Chapter 14: Reaping time!

Atticus Snow, 24, Capitol citizen and President Snow's son and heir, evening of the day before the reaping

The sky shone in the most magnificent colors as the sun went down. Gentle yellow like the grain fields District 9s, then a rich bright orange like the finest fabrics that his mother wore. A delicate blue was the finale, but it was so bright that the sea in District 4 seemed like the abyss of the world. Atticus turned his gaze away from the skyline and looked back to his closet. The harvests took place tomorrow. Sighing, Atticus tapped to the bulging closet and indiscriminately pulled out a dark shirt, followed by black suit pants and freshly polished patent shoes. His father would expect him in an hour in his study to discuss with him the final steps that would make the games even better. Atticus had to honestly admit that he didn't like the Hunger Games. Not because the Capitol in them killed children who were still in front of them all their lives, but because they were not of him.

Atticus had worked hard all his life to eventually fill the position of Supreme Game maker. He had visited the Capitol's richest families to raise donations for sponsorship gifts, but his father didn't trust him anymore. Atticus knew that he would later become president, not a Gamemaker, but wasn't it better for the family to hold two positions of power? He had often asked himself this question until his father came before him and explained that this attempt to hold two positions of power would only lead to uprisings in the upper class. Everyone here, who had half enough money, wanted their families to work in some high position to underpin their social status.

He could take whatever he wanted and yet he wasn't allowed. This knowledge dismayed him inwardly. Now the positions of the Head Gamemaker were held by loyal followers of his father. When Atticus was still attending the academy, he completed his internship at the headquarters of game control every year. At the time of 15, he had visited the department for climatic and weather-related events in the arena. The following year, he was allowed to visit the mutations, which were designed by an obviously morphine-dependent Remus. The technical department, which was at the same time the most boring and most important, was shown to him, but unlike his classmates he was allowed to participate and not just go for coffee. At the time of 18, Atticus had finally worked his way up. He knew every department head personally, guessed the next arena and yet he had to share the internship with her. Artemesia Rutherford, the daughter of the Minister of Justice. Best of the year, darling of all parents and teachers, final speaker and now Head Gamemaker.

She would also be present at the meeting. In conversations between his parents, Atticus had noticed that his father was enthusiastic about the arena and some of Artemesia's changes. Well, as enthusiastic as a Coriolanus Snow could be. Atticus dressed and rushed through the east wing of the presidential palace. His quick steps echoed in the high aisles. The walls were decorated with golden patterns, thick tapestries hung next to each other at exactly 5 meters apart.

He tried to clear his head and not think about confronting the two people who tormented and oppressed him all his life. Atticus knew that he could never rebel against his father without being punished. Artemesia, on the other hand, could not defend herself, at least not in a way his father could. She was just an important employee of the family, no less important than that she would be dismissed immediately after a mistake. It was time for Atticus to defend himself against the two tyrants, though not at the same time. First he would deal with the heartfelt game maker, then his father would elevate him to her position. Only a small mistake had to happen in order for him to finally reach his goal. After the meeting, Atticus would know what a mistake it had to be.

Artemesia was already waiting at his father's door. Her dark hair had put her up to a dull, probably in a hurry, because some strands hung loosely out and slaps the young woman's cheeks. Although he saw her face only partially, Atticus knew that her green eyes, in search of a mistake, glided uneasily over the sides of the file. She rhythmically pushed a chair leg with the heels of her black pumps. Her skin was lightly tanned from a vacation in District 4, and the rust-colored skirt wringed around her legs as she looked up.

Others would have taken the trouble to get up, but Artemesia looked at him with icy eyes. She seemed to be as unhappy with his presence as he was about hers, but neither could change it. "Good evening," she said, turning back to her files. Atticus raised his eyebrows angrily. He had expected more from his former classmate. "Didn't your mother teach you to answer when someone talks to you?" she asked him harshly.

