hi! District 10 reapings! thank you Tigergirl22 and Superdude2026!
Anna Mougin D10 Female:
"Get up dears," says a soft voice as an equally soft knock sounds on the door as equally soft footsteps tiptoe away.
Well, I'm already up, and so is everyone else in the room. Me, Sophie Hilton, my sister Adele, and my brother Pierre.
And we all get up, scurry down the hall together, and sit down at the dining table, where Sophie's mother and father sit waiting.
"Good morning," says Mrs. Hilton.
She is striding over to us with a pan holding steaming eggs, and we chorus back, "Good morning," as she plops the pearl white circles oozing mustard yellow liquid onto our plates, and then passes each of us a small square of thin buff colored toast.
"Thank you, mother," says Sophie.
"Thank you Mrs. Hilton!" I say brightly, and Pierre launches into a full recount of his dream. Something to do with flying, making birds wings out of the chicken feathers, and then the barn animals could talk, and some more.
"And, in the dream, Amber had a colt with Azure named Airborne, and Airborne flew along beside me, though he was very small-"
"Pierre, didn't you have this dream a month ago?" I ask, amused. "But, oh no, that was Aspect and Knight having a colt named Airborne, is that right?"
"Oh, yes, but you know I'm just excited for Airborne!"
And I nod my head up and down, enthusiastically. Of course, today wouldn't be a day most are excited. But, you can't blame him. Amber and Azure are having a colt and so are Aspect and Knight, and the peacekeepers direct who gets to train the horses to do the work in the main ranch that covers most of District 10. And our family has been chosen to get which ever's colt comes first, along with the parents, to train for field work. Previously we worked on the main ranch, sometimes slicing meat, sometimes fattening animals, sometimes training animals for work, but it was a luxury to get a special job. There were three special jobs one could get. To train an individual animal family, which was the most given out luxury job. To have your own barn and ranch and your own herd is another. That was only the rich of course. Then there was to train luxury animals for the Capitol. A rare bird for them to have as a pet. A circus horse for the Capitol. Fish in a aquarium. That was so rare a job, that no one they knew had it, though of course there had to be people that had it, but in the rich part of the District, many miles away from them.
"Of course, Pierre! Come on, though, finish up, we've got to get going," I say, waving at the food he hasn't touched. Then he looks at me guiltily. Because in his excitement he didn't take into account that I could be reaped today.
"I'm sorry, An-"
"All right, Pierre, I'm just happy your happy!" I say, patting his back, thanking Mrs. and Mr. Hilton again, and following Sophie upstairs while carrying Adele up.
Once we get upstairs we put on our only fancy clothes. I put on a lilac dress with a blue belt. Sophie puts on a plaid green and white dress with short sleeves, and I slip a bright yellow dress onto Adele.
"Tank you Amma!" chirrups Adele, and I smile brightly at her while I comb my frizzy brown hair into a respectable position.
We walk down the hall, and pass Pierre walking toward the room on our way.
Once we're all assembled in the living room, we take each others hands and everyone wishes me and Sophie good luck. It's our first reaping, but we both have 7 slips in.
I have to just hope. Just hope.
And we make our way out the door, holding hands, hoping and hoping.
We pass the main ranch's gate, from which some people are filing out of. We're lucky that we have our house. Some of the people have to live in the log cabins at the actual grounds. They have to work extra hard for their housing and are given barely any food to live on. But, I've got Sophie and her parents, and we can live together.
"Guys!" I shout, as I see our friends coming out of their houses. Maddie Chandler, Maya Heritage, and Gemma Sheldon.
They run over to us and join our link of hands, and I talk to them rapidly.
"Guys, don't worry, we won't get reaped. We're twelve for pity's sake. We have, like, no chance. Come on, stick your head high, we're lucky, we won't have to really worry for another year or so, and I'm sorry to say this, but did you see how much tesserae Timmothy Hounder took? He's 18 and he has 77 slips in. About 70 more than most of us. I don't think we have much of a chance. Oh, and I got news on Airborne! Whichever one he'll be, both are due in about one month. We can make it to see Airborne, right? So, anyways.." and I yak on and on until we reach the square.
"Bye, Pierre, Adele, Mrs. and Mr. Hilton," I say, hugging them. Pierre's safe as he's only 10, and Adele is only 5, so I won't have to worry about them for a while.
Sophie shares a long hug with her parents, and then we go to get pricked.
After we're pricked we have to wait in line.
And then we have to listen to the mayor's speech.
