Trigger warning: some sensitive and dark topics mentioned in Weller's POV like child soldiers and underage rape. Please proceed with caution.

Weller Worthen, 18
District 11 Male

Four months before the Reaping

Go to sleep, Weller told himself. Go to sleep.

There was nothing there. It was all empty. The little room that belonged to him had nothing. The rebellion had been over for years. He could hear Trevor's faint breaths from across the hall. If a little 12 year-old was fine, he should be too.

And normally, he was. Weller could go about his day with the past a distant memory somewhere in his mind. He could ignore it, and life continued like usual. He got up, ate a meager breakfast, headed off to work in in a shop, did some occasional deliveries in richer neighbourhoods, avoided anybody who he deemed untrustworthy. he saved up, spent modestly, then went to bed to repeat the process all over again the next day.

It wasn't a preferable life, but it wasn't a bad one. Weller kept an eye out for opportunities anyways. Too many times he had seen people let things slip through their fingers. Weller had been running on nothign but survival for the last nine years and he'd be damned if he looked back one his life and learned he had done nothing with it.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

The floorboards were moving again. They fell into a rhythm; Weller knew nobody was there. The only other person in the house was Trevor, and he was fast asleep. Weller closed his eyes, and a familiar silhouette blazed before him. Then the world was set on fire.

Creak.

Bombs falling.

Creak.

Guns firing.

Creak.

Bodies littered the street. Peacekeepers kicked at their heads. They laughed. Little nine year-old Weller curled up tightly and held back tears.

Creak.

He had to fight back. He had no other choice. The rebels took his hand and Weller didn't care where they were leading him, as long as he was far from the burning hell.

Creeeeeeak.

There was a knock at the door.

It was Trevor. He stood there with glossy red eyes and hands in his pajama pockets. He waved shyly at Weller and mouthed Hello. Weller sighed and patted the blanket at his feet. Trevor quickly hurried over. "What is it now, Trevor?"
Trevor just shrugged; he had never said a single word to Weller. But they knew each other well enough.

"Did you have a nightmare again?"
Trevor nodded.
"You know he's not coming back, right? You saw him put that bullet through his brain. He's dead and he can't hurt you anymore."

Trevor sniffed quietly and tears flooded his eyes. Weller patted the boy's knee. "I'm serious when I say that. I know, sometimes I worry about him too. But he's gone and we're here. We'll be fine, kay? Now, get back to bed. You have school tomorrow."
Trevor did as he was told. Weller settled down and pulled the blankets over his head.

And he felt like a little kid again, with a gun on his shoulder and a faint scar running down his leg he was too afraid to admit. Our little secret, Colton had told him and Weller cried that night, because he felt hurt and nobody was there to make it all better. As far as Peacekeepers and rebels were concerned, he was just another target to shoot at.

War, in Weller's opinion, was a terrible thing no matter which side you were on. People died, some good and some bad, some loved and some hated. Those who weren't dead were left broken. He wished he had known that long before the rebels picked him up and taught him to shoot anything that moves.

But the war was over, was it not? He lost everything, everyone, but he was still here. He could have been one of them, another tick in the tally of the dead, but he survived and he lived. Did that really mean anything? Well, not really. War did not spare people for any reasons. War took and took and took and some were just lucky enough to escape.

Weller could make it mean something.

When he clsoed his eyes, yet again, there was nothing there. He just had to remind himself that. Things had happened, yes, war had happened. But it had all happened in the past. Weller couldn't change the past. He could only focus on the future.

The future he made for himself.

For the rest of the night, nothing came back to haunt him.

Acacia Hazeldine, 14
District 11 Female

Six months before the Reaping

Mother Nature must've been feeling a little cruel today. Acacia's face froze as the wind nearly knocked her over. She wrapped her worn-out coat tight around her body and picked up the pace. She was almost home.

