing enticed by the music. I begin to hear the clinking of coins as they are dropped onto my guitar case, one by one.

I continue busking for around half an hour, and as the crowd begins to become bigger and bigger, so does the pile of money. The further I get into my performance, the more passionate I become, and the deeper I get into my music riddled mind. Before too long, it becomes not about the need for money, but the connection I develop with my music, the desire to express my emotions through the notes of the guitar, and the tones of the lyrics that I sing.

It comes to the tipping point, where I play my last song. It is a special one, a song that my mother always used to sing to me when I was a young child. The lyrics come naturally, not much thought is put into them as it becomes an instinct to say the words. They blend in to form the song, and eventually, I have completely delved into the true emotion and passion this song brings out in me. A song about love, resilience, perseverance, the true spirits of District 9.

When I strum the last note, the small crowd erupts into applause. I open my eyes to see the case filled with coins, and as well as a few notes. Parents are pointing me out to their kids, who have all seemed to stop crying after becoming intrigued by the music. I smile softly, feeling enthralled at how I've managed to lighten up these young children.

I take one last bow, before closing the case and strapping it to my back. To come from such a lowly music career to begin with, I can't deny that I have managed to make some commendable progress with my abilities. More and more people are paying attention to me when I busk, perhaps one day I'll be noticed by someone from the Capitol.

Carrying my guitar carefully in my hands, I take a shortcut through a series of alleyways, before I begin to get closer to the housing area of the District. I pass the nicer houses, the ones that are owned by officials, Peacekeepers, and wealthy people in general, before I start to arrive in the more decrepit part of the District. Rundown houses, small farmlands, all close by to the wheat fields where the population from this part predominantly works, including myself.

My house isn't too bad, it isn't anything to be proud of, or boast about, but it functions well enough, and since it holds very few people in it, there's no need for more room. However, when I enter the small building I call home, it proves to be empty. I glance around the kitchen, and the living room, the two places my mother tend to occupy the most frequently. There is also no sign of my mentally challenged older brother Axyl, who is never beneath making a ruckus. It leads me to assume that both have likely left for the Town Square, perhaps my mother wasn't convinced that I would return home before the Reaping began.

As opposed to how I was feeling before, I feel a little disheartened. I was going to surprise her with the earnings I had made from busking today, but I suppose that would have to wait until I return home. I haul the guitar case onto the wooden table, unlatching the lid and staring down at the money. I lightly place my guitar beside the case, before collecting the money and counting it.

It turns out that I have accumulated roughly $300, mostly made from coins. That'll hold us over for at least two months, and on top of my work in the fields, we could actually treat ourselves a bit. I grin in satisfaction, before grabbing a small burlap sack, in which I pour the contents of the money in.

I tentatively leave the burlap sack on the table, unsure of my actions. It isn't beyond people to break into houses, and if they were to do so today then they would have free access to three hundred dollars just sitting on the table. However, it is Reaping Day, 98% of people will be at the Town Square, not rummaging through houses and risking the death penalty for not attending. Plus, it'll be a nice surprise for my mother when she arrives home.

I lock up my guitar in the case, before throwing it over my shoulders and heading towards my room. On the way there, I pass Axyl's messy room. I stop to look at it, before sighing sympathetically. The poor kids been mentally disabled from before I was born. An incident where he fell into a stream is what's responsible, as a young three year old boy that wasn't able to swim. He almost drowned, and almost couldn't be resuscitated, until eventually people were successful. Unfortunately, his brain had gone without oxygen for so long, that he was irreparably damaged mentally.

My mother's spent all her life looking after Axyl, which was made harder when my father left her. The worst thing is, I was responsible. When he found out that she had become pregnant with me, he left without a word. He never came back.

I push the horrendous thought from my mind, continuing to walk along to my room. I push open the door, entering the blisteringly humid and cramped space that I call a bedroom. I carefully rest my guitar case against the wall, before opening a small cupboard that I use as my wardrobe. I examine the contents relatively briefly, before sighing and closing the door. Why did I even bother? The most formal thing I own is what I'm wearing now, I may as well keep it on for the Reaping. I lower my eyes towards the ground, before glancing up at the mirror that shows me sitting on my bed.