"Didn't yours teach you how to deal with powerful people differently?" replied Atticus. The young woman looked at him with raised eyebrows, but then opened her red lips to answer. "I thought you were aware of what the balance of power is right now? As far as I know, I am the Head Gamemaker and not you, Atticus. You're just..." she stopped mockingly and got up. Since the two stood no more than two meters apart, Artemesia took only one step forward, so that her fingertips just swiped his shirt. Every touch of their fingers chased electric shocks through his veins. She bowed to him and whispered in his ear.

"Just a denier. You deny things that you know are true and things you are afraid of. But the worst thing about you is that you don't do anything about it. You want to gain power? Poisoning your father or killing me won't help you. Let me give you a tip: When you strive for power, it is not your enemies that you should know best, but yourself. If you have completed this step, contact me again. I don't like to play games that I know I'm going to win before the actual start." Atticus felt his blood begin to boil. How could she dare to teach him like this? Even she had never had to work hard for anything, the princess had got everything she wanted. That would change tomorrow.

He was willing to show people that he was not the wise son of their president, but their new leader, their hero. People should cheer as he walks by. A spoiled gore and a stubborn old man would not be the reason why the people never got his redeemer. Atticus had to get rid of them.

Solomon Canterra, 13, District 5 male, reaping day

The sun was obscured by a thick cloud cover, the district looked gloomy and threatening with its sparks of spraying electrical systems. Sol turned around in his warm bed to see his twin brother Kyro in the face. Someone knocked on the bedroom door, causing Kyro to scare.

"Come on breakfast, guys! We still have some things to do!" his father shouted. Sol rubbed his eyes sleepily. The early morning had never been his time. From outside, the screams of his younger sister Mila entered the room, demanding attention. Mariana, the last child of the family, rattled in the small kitchen with pans. His father was not a good cook, so he left it to Mariana to cook. At the age of eleven, she was old enough to understand why she had to cook. Sol had no hatred for his mother, who had left after Mila's birth. He doubted that she had made it out of the district without being shot, and even if she did, the family would never see her again.

The boys dressed in silence, aware of what a day it was today. The worst thing that came to your mind on the morning of the harvest was the certainty that you could lose someone every time. Solomon or Sol, as he preferred, was no different. He knew about the idea that Kyro wanted to volunteer. His twin brother simply couldn't cope with the talk of people who thought he was funny. Being different was not a bad thing. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Sol asked him as they sat at the breakfast table and dipped hard bread in warm milk. Kyro did not answer but kept his head down. His full focus was on the meal in front of him, he completely blinded Sol out. Sol kicked him slightly against the shin under the table, which frightened Kyro. "You know your chances of coming back aren't high. Don't just throw your life away," Sol whispered. At that moment, Miranda dropped her wooden plate on the floor. The girl picked him up with red cheeks burning with shame. Sol turned his gaze back to his brother, who had jumped up and put on his shoes in the hallway. The boys had a few hours before the reaping, as it did not take place until sunset due to the proximity to the Capitol.

Twelve Hours Later...

Sol had put on his best shirt and his hair was shinier than a mirror. He heard the rattle of pots in the kitchen, and some of his sisters, who were nitty-up enough to be there for the harvest, pushed up to him. Next to him stood Kyro, who was still busy closing his button strip. In Sol's head, it was all about him. Would Kyro really volunteer? He couldn't allow it. It would even be more likely that he would report himself to avoid Kyro doing it. He couldn't just throw his life away from his brother, his best friend, because he was treated differently because of his appearance. "Can you help me?" asked Kyro, pointing to the last button that was hidden right under his collar. Sol took the solid linen fabric in his hand and buttoned it together. He grabbed his brother by the shoulder, so Kyro had to look him directly in the eye. "You're not going to do that, did you understand me? Our family cannot bear another loss, you know. Think of Miranda, Mila, Dad and especially me. We need you. You can't leave us!"

