Here, the desolate lonely feeling of being lost and cold was automatically stuffed inside any person as soon as they could get a look at it. It was a very lonely and desolate place, District 9. They were never buzzing with life or excitement, that any other districts held. The train station was far off from the town. So all anyone saw when they unboarded, was a long and winding road, with crumpled up newspapers and weeds flying around. Here, it was almost meant to rain every day, for clouds usually hung in the sky, blocking the heavy sun. The escort, Miss Quall Geonelt, hurried quickly through the train station into the waiting car. She did not look outside at the ugly place. She instead, stared into her lap, which held a slideshow she would present in front of the many people of her District. She didn't like being here, for there were only two victors, one being old and beat-up, and the other being nearly mad. On the way, there were workers, who worked in the many fields and picked up leftover grains and wheat for their families, or their jobs. They were poor and very broken and worn out. Most of them were in their twenties, but they looked in their fifties with filth and work. In facsination, these people watched Quall's car go by, for none of them had any of their own. They walked wherever they could. Realizing who was inside, they all saluted it. Miss Quall smiled back, and waved, but inside, her heart was disgusted with all the filth and grime. She was a natural tan, with fresh breath and blue hair, her face being soft and pretty. She was spirited, young, and out in the world. She had a fiancee, whom she was to marry in a month. She dreamt of him whenever she wasn't around him and worshipped him. It was an hour before she reached the first trace of town, three shops, bunched together. They were around an uneven stale road.
These shops belonged to everyone, and were of normal quality. They were food and book shops, serving all kinds of food, not fancy, but decent enough to eat without choking. They were cooked in small, but clean pots and the cooks were usually middle class, so they didn't poison the food either. Some food was free, so most poor people hung around after work, where they gathered the free food for their families. But most of it cost two dollars at the most. This allowed some poor people to afford these meals. But the poor here, were somewhat worse off in money terms than the others. By working ten long hard hours, one poor person may gain three dollars. Two and a half of this was spent on food, and the rest put away for spring shopping, which was usually buying clothes for the reaping. The books shops were small and tidy, worthy of the rich in some terms, besides the people who entered. The poor only came by to admire the books, and the middle class sometimes read in their spare time, but never bought books such as the rich did. These books were from fine literature, to trashy little novels. Sometimes, poor schools took field trips to these shops, to learn a few words to read. Usually, the poor were never taught to read more than a few words, or write more than their name.
After these shops, a few miles down, were the clothing and extra shops, it was in an untidy plaza where all kinds of people hung around. Anything else people needed, was placed here. There at least five shops here, two clothing, one supply shop, a blacksmith's, and a pet shop. Pets were usually dogs, horses, or anything useful to a family. Cats were available only to rich people, who could afford them and take care of them. But since rich people were so rare in this District, there were too many cats available, therefore they were shipped off every year to the Capitol, where nearly every household owned a cat. But there were many dogs and horses to be sold as well, to people who could also afford them. This part of town was a place for everyone. Clothes were classified into poor, rich, and middle sections. Sometimes, a middle class person might find a rich peice of clothing on sale and buy it, same went for the poor. Any clothes which were broken or torn, were for free, allowing the poor to gather at the corner of the shop relentlessly. They quickly gathered what they needed and left. The poor section included the tackiest and dirtiest clothes on the street, but they were clensed and repaired, and allowed the poor to dress somewhat decently. There were a few hats on the hangers, two scarves at a time, at least enough coats for half the population, and lots of normal dressing. These clothes were mostly bought for the reaping, but remained on for the rest of the year. The middle class was anything normal. There were more choices, such as simple jewerly, and simple accessories. The rich included everything, from buttons to long silky dresses. This was where most teenage rich kids spent their time, shopping, eating, and enjoying their money. While poor clothes cost almost nothing, rich clothes cost quite a bit, even in terms of the rich. But anyone rich, was super rich, and therefore, the prices were usually ignored.
Then there were houses, in three rows, rich, middle and poor. The poor was now the largest. They were small houses, all made up of brown material. Their yards were dirty and usually unattended to, but they allowed a sanctuary for all the poor people to gather with friends, and simply think and rest. They were ugly, but not completely desolate. They were cheerful on holidays and celebrated with nearly everyone in the poor section. A poor person knew almost everyone on their street and children and adults were friends, who helped each other and bought presents for each other. Today being the reaping, people were meeting each other and wishing each otehr good fortune and luck. Some trades were going on, and a few games, including adults and children. Some were dancing and laughing. These poor people talked with such heavy accents and slang, it was hard to understand them. They mixed up vowels, and dropped some other letters, such as j and h. They were commoners, and usually worked as factory people, pruners, or assisants. They knew how to celebrate and dance, and sing, and work at what they were meant to do. The school taught them nothing but how to do things in their jobs, so they were uneducated. However, they learned to dance and sing from their parents and grandparents, for it was a tradition passed down, and music brought hope to these people. They never went out of their limits, never thought of beginning a rebellion, instead they grieved children in the Hunger Games, and were nervous whenever the reaping came around.
The middle class was less tight-knit. They were loose and free. They walked around, bidding hello to some people, ignoring others. People played on the streets, and stuck with their groups. Houses were lined somewhat evenly, except for a few crooked ones. The gardens were green in the spring, lush in the summer, orange in the fall, and blue in the winter. It rained, poured, snowed, and hailed on these people, but it did not affect them. They lived near a river, which was meant for bathing, cooking, cleaning, water source, and in some cases, playing. There was an old rope, which no one bothered to use, in fear of it breaking. But other than that, they played Marco Polo, and Skipper, which was a rock skipping contest. Most kids gathered there after school with friends, if they didn't work, and played without getting wet. It was a nice spot, with a few trees, and well-cut grass, kept nice by the community. The school did teach kids how to read mild books, small chapter books. So, they read quietly for school. But they were mainly taught math, science, history, and grammar. Some worked, to keep the family in order. Most workers here were apprentices, or main workers who worked in the district's main resources. Anything additional to learn, such as music, or dance, cost too much for most people to afford and keep steady their finances, so they kept away from that kind of stuff. So instead, they busied themselves about learning and work.