I examine my features, concluding that they aren't in bad shape, there is no need for a cold shower right now. The only thing I can do is switch my shoes, so I take off my battered old sneakers, before slipping on some nicer, more formal lace less shoes.

The sound of voices comes from outside, which I determine to be passing families once I look outside. I suppose there isn't any better time to depart than now.


Amnemonic

(am-nem-on-ick)

amnesic, the loss of memory

"Anthony was quite amnemonic"


Amaranth Paraillo

~13~

District 9

What was today again? I scrunch up my eyebrows as I try to remember, exactly what would be happening today. As I sit on my small rickety bed, I watch as a flurry of people trudge down the street, heading towards what I presume to be the Town Square. Evidently, something important is happening, however I can't quite recall what that may be. I get the inkling that this day may be an important day, however somehow it passes over my head.

I feel as if my mother was reminding me last night, of what events may be taking place today, but no matter how much I try to think, my mind stays a blank slate. I'm sure it's important though, I vaguely recall something like this happening every year, even in the year prior to my incident. As I scratch my head, I feel my stomach begin to rumble out of hunger, seeing as I haven't eaten today. I clutch my stomach, waiting for the throbbing feeling of my empty stomach to pass.

Suddenly I feel enlightened, the specific event popping back into my mind. The Hunger Games are coming up, which means, today must be the day of the Reaping. My triumph of remembering what today is, is relatively short lived, as I remember just what the Reaping evokes. Sighing, I stand up in an effort to prepare myself. I always forget what the Hunger Games is about, and what happens in it. I'm always informed about it, but it ends up slipping my mind shortly after. The only thing embedded in my memory about it, is that almost all of the time, the people chosen at this Reaping, never come back.

From the 'Games' part of the name, I can deduce that it must be some kind of game. Perhaps if you win the game you get to live in the Capitol? Maybe District 9 wins a lot? Despite this, that theory doesn't seem right. It wouldn't really account for all the sad people that pop up as a result of these games. Unless they're just sad that the winner gets to live in the Capitol.

Regardless, I decide to shrug it off, as it doesn't concern me too much anyways. I won't get chosen, and therefore I'll have nothing to do with this. Exiting my room, I walk down the small, empty hallway towards the dining room. A series of doors exist along the way, although I can't remember what half of them are for. I notice that one of them are open, with voices emitting from the other side. The closer I get to the room, the louder the voices become, allowing me to pick up the tone of the conversation. A man and a woman's voice, both sounding concerned and somewhat desperate.

The thought to peer inside crosses my mind, however, something tells me that may be a bad idea. The conversation sound particularly private, and I wouldn't really want to intrude in on it. I come to the conclusion that I should continue on my way, however, just as I'm about to keep walking, I hear something that captures my attention.

"It's all because of that little shit, Amaranth!" A hushed male voice spits. My eyes widen, recognizing my name. Who would say such a thing? I take a deep breath, before glancing inside the room, while out of sight. A young man kneels beside a pretty woman, who rests on a rickety wooden chair. My older brother, Farro, and his girlfriend Zizania. Farro kneels with an arm against his knee, with a hand covering his mouth, which I can only assume forms a look of contempt. His eyes are cold, lowered at the ground where his scythe rests. Zizania widens her eyes, presumably at what Farro had just uttered.

"Farro, you can't say that, it's not his fault!" She scolds him. Suddenly, I remember exactly what he means by calling me a little shit, it was intended to be a negative thing. I feel a slight surge of anger, but that is quickly replaced by hurt. Why would he say something like that when I'm not even there? And why was I so delayed to react to that? What's wrong with me? I grip my head, trying to calm down with heavy breaths.

I must be some kind of freak, that's why Farro would say that. That's why I take time to process things, why my delayed reaction exists. I'm not normal. I lean against the wall, and begin to slide down it, whilst tears leak from my eyes. I make a thud as my butt hits the floor, causing both Farro and Zizania to glance at me in alert. Zizania covers her mouth with her hand upon the realization that I heard everything, whilst Farro's eyes widen in horror.

"Oh shit," he mutters, standing up abruptly, "Amaranth, please come in."