Nothing had changed. Viridis was still slaving away over their tiny, outdated stove. Oriole was sitting at the table, scribbling on a piece of paper. Across the hall from the kitchen was their father's bedroom; there was the faint smell of alcohol. The bed was empty.

Viridis answered the question before Acacia even asked. "He's not home yet."
"I can cook tonight, if you want." Acacia's gaze lingered on the small pile of papers across from Oriole. Homework, perhaps?

"I'm fine, Ac."
"We're not kids anymore."
"I know."

Acacia took the pot from Viridis's hands, nearly spilling the contents all over them. "You need to do your homework on time, or else the teacher's gonna try and arrange a meeting with dad. We can't have that right now. I'll take over dinner. Get Oriole to set the table."

The situation had sunken in and Viridis nodded. As dire as things were, Acacia wanted to do everything in her power to present them as a normal, functional, happy family. If the teachers suspected something and they contacted the Peacekeepers, Acacia and her brothers could potentially end up in the Community Home. Acacia had seen what the kids looked like there. Too many bodies and not enough supplies to go around.

So she and Viridis became the adults of the household. She tried not to always think about it, using school and chores as a welcome distraction. She supposed she was a bit of a one track mind in a sense; focus on the task at hand. When she was working, she could put all of her energy into her projects and not the reality of her home.

A dead mother. An alcoholic father. A struggling baby brother. A broken house, with peeling paints and lingering smells.

Lukewarm soup was poured into three cracked bowls. Oriole was the first person to finish dinner; he shoved the bowl into Acacia's face. "I want more."
"We don't have any more."
"But I'm hungry!"

Acacia gave him a hug. "I know, baby. I know."

Viridis said nothing throughout the whole meal, before shoving his homework aside. "I've got a shift tonight. I'll try to be home before ten."
It was already dark outside, but Acacia decided not to push it. "You promise? Just one shift?"

"I can do overtime. We need the money."
"Viridis, it's dark out. It's the middle of winter and-"

"And I'll be damned if we starve to death because you won't let me work a few more measly hours," Viridis retorted. He stomped off.

Acacia just watched her brother leave. A few minutes later, her father was home. He reeked of cheap booze. As usual. "Hey Dad-" Acacia started to say, but he just shoved past her and into his room. The sound of clinking bottles could be heard before the door slammed shut.

The rest of the night was spent doing homework and giving Oriole a bath. As she tucked him in, Acacia rubbed at her eyes and yawned. Before she could leave, she felt someone tug on her shirt.
"What's up, Oriole? It's bedtime."
"I'm not tired!"

Acacia wanted to sleep herself, but she led Oriole back to his bed. He crawled in, reached behind his covers, and pulled out a book. "Story time."
"You want me to read to you/?Okay, but you have to go to sleep afterwards."
"Okay!"

Sure enough, Oriole went out of his way to draw out the story for as long as he could. He claimed he had to go to that bathroom, he made Acacia get him a glass of water, but eventually, he was fast asleep. Acacia tiptoed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Viridis didn't come home until after eleven. Acacia waited for him, busying herself by cleaning up the house. She peeked through the cupboard and her heart dropped. They were empty. She managed to find a few spices, an old block of cheese, and a pair of soup cans, but it wouldn't last. It couldn't keep four people fed until the next paycheck.

Viridis looked exhausted. He didn't acknowledge Acacia either, just fell face-first onto the bed. Acacia pulled a blanket over him. Everything was quiet. She could go to bed herself.

As she lay there, her mind raced. Acacia had a lot to think about, after all. Schoolwork, home life, what they were going to eat tomorrow, whether or not they had enough family in their pockets. It stressed her out. Too much for her to think about and she wasn't sure what to start with.

Wouldn't it be nice not to have so much on her mind?

She slowly drifted into an uneasy sleep.

This took a lot longer than I expected, but here's D11!

Not much to say, other than it seems like everyone's back in school now. Me too. I'm aiming for the next chapter, District 1, to be up in late September, so stay tuned for that!

-Vr