The rich was always the same as every place, except there were only five rich families, not including the mayor and the two victors. These families were not well-known, or pointed out. They lived a private, happy life, learning everything from art, to history on Panem. They did not even have to enter the Hunger Games until they were sixteen, which completely lessened the chance of getting picked. There is not much more to say, besides they were happy and completely oblivious to the rest of the world.
The Square and the headquarters were lined up together at the end of the District, and barely dressed in anything besides white ribbon, which symbolized the Hunger Games, and how they felt about it. Which was happiness and thankfullness that they could live in peace without people bugging them every minute. The young escort finally arrived, and put away the picture of her finacee. She then exited the car, and put away her sunglasses, allowing her eyes to be exposed to the humidity and desolacy of the land. The Head Peacekeeper greeted her and led her in. A few people who were gathered outside the Square waved and cheered. She smiled and waved back as she was escorted inside the Square. She could finally breathe when she had entered the place. She then settled down on a large soft and looked over her speech paper. It was crumpled and the handwriting was nearly impossible to read. She scowled and pulled out a peice of paper, and began to once again write. Writing her own words, and whatever words she could read on the other sheet.
In thirty minutes, people were let in. They were escorted into rows of three, all in the same order of before. A large television appeared behind as Quall entered the stage, with her white vest luminating the yellow and blue lights which were sprung down on her. She smiled her white smile as she entered.
"Thank you my bunnies" as she said this, many people roared in laughter, while their hearts were panging with sadness.
"For 33 years, the Capitol has kept the Hunger Games, as a reminder to the people of weakness. They have been exciting and happy for all those to see. Here is a slide show of all the Hunger Games, and it's past victor's!"
Everyone clapped, and the televsions brightened with lovely pictures of each and every tribute. There was not one sound from the audience. These innocent children, forced to kill, for the sake of living could hardly keep from crying. Sympathy fell from the crowds onto families of those who had lost these dears, who had died for the Capitol's entertainment. It was terrible enough to die, but for entertainment! That was far to much. After showing each tribute, the screen blackened, leaving the crowds with ashened faces and crushed hearts, with all past dreams and hopes gone from their pitiless, unmerciful hearts. Why should they grieve? These were only children of other's, who had to suffer. But there was a different feeling. It was as though these kids were their own. They weren't, but they belonged to the same community, hung to the same hopes, and felt the same way. It was if they were saying good-bye to a dear friend, except every year had one torn from them, just to show how helpless they were.
When this was done, Quall saluted the Capitol and laughed happily. She then drew a name from the female hat, as if it were for someone to recieve a prize, rather than to be condemned to death.
"Clara Harington" she announced loudly.
The entire place collapsed into applause the girl rose from her position, trembling, but looking as though she were hard as a rock. She did not let her hair fall into her eyes, she kept it back. It seemed as though it was the work of monsters who created this ugliness, this confusion, that she should be chosen. What was going on inside this girl's thoughts. It was not the normal thing that most would feel, other than the complete pain and fear of being in the Hunger Games. The clouds had gathered together and poured. The poor girl looked behind her, she was still standing still, trembling as thoughts overwhelmed her. She heard nothing, a pen dropped could be heard. She then took her first step, which seemed heavier than the largest machine there. It echoed throughout the room. She then stepped forward again, gaining power through each step. Her eyes not overwhelmed with anything but braveness. It was with real confidence that she stepped up. A sob was heard throughout the entire place. One tiny sob.
Clara Harington had but one person who truly loved her, Aunt Titi. This babysitter of hers, was the only one who could make her laugh, or cry at the same time. She was the only one who could put a smile or frown. This sob came from this woman, who loved this girl more than anything. Clara turned around, tears forming in her large eyes. She came to the end of the stage, and outstretched her hand. Her aunt grasped it and kissed it gently. The poor girl seemed ready to break down. But instead, she held a silent farewell by a raising of her hand. She kissed her three fingers and held it out to her aunt, who looked bewildered and pained. She began to sob. Tears were threatening to spill over the girl's eyes. She then took her place besides Quall, looking ahead, looking for whom? Her parents. They seemed to care nothing for her, and this was usually known as true, which in fact it wasn't. They both loved her, but could not find the time to support her and show her it. So now, Clara was by herself. Quall then picked a boy's name.
"Tahini Unakite" she announced, looking around the room.
This boy arose from his position. He then looked around, as if seeing if any volunteers would step forward. He stood here for a moment, looking around blankly. At his friends. Friendship only goes so far on the day of the reaping. He dropped his eyes and came towards the stage, looking down as if struck by a heavy hand. His feet seemed to wield chains, which also seemed to control his hands. His hair fell in front of his face. He did not say nor do anything. He slowly slumped up the steps. The people watched in pain, as they did every year. Clara with her head in her hands, and this boy seemingly dragged by chains to this position. His eyes fell on the crowd from the top of the stairs, he said nothing, but looked as though he still expected a volunteer. Anyone might've called it, but no one bothered. So he was pulled away from his life, next to the girl which he may or may not kill. His eyes met hers for a moment, and dropped. It was not warm, it was not cold. It was perfectly still.