I hesitantly get up, before shuffling over to the two of them, with my hands buried in my pockets. Farro places a hand lightly on my shoulder, slouching over to get on an even level with me.

"How much of that did you hear?" Farro questions softly. I sniffle, looking up at him whilst trying to stop crying.

"The part where you called me a little shit, and said it's all my fault," I respond. Farro lowers his head with a sigh, before sitting down on the little coffee table that centers the room.

"Look, I'm sorry Amaranth, that was uncalled for. I was just so frustrated, it's been hard on Zizania and I. I want to support her, we want to move on with our lives, but I can't, because I can't just leave the family," he explains. I take a moment to understand what he is saying, however I still remain confused.

"B-because I'm a burden?" I ask. He shakes his head, almost chuckling a little.

"No little brother, it's because I need to care for you, not because you're a burden, but because you're my family," he exclaims.

"But you don't need to do that. I don't want myself to hold your life back. I can easily just get work, help to support us, it will be easy!" I argue. My heart races at the prospect of this happening, how our family can form a tighter bond, with Farro and Zizania happy, and my parents and I being perfectly fine. However I'm dismayed when Farro begins to shake his head sadly.

"I'm afraid not Amaranth, you're just not able to work in the fields," he informs me. My face falls at what he said.

"W-why not?" I ask. Farro glances over at Zizania, who grants him a knowing look. Looking back at me, Farro speaks up.

"When you were young, Amaranth, you were climbing on some of the tractors, just playing around as every young boy should. However, you. . . fell, and you were hurt," he informs me slowly, looking unsure of what direction to take.

"You had a concussion, and now, you have difficulty with remembering things, long and short term. You were in a coma for a little bit, but our family was just able to pay enough to get your treatment. That's why we're in a financial blot, and since the doctors said you couldn't work as it could trigger other problems with your brain, I have to stick around to help support the family," he explains.

I'm left silent after his explanation, taking a moment to process just exactly what happened to me. I was hurt that badly? I'm the reason why we're poor? Why Farro is bound to this family? I've been living all this time, and didn't even know?

"Why haven't you told me this before?" I ask, almost angrily. Farro eyes me with pure sympathy, shaking his head slightly.

"That's the thing Amaranth. We've told you plenty of times, you just don't remember it," he enlightens me. I stare blankly at Farro for a moment, until I come to realize that he speaks the truth. Every part of him screams that he has experienced this before, meaning I really am what he says I am. I'm incapable of supporting myself.

"It's okay Amaranth, it's not your fault, and even when we're gone, Farro will still help all of you out," Zizania says softly.

"Y-you're leaving?" I ask. Farro nods his head, before walking up to Zizania.

"Yes, we need to. You see. . . Zizania is pregnant," Farro informs me, lightly caressing Zizania's stomach. I gasp, before glancing at her stomach in an effort to find out if that's the case. Now that I look properly, I do notice a slight bulge that had not been there before.

"That's. . . great!" I exclaim happily, the prospect of having a niece or nephew overwhelming my current thought process. An ecstatic energy replaces any sorrow I had previously felt, and soon enough, I'm hugging my brother out of joy for both him and Zizania. Farro pats me on the back after a few seconds, before removing me to look me in the eyes.

"How about we begin to head off, Mother and Father are both ready," he informs me.

"Head off to what?" I ask.

"The Reaping," he replies, as he makes his way over to the door.

"Oh right," I mutter, feeling foolish that I forgot once again. The three of us make our way out to the cramped dining room, currently housing both my parents. The room isn't particularly tense, for a reason which I do happen to remember. Farro and Zizania are both nineteen now, meaning they are ineligible for this Reaping. Meanwhile, I'm only thirteen, and I think that means the likelihood that I'll get chosen is rather limited. It's not that I'm afraid to go, I think it'll be fascinating to go to the Capitol, and compete on this Game that people so often refer to. It's mainly my parents, who I suppose don't want me to leave forever if I win, if that's how it works of course.

Speaking of my parents, the pair of them appear to be waiting for us, with my mother adjusting the collar of my father's shirt. Upon seeing me, my mother appears to light up.

"Are you ready to go Amaranth?" she asks softly. I stop for a moment, having to think.