But, meanwhile, the silence is killing me.
So I chatter a little with my friends. But then I stop.
Was that.. Oliver? He couldn't be. Oh please don't be. Don't be.
And he turns around.
And I let out a sigh of relief. This man has chubby cheeks. Happy bright round tawny eyes. Not high-cheek bones, a dead look on his face, never ending pits for eyes. Cold, cold eyes. That are the same color as mine. But mine are bright blue. His are.. desolate. Steely. Hard, always squinting, always calculating, always making me shudder and flinch. Not like my mother's. Giselle. Only three years ago, her cold pale body, my father's anguished cries, left to care for three children, my mother gone just because we couldn't afford medicine. Just because it was a couple coins too much to save her life.
And I shudder. Ignore the thought, ignore, shake your head. And that's what I do. I shut it out.
And then the square goes silent. I can faintly hear the squawking and sounds of the animals in the distance, but everyone's attention is focused on the brilliantly bright women walking onto the stage.
Basically shining with golden light, and blinding light piercing our eyes after hitting the metallic glint of curled gold horns that were implanted onto the top of her head. Her sweeping hair, sparkling with golden glitter, falls to the ground in many intricate braids, and there's a large pure white halo floating above her head. Her dress is regal. A queenly dress that sparkles with real sewn gold and silver and gems all over of magnificent colors, and even here skin is flawless with sparkling silver and gold tattoos snaking up her arms. Her large golden lips part, and her deep but still Capitol-sounding and frilly voice booms, "Welcome to the 300th Hunger Games! My name is Rexana Basilie, if you are new to the reaping this year, and I'd like to wish all good luck. Now, then, why don't I pick the girl tribute?"
But it's a rhetorical question, as her hand immediately plunges into the glass ball, and she picks out a couple names. Not me, not Sophie, not Maddie, Maya, or Gemma, not me, not Sophie, not Maddie, Maya, or Gemma-
And she drops a few back into the bowl and reads the name she has chosen. "Anna Mougin!"
Who's Anna Mougin? I look around frantically, trying to find who was reaped. It's not me-oh, no, no, no!
Did she call Anna Mougin? No, no, no, that is me. That can't be me. I.. just.. it can't be me.
And Sophie sends me a frightened look as peacekeepers walk lazily toward me, taking slow striding steps, creating suspense.
But I know I have to go. So I walk to the stage. I'm too shocked to show feeling. Well, I'm sure I probably don't look bored or blank-faced. I probably look shocked, stricken, frightened.
"And the boy tribute to join Anna is... Damian Janus!" And I see the boy walking up. No. The man. He's a hulking mass of pure muscle. And I know who he is. Damian. Why does it have to be him? Why, oh why, oh why?
At least he looks a bit sad. But it's all cover up. He's used to this type of thing. Now I have to go into the arena with him. The arena...
"And we have your District 10 tributes!" yells Rexana huskily, and orders us to shake hands. I slip my trembling hand into his and he squeezes so hard, I feel like my bones will crush.
But.. but as we're led into the Justice Building, he pats my shoulder. Reassuringly. It must be all an act, mustn't it? He's.. he's.. he's a murderer. He's a trickster killer.
Damian Janus D10 Male:
"Yo! Give me your tesserae, I'm not takin' any, you give me 'em or else, ya-" and my fist connects with his jaw as he falls over. I won't let him hurt me. I won't let him hurt my family, my friends, we need the tesserae. I just have to hurt him enough so he'll leave us alone.
So I kick him, and he rolls over, groaning, leaking blood, pale marked with fiery-red streaks, he lifts his arm shakily to shield himself.
I kick him over and over. And run, as he takes a last shuddering breath.
...
I rub my eyes. I rub them so much that they're starting to turn red. That boy.. his fate was in the District news on the bulletin board in the square. No one knows it was me. We were behind the school, in an alley, they can't prove nothing. But they suspect.
...
"Hey Dylan. Puny Dylan. Tiny, weak, orphan Dylan. Did your parents die on purpose because they couldn't stand their frail, repulsive, butt-ugly, vile son, huh, they suicide because a you? Huh, Dylan? Too shy to answer? You don't talk, you don' deserve ta' not be punched!" but as the boy swings his arm at Dylan, I catch it and pull it back, and it makes a huge popping cracking sound and the bully sends me wide eyes.
"Go, Dylan," I tell my brother, and he runs away to the gate leading to our home in the ranch grounds with even wider eyes than the bully.