Kyro pushed his arm away from him, but he kept eye contact. His crystal blue eyes sparkled like ice stars. "I will do what I think is right. You can't stop me, Solomon. I'm sorry if you can't live without me, but I can't live with myself anymore. How I live my life is my decision. No matter how I decide, I want you to respect my decision," Kyro replied defiantly. Sol wanted to give him a slap in the face to wake him up from his dream. That he wanted to leave him hit him in the heart. He really wanted to get rid of Sol. 'You know I can't do that. Sometimes you have to be saved from yourself. I'm your brother, let me help you," Sol pleaded. Kyro opened his mouth, then closed it again and broke away from Sol's handle. "If you're my brother, why don't we look like brothers? We are like day and night, like happiness and grief, but you think you can help me if you stop me from volunteering? It's all going to get worse. No matter what you do," Kyro said, storming to the door.

Sol knew there was no point in him running after him now. Moreover, they were not allowed to come too late for reaping, otherwise the punishment would be worse than death. Miranda appeared with big brown eyes in the door. "You have to start now if you want to make it in time. Love you, Sol," she whispered, making a return to the kitchen. Sol smiled compelled. He had to protect his family, he knew. And there was only one way he could do that.

Throughout the way, the boys remained silent. Kyro had buried his hands in the pockets of skinny fabric pants. His face was still tense. Sol looked up at the fairy lights on the houses. Today was not only the reaping, but also the longest day of the year, summer solstice. The lights meandered down the streets of the district until they ended up in a sea of lights on the market square. The preparations for the reaping had already been completed, only the children had to be registered. Normally, this was very quick, as District Five had the smallest number of possible tributes, but today the wait for registration felt like half an eternity. When the syringe was finally stabbed in his fingertip, Sol wanted to thank the peacekeeper. He found Kyro in the department for the 13-year-olds. His brother's white hair seemed like a glow in the dark. Sol made his way through the crowd of excited, nervous children. When he came to a stop next to Kyro, the wide wing door of the town hall opened and the escort stepped out.

This year, she wore a dress with small light bulbs that glowed brighter than the fairy lights of the entire district. Her blue hair was tucked up into pigtails. Sol heard only a noise as she gave her annual speech and asked the mayor to read out the treason treaty. There was a sporadic spat in the crowd, or they held hands and waited until the horror was over.

"You're okay?" he whispered, just to be answered with silence. Kyro put a finger on his lips to encourage him to remain silent. The escort returned to the microphone and began her eulogy on capitol Hill. "Now that we know why we make these reapings every year, now is the time to choose our tributes. Happy Hunger Games and may the odds always be in your favors!"

She went to the glass ball with the boy's names, Sol felt his heart almost jump out of his chest. After an eternity, the escort decided to make a piece of paper. As she walked back to the microphone, Sol bent over to Kyro. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this," he said quietly and punched him in the gut. Kyro bowed to the ground, holding his stomach and gasped in pain. Sol felt guilty but he knew this was the only way Kyro didn't volunteer. Then all of sudden, he heard a voice.

"The male tribute from District 5 is Solomon Canterra!"

Horizon Havenfirth, 16, District 10 female, reaping day

When Horizon woke up that morning, she wanted to fall asleep again. She moaned tiredly into her blanket and pulled her over her head. Horizon hated getting up early, especially on days she knew wasn't going to be good.