"Yes. . . for the, Reaping, right?" I ask hesitantly. She nods her head, showing discomfort at the mention of the Reaping. Wow, they really don't like the idea of this Game.

"Well I suppose we should go now," my father huffs, placing a hand on my back.

"Remember Amaranth, whatever happens, we will always love you," he assures me as my mother joins me at my side. I chuckle a bit, smiling when I look up at his solemn face.

"Don't worry dad, even if I am selected for this Game, I'm sure I won't win it, even though we seem to win it a lot since very few people come back home," I justify. Just before I turn away, I manage to see my mother and father exchanging an expression of worry between one another. I can prove myself to them, I know I can. As we continue to make our way to the Town Square, my parents make their way over to Zizania, having a conversation about what could be anything. Meanwhile, Farro drops back so that he is walking by my side.

"Amaranth, I just wanted to apologize again, I really didn't mean it," Farro murmurs sheepishly. I look up at him out of confusion.

"Apologise for what Farro?" I ask. He looks at me for a moment, his eyes blank and unreadable.

"For. . . this morning," he informs me, trailing off a bit. My forehead ceases as I struggle to work out what he is talking about.

"What happened this morning?" I ask. Farro examines me for a moment, before glancing ahead.

"Nothing, don't worry," he says quickly. I twist my mouth in response.

Huh, that was weird. I wonder what he was talking about.


Gingko Lyat

~14~

District 9

Staring out at the fields of grain is nothing short of peculiar, with a complete lack of activity making the whole landscape seem barren. It's like a ghost town, because where normally the fields would be full of hard workers, or moving tractors, what replaces it is the soft breeze that causes the grain to willow lightly in the wind. That is the only motion that occurs, which leads me to believe that all of those people have made their way to the Town Square.

I lightly lean against the wooden fence post, staring at the drop below. As of right now, I am located on a cliff that overlooks the fields of wheat. I don't believe the fall would kill me if I was to slip, we aren't that high up. Nonetheless, I'm always certain to make sure the fence is sturdy enough before I lean against it. There is zero movement when I allow the weight of my body to rely on the fence, leading me to believe that the fence has been recently renovated. Not too long ago it was just an old rickety shamble that used to be a structured fence.

I chuckle a little as I remember that only a few years ago when I had begun to work in these fields, the fence didn't even exist. In recent years, they have decided to make the area a little more safe, with little children becoming more prominent with our population growth. Times sure have changed, one would think that the Capitol would have outgrown the celebration of children slaying one another, but alas, that would be far too much to ask for. As far as they see it, if there are no Hunger Games, there is no Panem.

"Hey! You!" I hear an aggressive voice roar from several feet away. I spin around abruptly, rather frightened by the sudden outburst of this deep tone. My eyes lock onto the large, demeaning figure of a Peacekeeper, entirely decked out in his protective white armor. He stands tall, with a stern look that a strict teacher would possess. Although his hands are empty, I can't help but notice his fingers lightly grazing the handle of the pistol tucked by his side.

I'm almost dumbfounded, does he really deem it necessary to perceive myself, a fourteen year old, unarmed, wispy District 9 girl, as a threat? I say almost, as it really isn't beyond the Peacekeepers to come across as so harsh. I can even see it from his point of view, as to why he may need access to his weapon under immediate circumstances. Not only are they rounding people up for the Reaping, but lately, there has been a surge in the amount of suicides performed by citizens of District 9.

With myself looking out at this drop, I wouldn't have put it past his expectations for myself to take the leap and snap my neck with impact. I suppose if I did go to jump, he would aim to maim me before I could get over the fence, not the smartest or most efficient system of suicide prevention, but again, Peacekeeper's aren't the brightest, and certainly aren't the most empathetic of people.

"Yes sir," I respond softly, stepping far away from the fence so he can relax his tension. It seems it works to an extent, as his arm that reaches for the pistol begins to relax.

"The Reaping begins in fifteen minutes, what the fuck do you think you're still doing out here?!" He hisses, clenching his fists. My eyes widen at the mention of the time. I didn't realize how little time I had, no wonder he's angry.

"Oh shoot, I'm so sorry, I'll get on my way now," I gasp.