Bending the boy's arm back, I push his arm back, and shove him to the ground, remembering that I can do this, I've done it before. Where did that lead to? But I have to. I have to protect. The only way to protect is to fight.
So I beat him up. Simple. Punch him over and over again, creating deep navy bruise blue and sickly black and mustard yellow and olive green bruises marking him all over.
And I leave him. He'll never hurt us again. He'll never hurt Dylan again. He won't hurt Daisy. He won't hurt Cynthia.
...
And I rub my eyes more. I want them bloody red. I want to show how horrible it is what I did. But they had it coming to them. They attacked first. I'm doing defense. Am I? Well, now my blood-shot eyes are like the blood marking my victims. Well, they were the predators. We were the victims? Were we? Was I, really? I mean, they're the ones dead. I'm not. I'm.. starting to go crazy? Maybe. Not sure. I didn't think I could kill them. I still don't believe it. I underestimate myself..
...
I punch. No time to think. This has to happen. He can't hurt us anymore. No emotions. No emotions. Put my emotion into packing a punch. Banging their head against the floor, I start gathering the energy for a final kick, and I hear shouting. I deliver it, the kick, and then run. I run from the shouting, from the pounding feet behind me, but I get away. That guy.. or girl, I'm not sure, well I had to. Not time to think. He tried to beat me up first. He tried to steal my hard-earned coins. He insulted Dylan. Daisy. Cynthia. But he's over with. Done.
...
I wake up. Tired? Not sure. Exhausted? Yes. Big difference.
But it doesn't matter. I've got to get them up.
I shake Daisy awake. Then Dylan. Then Cynthia. We have to be by the kitchens line by 6 A.M sharp in order to be let through the ropes and receive breakfast.
So we get up. Get our trays out of our cabinets, and I reach up high for Daisy's and Dylan's, and as we head outside in the bitter cold in our flimsy garments Daisy clutches my hand.
We reach the kitchens really early, so they let us slip under the rope and we join the already long line. I rub Daisy's back with one hand, Cynthia's back with the other, and murmur encouraging words to Dylan, since this will be his first reaping, and he's trembling from head to toe, and not just from the cold.
When we get our food they put a small scoop of tesserae oatmeal mush, the least expensive thing to make as they make all the kids get the tesserae. Then they fill our water bottles half each with water, dirty but hydrating. When we get to a small secluded table I pour some of my water into their bottles, though they protest, and give them some of my mush, hoping it will help them a small bit at the least.
"I love you guys. I love you guys so much. I don't want you to get reaped. I-" but Cynthia silences my with a small soft kiss, and I shut up. It'll be alright. But we still have to work. So I go to the desk and get all of our assignments. We're all butchering today. Good.
So we go there, hand in hand, and get to the butcher shop, full of long sharp knives, short blunt daggers, chopping axes that I've found remarkably good for throwing. Which I do. I guess I kinda let out my feelings by puncturing the wall with them. The axes. And the peacekeepers don't mind. They think it's just the decaying old walls already covered with mold and grime.
So everyone cuts up horse, cow, chicken, pig, and other types of meat, I do the same, but I now and then throw an axe at a specific place, and I make it and smile. Just an accomplishment. I don't want to hurt anyone. I want to be soft. I do love. I do care. It's just to prepare. Precautions. Just in case.
And a couple hours later, with everyone's muscles aching from stooping over the work tables, we head to the square. I retrieve looks. Like I'm a crazy disease to be infected by and killed by and hurt by. But I'm not. I was defending. Why does no one understand? I can't control it. It controls me. What controls me? one might ask. I'm not sure. Myself. Others. Everyone. The Capitol. The President. She controls everyone. Even if she has no idea about them. I hope she has no idea about me. Or Daisy. Or Dylan. Or Cynthia. I hope we're not her next victims. Targets. How could I defend myself against her?
And we have to leave Daisy. She's only 7. She's safe. From the reaping. Not from other stuff. So I embrace her before she goes tearfully into the crowd outside the ropes.
And after I get pricked, and tightly hug Dylan, who shakily goes to the 12-year-old section, I meet my friend Steve Peters. We're all 15. Me, Steve, and Cynthia. Cynthia lives with us, but so do other hundreds of people, in our small cramped log cabin in the ranch grounds. Steve lives with his family, though. But they could never afford for the four of us to join them. Steve has an older brother. Who hates me. For the rumors. The true rumors. But Steve and Cynthia know they're true. I've got nothing to conceal from them.