"A documentary about you would go for exactly three minutes and 34 seconds," said Hera Appa, her best friend and roommate. Horizon shuddered up to hurl something at her, but she was too tired and in a bad mood for it. Hera came to Horizon and sat down on the bed. "I'm sure we'll get through. I mean, we've been doing this for four years now and yet we never had to go to the arena?! In addition, District 10 has a lot of young people who have taken more oil and grain and thus often appear in the glass ball," Hera explained, driving through thick hair. Horizon watched her friend and tried to imagine Hera fighting for her life in an arena. The chances of one of the two being drawn were slim, but they still existed. She hadn't even heard that she was shaking before Hera alerted her. "Hey, calm down! It will not be one of us! We move now and then go shopping to be served a feast by your mum after the ceremony. Come on, Hori, think of the delicious blueberry cake that will be there!" said Hera, jumping up energetically. Horizon didn't know where her friend got the energy from because she didn't have it. "Give me five minutes to have a tea, then I'll be there for your magic hands," she said, getting up. The old wooden floor crept under her feet as Horizon made her way into the spacious kitchen of the farmhouse. From above, she heard Hera sing – which she wasn't really good in - and met her mother, who was in fact already dancing around the kitchen with a flour-pollinated apron and making dough for the twins' favorite cake. "Good morning, my darling! How did you sleep?" her mother tweeted. Horizon didn't understand how to ask such a question on the morning of the harvest, but she knew her mother was trying to improve her mood. "Actually, all right. Have you already given Hera a list of missing ingredients?" she said, sitting down at the long dining table. Horizon stretched her legs and placed them on one of the opposite chairs. It was one of her old habits that always drove her mother half into madness. "I already have that, but you have to hurry up to get blueberries. They're always gone so fast on holidays!" sighed Bloom Havenfirth, sharing an egg. Her mother was very similar to Horizon, even if you could only see it at second glance. Both had thick dark brown hair, like most residents, as well as mud-brown eyes (Horizon's eyes were actually an ordinary brown, but the twins insisted it was mud-brown). While her mother was rather small, Horizon stood next to her with her 5'6 like a giant in the air.

The tea kettle whistled and Bloom Havenfirth put him on the kitchen table. Horizon took her favorite cup, which had a small sheep engraved on, and poured in the hot nettle. The morning calm in the yard of the Havenfirths and Appa's was incredibly reassuring for Horizon's nerves. Dawn and Fawn, who were called "the twins" by everyone who knew them, were apparently already on their way to their father, who set up a new business with Jonah.

While Horizon had a rather good relationship with her mother, the conversations with her father were limited to the most important thing. How is school doing? Have you already fed the chickens? Horizon didn't hear anything else from her father. It was a miracle that Conan Havenfirth even knew what she was called. "Are Jonah and Dad coming to the marketplace today?" she asked, watching her mother's hands cramp.

'I'm afraid, but they won't be coming. The work on the farm is getting more and more strenuous and now a helper is sick, oh Horizon, I don't think they will come. They're probably watching the replay on TV in the evening," her mother replied. Horizon nodded sympathetically. She knew they wouldn't come. The more time Conan Havenfirth spent with his family, the less time he could be in the pastures. She put the empty cup on the table and went up again. Bloom Havenfirth suffered from the absence of her husband, Horizon was clear. Her mother's equally cheerful chirping was no longer heard.

"You have to keep quiet if you want to have a reasonably decent hairstyle!" Hera grumbled to her, six hair clips between her lips. She took a deep breath and tried again to adopt a straight posture, so that Hera snorted at her less. Horizon buried her long fingers in the soft fabrics of her dress, which was so sky blue and soft as if it were coming straight out of the sky. The tulle rustled quietly as she turned, the skirt of the dress flew into the air. "Head down, I'm done right now and then we can go," Hera muttered, stretching the last hair clips into her friend's big dude, which slowly became restless. Horizon knew that in theory everything would go well, but there was an uneasy feeling that made her shudder again and again. Her fingers tapped impatiently against the wooden of the chair. She felt like one of the cops in District 10, who wasn't allowed to go to the pasture, but absolutely had to. Or rather than a sheep, they were not as aggressive as bulls. If Horizon had to wait even longer, she would go crazy. Her nerves were already stretched like wire ropes, but not being allowed to move brought her on the verge of a nervous breakdown. When Hera finally muttered her "We're done," Horizon jumped up. The wooden floor creaked under her feet. "The reaping starts at 10," she said with a deaf tongue, reaching for her friend's warm hand.