"You better sprint girl, if you're not there in fifteen minutes you'll be killed for being late," he informs me. Although he delivers this sentence with a rather solemn tone, I couldn't help but pick up a little hint of bemusement. Nevertheless, I cast it out of my mind, before racing off and leaving the Peacekeeper in the dust. Three minutes into my run, I begin to start panting, struggling to keep up with the dexterity required. I may be wispy, but I certainly don't run often. I would need much more nutrition if I was to ever seriously run.

I can't help but think about how much of a struggle that would be in the arena. If I was to be running away from someone, there is an alarming chance that they would be able to catch me with ease. It's a scary thought, but at least I don't need to be too concerned about it as of now. After all, I haven't been Reaped or anything.

A few minutes later, despite feeling as if I might go into cardiac arrest, I finally make it to the Town Square. I'm confronted with the view of the shortest line to sign in that I've ever seen, meaning I must be literally one of the last people to get here. I stop a little before I get to the line, taking a few seconds to catch my breath before walking up to the line as if I had been there the whole time. There are roughly only three other people in the line that I choose, waiting to be called forward to tick off their name. My heavy breathing is hard to stifle, and before too long, a couple of the people turn around to presumably seek out the source of the heavy panting. A boy and a girl similar in age to myself, glance at me in unison. However, they appear to have a hint of recognition stir in their eyes, as if they know me.

"Hey, aren't you that girl that was playing the guitar and singing in the Town Square earlier?" The boy asks. I'm rather taken aback by the question, but I cannot help but smile softly, feeling a little nervous that they know me for that.

"Yeah, that was me," I reply politely. The accompanying girls dampened mood seems to lift a tad, her eyes glowering as she confirms who I am.

"Woah, you were incredible, you really helped relieve some of the tension many of us were facing, thanks for that," the girl smiles, appearing quite grateful.

"Keep doing what you're doing, you're something special," the boy flashes me a toothy smile, before both him and the girl are called to separate desks. I can't help but feel completely flattered by what they had to say, did I really have that type of effect of people? They certainly seemed to think so. Despite the fact that I'm about to face my third Reaping, I don't feel so grim any more. In fact, I feel like I'm on top of the world, nobody can knock me down, not the Reaping, not the Hunger Games, not the Capitol, and certainly not President Celestia Snow.

Before I can glower on the thoughts too much, I'm snapped back to the bleak reality that is the present, by a Peacekeeper that motions for me to come forward. A rather squat man is who sits behind the desk, with a red puffy face that drowns in a waterfall of sweat. No wonder he appears like this, the beating District 9 heat is enough to flush out many Peacekeepers that have once resided in the tepid weather of District 2. I'm sure the heavy white armor and porky body shape doesn't exactly assist in cooling him down.

The flustered man sighs in relief as he sees nobody behind me, signifying the last person he has to sign in. Unfortunately, this doesn't prevent him from using a hostile attitude for the remainder of his interactions with me.

"Alright hurry the fuck up, finger in here now," he grunts, pushing forward the little device meant to prick my finger. I don't say a word in order to prevent provoking the man, before sliding my finger in and waiting for the pain to come. I cry out in surprise as it pricks me a lot quicker than I thought it would, causing the man to roll his eyes in annoyance. This is before he sees my name on the screen, which causes his face to contort into a look of confusion and disgust.

"What sort of name is Gingko? You District 9 lot are so weird," he shakes his head, sliding forward a piece of paper. I find my name before pressing the bloody thumb against the box next to it.

"Finally, now join the crowd," he rushes me, causing me to stride forward and towards the fourteen-year-old section. As soon as I reach the very back, the Reaping begins to kick off. The commotion on stage appears to be our very few Victor's walking out towards their seats. The first is an old man that is our oldest living Victor, who also happens to be the second oldest living Victor out of all seventy nine. His name is Bellamy Grainsworth, and he won the 8th Hunger Games. How the hell he is still around is beyond me, but he is a highly respected figure in our District. I haven't watched Bellamy's Hunger Games, but from what I've heard, he was a very charismatic, talented young man. He rallied a few other tributes up against the newly formed Career Pack, and all I know is that he came out on top.

