Chapter 13: Pre-Reaping Scenes

Update: I accidently didn't safe the original chapter, so I had to rewrite everything, but I feel like this one is better than the original one. I already read a few comments about the last chapter and those made me very happy!

Qantuta Hutchinson, 14, District 11 male, around 10am

Although it was only 11 a.m., the sun was already burning relentlessly on the wooden roofs of District 11 downtown. Qantuta wiped the sleeve of his pajamas over his sweaty forehead. He had not slept well that night, as in the previous ones. Mutations had chased him until they turned into blood-smeared tributes from District 2 and eventually brought him down. Qantuta was more often terrified then he wanted to admit; Having nightmares as a 14-year-old wasn't bad if you weren't cared for the next morning by an over-caring mother who treated you like the smallest baby in the District.

"Take a little bit of the mango," said his mother, who braids his little sister Alstroemeria's hair into a simple braid. No one called Alstroemeria by her name; Alstroe was easier to remember. Qantuta shook his head and grabbed his curly hair, which swayed from all sides. He couldn't eat anything now, not when he knew the reaping started in less than an hour. This year, it would be Alstroes's first time she was in the loose group of 12-year-olds. "I'm not hungry anymore," he said softly, slightly tapping his feet against the wooden table. His mother sighed. "I know you're nervous, but you have to eat something. You're going to need the strength," she said, dismissing Alstroe so she could brush her teeth in the bathroom. The majority of the district could not afford a proper bathroom; Qantuta had heard at the school that several families shared a bathroom in the poorer parts of the District. His family had been working for several years for a somewhat wealthier family, which owned numerous citrus fruit plantations. Qantuta's father was already on one of these as a security guard, so that no one would let anything go unnoticed. His mother would also go there after the return of her two children to help pack the fruit.

For this reason, Qantuta had also met Minty McCrawlen. The girl of the same age was the daughter of his parents' employers and absolutely down-to-earth. Although she didn't need to help harvest the fruits, she always joined Qantuta after school and the two helped with the harvest. Minty's mother gave Qantuta a bit of money and an orange every fifth day. For several months, Qantuta saved this money to invite Minty to eat ice cream. He knew she loved vanilla ice cream above all else and he finally wanted to ask her if they could be more than just friends.

Qantuta simply felt that the two were ready for a relationship. Not a day went by when he didn't lay awake in the evening thinking of Minty. With her bright blue eyes and soft blond hair, she didn't match the typical look of a District 11 girl who usually had as dark curls as Qantuta. It wasn't just Minty's appearance that made him quite feverish in her presence; she was wealthy, but still had a heart of pure gold. She would volunteer at any moment to watch out for Alstroe.

He couldn't leave Minty alone before the reaping. She must certainly be scared, he thought. Now would be a good time to ask her. Then she has at least something to look forward to after the reaping. Qantuta just had to gather all his courage and take a heart to ask her. He was sure that Minty would never serve him off – she was just too nice to do so.

"Mum, do you think Minty likes me?" he asked.

His mother looked at him in amazement. Then she started smiling at him. 'I'm pretty sure she likes you, otherwise she wouldn't spend that much time with you. Why do you doubt your friendship, Qantuta?"

I don't doubt our friendship, I am just concerned that there isn't anything else between us. "I have no doubts!" he protests softly, then gets up to scare Alstroe out of the bathroom so he could get ready for the reaping. His mother rushed after him. 'You don't need to be afraid of her saying no. I feel like she likes to be near you," she reassured, before heading back to the kitchen to prepare for lunch. Before Qantuta could call her, she opened the bathroom door and a scented cloud alias Alstroe approached him.

"Do you want the other girls to faint?" he asked her, but Alstroe smiled at him only bittersweetly. "I only want to be as pretty as Ama Carter once a year," she chirped, dancing into the living room. Qantuta did not think Alstroe should take an example of Ama Carter. He knew the 17-year-old girl only fleetingly from school and had not received any positive vibes from her direction. However, his classmates, especially the girls, found them completely stunning. If it were pure appearance, Qantuta would absolutely agree with them, but if you included her personality, he would prefer to be off vomiting. According to the school gossip, she had practically thrown herself around the mayor's son's throat in order to be able to tap a bit of his influence and money. Minty would never do such a thing, it would be incompatible with her self-respect alone. Besides Ama Carter, Minty seemed to be the purest angel.

Qantuta slipped into the gassed bathroom and washed himself as long as he could hold the air so as not to faint. He brushed his teeth in the hallway. Alstroe urged him to finally get ready so that she could still talk to her friends in the marketplace. Ten minutes later, the front door fell into the castle and the two siblings made their way to the market square.