But Cynthia is an orphan like me. My girlfriend. They understand me. They trust me. I understand them. I trust them.
And it's time for the reaping to start, way too soon. Of course I hate the reaping. I'm not cold-hearted. My heart is not a dull heavy stone, or a boulder at that, or a pebble even. A full pumping heart full of love is what I have. For those I can love. For those I try to protect.
This women is ridiculous. That's my first thought. Those horns growing out of her head, and the illusion she's trying to create that her skin is so flawless that it sparkles. And those millions of diamonds and gems and real gold and silver on her right there in front of me, just for her to wear. We barely have enough food and she has the great decency to go showing off her rich capitol style to us. Sarcasm.
And that halo.. well, let's just say, she's not a angel, nor innocent, nor perfect, nor any of the characteristics of an angel.
She radiates golden light that makes it look like your staring at the sun, blinding you, but she's not the great beacon of hope and happiness shining to us all. The exact opposite. Sincerely.
Even her face is unreal. Golden fancy Capitol lipstick, rosy red with little golden sparkled cheeks, incredibly pale otherwise, royal blue eyes with golden sparkles in them. "Welcome to the 300th Hunger Games! My name is Rexana Basilie, if you are new to the reaping this year, and I'd like to wish all good luck. Now, then, why don't I pick the girl tribute?"
Oh, don't be Cynthia. Not Cynthia Graymark. That's all I can think. It takes over my mind. Anyone but her. Anyone besides the girl I love, who understands me, who loves me.
"Anna Mougin!" And I breathe out relief, the air I've been holding in sweeps out and tickles the person's neck in front of me, who turns around, and scared at seeing me runs a little ways away from me. Silly. I'm not insane. I won't hurt them if they don't hurt me.
I wonder if Anna is a bully. She must be scared, though, as the peacekeepers start walking toward the crowd to get her unmoving body, but I see a short girl with frizzy-brown hair and bright blue eyes walk to the stage, looking shocked and scared and incredibly feeble. Not a bully, at least doesn't look like one. And she's only 12. She's coming out of the 12-year-old section. A big disadvantage. But I don't notice her from the grounds log house, a.k.a orphanage for people of all ages. Basically any kid without parents or anyone without a home lives there. She must have her own house. Or her family does, at least. Or I just haven't noticed her tiny self in the grounds in our home. And I don't recognize her from being friends with Dylan.
"And the boy tribute to join Anna is..." and I cross my fingers and Cynthia grabs my hand, tightly, scared.
"Damian Janus!" I'm..reaped. To fight I go. I've done it before. In defense. But I've killed. But I don't want to. I'm not a career killer. I don't enjoy it. I don't mean for it to happen. So I'm sad. No, I'm more than sad. I'm miserable, despaired, desolate, wretched, crestfallen, but I'm horrified to leave my family alone. Dylan. Daisy. Cynthia. Steve. I consider them all my family. I love them. I can't leave them.
But I have to go up.
So I detach myself from a sobbing Cynthia, nod my head at Steve, who gives me back a reassuring nod, and make my way up.
While I'm standing next to Rexana I think. How do I look to the Capitol? Or the other tributes? I mean, I'm tall, at the measuring wall in the log cabin, where we can measure our heights, I was 6 foot 7 inches, and that was about only a couple weeks ago.
I'm muscly, no doubt. And over the years my eyes have become bloodshot. The veins in my eyes are strikingly brick-red, so you notice them in my eyes more than the kind soft brown, that can turn hard and stern quick as a switch.
I have dark skin and calloused hands from work and being out in the sun quite a lot. I think I could be intimidating. If I show them what I'm capable of. But I'm not sure what I'm capable of.
My straggly blonde hair stands out against my dark tan skin. But my clothes show a lot, too. My ratty tennis shoes everyone living on the ranch gets, that are too small on my feet, squeezing them, and my worn out dirty white-turned gray socks, and my ripped jeans and patched and frayed gray t-shirt. Maybe I look cruel. Maybe I look pathetic. Maybe I look menacing. I'm not sure. All I see are the sobs of my family. But I should be ready to fight. I guess I am. I am ready to fight. To fight to return home. Because I can.
"And we have your District 10 tributes!" yells Rexana, and she directs our hands to shakes. I squeeze Anna's hand hard out of nerves, but her hand is trembling and I can see her shiver.
As we're led into the Justice Building I pat her shoulder. I want her to not worry. If I don't win she should. It'll help my family. They'll get food. She doesn't seem a bully.