Next is Stephen Lovejoy, Victor of the 31st Hunger Games. Stephen is starting to get a bit old himself, and I also haven't really watched the Hunger Games that he won. From what I've heard, that year the arena was a savannah with very long grass, which definitely would have given the District 9 tributes a huge advantage. Stephen survived by knowing the plants that he could eat, being used to the type of terrain, and stalking his competition through the fields. While many alliances got lost, and separated in the tall grass, Stephen had the main parts of the arena mapped out by Day 3 because of his skill with navigating the wheat fields back home. The only challenges he faced were the District 11 tributes, who were also fairly skilled with the terrain, and a particularly persistent pyromaniac from District 12, that just couldn't help but burn down half of the arena.

The next Victor is Bran Fields, who won the 41st Hunger Games. I did in fact watch this years Games, even though it wasn't that spectacular. Bran was simply unnoticed, he had a mediocre appearance, a typical Reaping reaction, an average training score, a forgettable interview, and was completely overlooked during the Hunger Games. He wasn't a target, and he wasn't someone that just unleashed some secret ability, he just possessed enough of a capability to stay out of drama, kill when necessary, and by the end, he was in the best shape against the behemoth from District 2, and the psychotic bitch from District 4. What intrigued people so much about Bran, was that he was the definition of an underdog, nobody could figure out how he made it on top. Yet, somehow he did.

The last Victor to come out on stage, is our most recent and the only female District 9 has ever brought home, that being Ryess Cyth, Victor of the 66th Hunger Games, and the daughter of the busker that taught me. Ryess was always a formidable tribute during her Hunger Games, she showed herself to be capable of being a threat quite early on, and seeing how uncommon this was for District 9, she received quite a lot of attention and love from the Capitol. This however, meant that she would be a major target for other tributes such as the Career's. She would come out of the Games with one of the highest kill counts, with most of the kills she performed being in self-defense. Ryess used a sickle those Games, and she became so attached to it, and so traumatized by the Games, that she still carries the sickle by her side to this day. I watch it dangle by her side, as she walks towards her seat. I've heard that she even sleeps with it under her pillow, I'm surprised President Snow had allowed her to keep the weapon, I suppose he liked the story behind it.

After Bellamy, Stephen, Bran and Ryess sit down, the Mayor of District 9 steps forward until he can speak into the microphone. The crowd is already silent, so he wastes no time before speaking.

"Good afternoon, and welcome, to the Reaping for the 80th Annual Hunger Games," he says smoothly, with a voice so buttery it melts in ones ears.

"The time has arrived, once again, to introduce our lovely escort to perform one of the greatest privileges in all of Panem. Please give a warm welcome, to Autumn Summersby!" Our Mayor steps away from the microphone, as a light applause breaks out for our Escort, Autumn. Soon enough, she's waltzing onto the stage with a light smile and hand up in the air waving. Her hair falls in waves, colored just like fall colors that match her own name. Her round face and glowing amber eyes are prominent alongside her tanned, caramel skin, whilst her pearly teeth stick out against the darker tones of her face.

Autumn reaches the microphone before saying anything, and once she speaks up, I remember why she's one of our better Escorts that we've had. The majority of Escort's that District 9 has had in the past have absolutely hated the fact that they got stuck with District 9, the District responsible for grain. Yet Autumn hasn't shown any evidence of possessing these views even once, in the few years she has Escorted us. As she speaks, her voice is light, humble, not at all pretentious or annoying as most Capitol citizens tend to sound.

"Hello District 9, its great to be back this year and it's great to see all of you as well! I'm sure you're all waiting for the main event, so let's not keep anyone on the edge of their seats!" She states, keeping a relatively passive face. One that doesn't make her look overly excited at the aspect of shipping two kids off to their deaths, nor one that makes her appear anti-Hunger Games.

"I think we will mix things up this year, and break traditions, just as Panem has done with its first ever female President! In this case, let's start off with the boys," she suggests. A few people in the crowd mutter in concern, the deep hum suggesting it is many of the boys that are fearing their name coming out of that bowl. I allow my chest to relax a little, knowing that my fate still has a few minutes before being determined.