Brea Greensdale, 16, District 6 female, around 8am, Justice Building

'I'm not going to change my mind because the sister's statement was probably just made to force a reduction in punishment. The murder has been confessed and the accused regards it as an act of heroism, which leads me to my verdict that she will be found guilty. The sentence will be at least 20 years in prison. Since the accused is still minors, she will be housed in a juvenile detention center for the first two years until her eighteenth birthday, after which she will be transferred to one of the state prisons as far as possible," announced the tired judge, who was likely to have his eyelids closed in the next few minutes.

Brea bit her lower lip so as not to curse him in front of the camera. For twenty years, she would serve for helping her sister, who was let down by the peacekeepers. The quiet scurrying of the camera behind her back made her nervous. Just at her hearing, the Capitol thought it was time for a documentary on the "distracted juvenile offenders of the 6th District." Brea hated the thought of being seen on one of the Capitol's screens. The redhead tried to avoid her sister's desperate eyes. Wren had testified in Brea's favor in the hope that the sentence would be reduced, only to be portrayed as an unfaithful partner. Brea banged her fist on the table. Her lawyer looked at her tired. Another one who gave me up, she thought bitterly.

"You can take the offender away now," the judge said loudly and the camera was turned off. Two peacekeepers came to Brea to put her handcuffs back on and then take her to the reaping of this year's Hunger Games. With my luck, I am about to be drawn today. "Get up," said one of the peacekeepers. Brea rose. She perhaps was in the eyes of the judge and Colt's family, where Brea herself was not so sure, a murderer who had struck without thinking.

Brea was not interested in the opinion of these people. It wasn't these people who lay awake every night thinking about how to take someone else's life, it was Brea alone who struggled not to think of the blood splatters found throughout the living room. It took two targeted blows to cause fatal internal bleeding, which brought you to an end after a few minutes.

The nightmare stretched back several years, but on a cloudy rainy Wednesday afternoon it came to a swift brutal end. Brea came back from school and thought about her bad chemistry grade. "Who needs chemistry?" she whispered quietly as an unvarnished Wren approached her halfway. Brea stopped out of reflex. Wren never went out of the house, really never without makeup. Something must have happened. "Colt said he needed more beer," Wren said, squeezing a fleeting kiss on Brea's forehead before running down the street to the nearest supermarket. He was drunk again, Brea thought, have I ever seen him sober?

The next thing Brea remembered was when she opened the front door and heard Colt's disappointed curses. His football team had apparently lost again. Brea parked her backpack in the hallway before carefully making her way to the musty living room. Her eyes took the crowbar was on the opposite door; Colt was a craftsman and always left all his tools in the house.

"Do you have the beer?" he grumbled, but when he noticed Brea on the door frame, he glanzed at her. "That's where the next useless comes along," he said, crushing the empty beer can in his hand. Brea looked at the crowbar again before turning to Colt. "Did you beat Wren again?" she whispered. Colt kicked the crushed beer can against the wall. Unattractive stains of the beer adorned the lower half of the wallpaper. 'I don't know why that's in your interest. You can be glad I picked you up here," he said angrily. Brea bit her lower lip. "She's my sister, of course I care if you mistreat her!" said Brea with a firm voice.

At that moment, something seemed to get raining in Colt. Apparently, he had finally noticed that Brea was not as stupid as she sometimes posed out of self-protection. With a few steps he approached her, like a hungry wolf did with his prey. Before he could slap his fist in her stomach, Brea dodged and reached for the crowbar. Probably the people were right to say that this murder was committed without a second thought, because Brea somehow managed to hit Colt the crowbar with full force against the skull. The bulge on Colt's temples was clearly visible; Brea would not deny this. She knew the blow was well set, but would it stop Colt from continuing to put Wren and her off? Colt, who had already fallen to his knees because of dizziness, leaned against the wall and shouted unsightly words at her. Brea lifted the crowbar to the final blow. Once she hit her target, Colt hit the ground – bleeding heavily on the head, but still breathing. Brea did not feel the blood stains that had accumulated under her freckles. The only thing she felt at that moment when Colt stopped breathing was hope. Her sister, who couldn't do anything to anyone, and herself were finally safe.

Yes, Brea would have been happy if she were given the chance to hope that she would stop. She had freed herself and her sister from an almost hopeless situation, but the price she had to pay for it is high. She, Brea Greensdale was the female tribute from District 6 that entered the 54th Hunger Games.