"You have to keep quiet if you want to have a reasonably decent hairstyle!" Hera grumbled to her, six hair clips between her lips. She took a deep breath and tried again to adopt a straight posture, so that Hera snorted at her less. Horizon buried her long fingers in the soft fabrics of her dress, which was so sky blue and soft as if it were coming straight out of the sky. The tulle rustled quietly as she turned, the skirt of the dress flew into the air. "Head down, I'm done right now and then we can go," Hera muttered, stretching the last hair clips into her friend's big dude, which slowly became restless. Horizon knew that in theory everything would go well, but there was an uneasy feeling that made her shudder again and again. Her fingers tapped impatiently against the wooden of the chair. She felt like one of the cops in District 10, who wasn't allowed to go to the pasture, but absolutely had to. Or rather than a sheep, they werenot as aggressive as bulls. If Horizon had to wait even longer, it would spin through. Her nerves were already stretched like wire ropes, but not being allowed to move brought her on the verge of a nervous breakdown. When Hera finally muttered her "We're done," Horizon jumped up. The wooden floor creaked under her feet. "The reaping starts at 10," she said with a deaf tongue, reaching for her friend's warm hand.

An hour later…..

The church tower clock struck at 10 a.m. In the market square it became quieter, everyone seemed to hold their breath. Horizon felt the hot breath of the other girls in her neck. Her neck hairs stood up. Hera was not here to reassure her. Her friend stood further back in the 17-year-old's compartment. Horizon turned her gaze back to the big stage made of ebony, which was only built yesterday. The escort from District 10, Celestia Cogridge, appeared in the company of the mayor and his wife. While Celestia wore a black feather dress that was supposed to be reminiscent of District 10's industry, the mayor and his wife stood in their blackest.

"Welcome to the reaping of the 54th Hunger Games! Today is the day when I have the honor of showing two brave young people the way to triumph! But before we start, we'll look at the last few minutes of last year," Celestia said, clapping enthusiastically into his hands. It looked like she was asking the crowd to clap with her, but District 10 remained silent. From the big screens that would now hang there for the next few weeks until the end of the games, the last minutes of the previous games flickered. Horizon knew that the winner, Blight Clevar, was from District 7, but when he stopped for his winning tour in District 10 in the winter, she didn't look at the man who let one of her classmates run to certain death. He could have warned Loren about the career tributes from District 1, but Blight Clevar remained hidden between the branches. The two from District 1 had made brief trials with Loren. Horizon's throat was dried up as she watched the winner hurl his axe at the girl from District 1 and split her skull. The film ended with the standard set they had been showing for decades. After the districts took their toll, the Capitol has shown them kindness. The winner of the 53rd Hunger Games is Blight Clevar!

Celestia sobbed emotionally and dried her cheeks with a fine lace towel. "Excuse me, but at this point I get so emotional again and again! But we're not here to celebrate last year's winner, no, we've come together here to possibly lose a new winner for District 10! Before I announce the female tribute, I wish you all happy hunger games and may the odds be always in your favor!", Celestia exclaimed into the microphone and dramatically took off one of the long gloves. She walked firmly to the glass ball, which contained the names of all sorts of female tributes.

Eight lots with your name. The chances are vanishingly small. Breathe!

Horizon reached into the tulle fabric of her undergarment. Her hands trembled, no matter how much she ordered them not to do so. Her gut feeling revealed that it didn't look good for Horizon Havenfirth. Celestia opted for a piece of paper and held up the small piece of paper so everyone could see it. As she walked back to the microphone, Celestia opened the note. In the marketplace it was now dead.

"The name of the female tribute from District 10 is Horizon Havenfirth!"

The next thing Horizon saw were the open mouths of the girls next to her and the white of the peacekeepers who escorted her to the stage. Before she could take the first step, everything turned black.

The Reaping Introduction chapter with Horizon and Solomon! Thanks to the submitters for these wonderful tributes.

As you (hopefully) read above, I introduced another important character for the Capitol storyline. We will see more of Atticus when the tributes are on their way to the Capitol. How did you like the chapter? Only Ama and Aramed are missing and their PoV's will be the goodbyes from their beloved ones. This means after the next chapter, we'll officially enter in the Pre-Games Section after almost three months (this did not take me long ). I hope you guys love this story as much as I do and please continue reviewing and reading! Remember: The person with the most reviews until the bloodbath receives a special sponsor gift for his/her favorite!