Autumn steps over to the bowl belonging to the males, before plucking a slip of paper right off the top of the left side of the bowl.

She sure has no issue with speeding through this.

As she steps up towards the microphone, she is already unfolding the piece of paper. Everyone holds their breath, as she reads the name before announcing it. This is it, will we get a strong, skilled tribute this year like Stephen Lovejoy was? Or will it be more of the same? I get my answer directly after.

"So our District 9's male tribute for the 80th Hunger Games is. . . Amaranth Paraillo, I think I said that correctly," she calls out, sounding unsure. There is no immediate reaction from the crowd, which could be a good and bad sign. I try and recognize the name from the fields, but I don't believe I've ever heard of it. It seems as if that's the case for every other person, because anyone I look at has a blank expression.

Several seconds pass, and still nobody has moved, causing Autumn to sweep over the crowd with her eyes in an attempt to pin point a terrified young child. However, I distinctly hear a voice coming from the thirteen-year-old section, a bit ahead to my left.

"W-why did that woman just say my name?" I hear a young boy question, with a voice that has clearly just entered the early stages of puberty. It's literally milliseconds before people are moving back, surrounding the poor boy as if he had the plague. I finally see him, standing in the center of a circle of people. His dark brown eyes are held in an expression of shock, one that could have been due to being Reaped, or because these people have just shunned him. His skin is a light tanned color, rather common for people from District 9, whilst his dark brown hair is sides wept and thick. He's rather short, unsurprising for the ripe age of thirteen, whilst his body is lean and hardly muscular, suggesting he hasn't been working in the fields.

From initial observations, I can conclude that Amaranth certainly appears to be more of the same. I stare at him, until the Peacekeeper's surround him, to take him to the stage.


Amaranth Paraillo

~13~

District 9

Eyes. All I can see are a sea of multicolored eyes, all staring me down as if I had just committed a murder. Adding on top of that, my shock at having this woman call out my name has only just hit me because of my delayed reaction to emotion, meaning moving me is proving to be a difficulty for the men in white armor. Didn't this mean that I was going to the Capitol? To participate in some Game?

Looking up at the pretty woman on stage, I realize that I have been escorted all the way to the front of the line. Jeez, I've never had so much attention on me in all of my life. Suddenly, I feel a pang of fear and pain, a piercing pain that penetrates my head. I don't actually feel these emotions, but I remember feeling them. Why am I feeling this? Closing my eyes, the men lead the way and direct me, causing me to pay attention to what I see behind my closed eyes instead. A picture, of something that's happened in the past. A memory?

It's fuzzy, and distorted, but I'm able to briefly make out what I'm being shown. The warm, yellow sky of District 9, wheat stalks awkwardly sticking up around the outskirts of my field of vision, as if something was on top of the stems and making them wilt. Was it my body? Suddenly I see people's faces, none that I recognize, just the outlines of hair. These silhouettes begins to fade, as I begin to lose connection to this scene.

I shake my head in surprise, at what I just experienced. Huh, the last time I had that much attention on me. Somehow, I guess that thought triggered a memory. I don't get to think about it for too long, as my body is violently shoved forward towards the bottom of the stairs. I take one shaky step forward, and then another, until I keep doing it so that I reach the top. When I do reach the top, I see the woman smiling kindly, and sympathetically towards me, with an outstretched hand that I suppose suggests that she wants to take me somewhere. I raise my arm forwards until she lightly takes my wrist, before she leads me towards the middle of the stage where the microphone stands.

Being up on the stage is the only way to truly absorb what is happening, that literally everyone in the District is looking at me. I can't spot my parents, nor can I see Farro and his fiancée. The crowd is deathly quiet, boring their stares into me as they try to work me out. Many look sympathetic, dispirited, some shake their heads, and other can't bear themselves to look. W-what's wrong with me?

"Congratulations Amaranth, you've been selected to participate for District 9 in this year's Hunger Games! How are you feeling?" The woman asks. She puts the microphone in front of my mouth, taking me by surprise.

"I-I don't feel anything, I don't know how I'm meant to feel," I reply, sort of spluttering the first line.

"Well, I think you should be pretty damn excited! A once in a lifetime opportunity is what you have Amaranth!" The lady beams. Despite this, I see how she truly feels in her eyes. It's a look of sorrow, a look of pity. It takes a few seconds, but I begin to feel discomfort. Perhaps my reaction time is speeding up.

"O-okay, yeah, I'm proud that I can represent my District," I speak up, deciding to make the best of this situation. The lady pats my back, before turning to the crowd.

"That's the spirit we're looking for! Now let's see who shall be joining Amaranth in the arena this year," she states, before making her way over to the other bowl. She swiftly grabs another slip of paper, before making her way back towards the middle of the stage and reading out what the paper says.

"Joining Amaranth as the District 9 female representative this year is. . . Gingko Lyat." The crowd doesn't really react, although it seems like the girls all seem to let out a deep sigh of relief. It's only a few seconds before some shuffling begins to occur in the crowd of fourteen-year-olds, with the people dispersing to allow a path for Gingko. I see a young girl, clearly a year older than me, with long, dark brown hair, an olive complexion similar to mine, and eyes so dark they could appear black. Her face is very symmetrical, in fact she looks quite pretty. She wears her hair in a high pony tail, yet it still falls to the middle of her back. She appears short of breath, as if she had been running not so long ago. Her body is quite thin, but aside from the heaving her chest makes from the heavy breathing, she doesn't tremble or quiver as I was tempted to do so.

Hey eyes connect with mine, but I read nothing from how she looks at me. She's seems to be under control of herself, who am I to judge her without properly meeting her. When people have had a proper look at her, they begin to murmur and whisper to one another. I manage to overhear words such as 'singer', and 'busker', leading me to believe that she is at least recognized by a few people for singing.

Have I ever seen her before? Have I heard her sing? I close my eyes momentarily, trying to recapture that ability to remember an event, as I had done so only a few minutes ago. I don't visually see anything, but I do in fact hear something. Unfortunately it's not her singing, but it sounds like Farro.

You had a concussion, and now, you have difficulty with remembering things, long and short term.

Farro had only said that this morning, didn't he? Perhaps I have heard her sing, but if I have, I certainly do not remember doing so. Gingko eventually makes it to the top of the stairs, where she awkwardly edges out towards the middle of the stage. I faintly hear the woman beside me sigh, before she speaks up in an excited tone.

"Don't be shy Gingko, how are you feeling?" The woman asks. Gingko blinks, before glancing at the cameras and back down at the floor.

"I feel, okay I guess," she responds, sounding quite uncertain.

"Well no stress, because District 9 will be behind the two of you every step of the way," the woman informs us, before turning to the crowd.

"That allows us to wrap up this year's Reaping! I look forward to seeing you next year District 9, or hopefully when one of these two lovely young individuals win! Now if you two could shake hands," she requests quietly to the two of us. My eyes look up to Gingko, as we both exchange a handshake. Gingko doesn't look at me, she just sadly looks down at the floor. I cannot help but twist my mouth in somewhat confusion. She seems so upset, should I be as well?

The woman then takes both of our hands, before raising them into the air.

"Give a round of applause for Amaranth Paraillo and Gingko Lyat, the District 9 tributes of the 80th Hunger Games!" The woman exclaims, earning a soft patter of applause from the audience. I don't get much time to appreciate it however, as both Gingko and I are swept away by a swarm of men in white armor. I try and get one last look at Gingko, but unfortunately my view of her is blocked. As the men lead me towards the big building, I reflect on what just happened.

What have I gotten myself into?


Author's Note:

It's been a long time coming. I'm so sorry for all the time of kept you guys waiting, I spent far too long without updating Bloodline and it really isn't acceptable. I won't stay on this subject though, I would like to leave that in the past. Nonetheless, it's good to be back, and I can't wait to get the Reaping's done!

So what did you think of this chapter? I must say I was probably a bit rusty so I'm sorry if it seemed sort of lacking, a lot of it was written with time gaps in between, so I hope it wasn't too clunky or anything. What did you think of Gingko and Amaranth? Got any predictions for the two of them? Amaranth was difficult to write, as he has this memory loss problem, so the writing pans out well!

Well that's it for now, I'll see you guys when I've uploaded District 10's Reaping. Have a good day/night!