Grizelda "Zel" Weaver (18)- D9F
It's been a tough morning. Reaping day is hard for everyone, but Iona has been especially inconsolable. Her first time last year had been much of the same. She had been terrified of being picked, and cried all day after a boy two years older than her was picked. She didn't even know him that well, but just recognizing his face was enough to make her cry for days after he died in the bloodbath. This year, with two slips of paper in the glass ball, she's more terrified than ever. I don't mind comforting her, but I can't say that her fear is completely baseless. Children have been reaped with better odds before. And with four children in our family, three of which are of reaping age, the odds are not exactly in our favor.
At least it's my last year, although Della-Marie will be starting next year. I guess that's just how the Hunger Games work; no family is ever really safe.
"Zel, what if I'm picked?" Iona asks tearfully.
"That's not going to happen," I say, gently stroking her hair. "You just have to get through the next few hours and we'll be able to come back and eat cake! Doesn't that sound great?"
Iona wipes her eyes. "Yeah…"
Ezra pokes his head into the door. "Zel, we're leaving soon. Are you guys good?"
"I think we're ready to go." I push one of Iona's curls behind her ear, putting the other hand on my belly as I stand up. It's good that I have three younger siblings to practice mothering before Reina is born.
Ezra and I live in a small building just off of my parents' house, where my entire family has lived for generations. Our fields were first planted hundreds of years ago and we have been tilling the land ever since. I myself have always loved to sew and have become a seamstress, making clothes for people out of our little house. Ezra helps sometimes, but he's better at working in the fields. My parents gave him a job when we got married.
I take Iona by the hand and lead her out where the rest of the family is waiting. Our parents are running around with Aren and Della-Marie in the backyard, our dog barking as he chases them. It's the beginning of spring and the crops are just starting to peek out of the soil. This time of year is a lot of hard work, but the smell of the fresh air and sounds of the dogs barking happily makes it all worth it.
I always wished that my first child would be born during this time, but sadly Ezra and I just didn't time it right. She'll be born in four months in the autumn, when things are dying instead.
"Are we ready to go?" My mother asks us, smiling. People always said we look exactly alike, but I never really saw it until the last few years. Our faces have similar structures, with sharp jawlines and pretty auburn hair. With my dad's green eyes and darker skin than most in District Nine, Ezra says I'm the most beautiful woman in Panem.
"Yes, we're all good now," I lightly push Iona towards her. She runs and gives her a hug as Aren is tackled by our German Shepard.
"Alright, everyone! It's time to leave," my father calls to everyone, banging on the side of his old rusty truck.
Not many people have vehicles in District Nine, but most of the farmers have at least one to get them around the fields. We all pile in, Ezra and Aren helping me up into the passenger seat. I would like to sit in the bed with everyone else, but I'm afraid it will be too bumpy for the baby.
Albert "Triple A" Anderson (13)- D9F
I can see the sunlight behind my eyelids, the gentle breeze rustling my hair. I open my eyes to see the large oak in front of me and reach out. Sometimes I wish I could fly into the trees. Most of them around here are too tall to climb, but I enjoy trying nonetheless, though without much success. But this particular tree, my favorite one, is too tall for anyone to climb, and luckily too thick for anyone to chop down.
The sparse woods on the east side of the district don't offer much shade in the summer, or many leaves to fall in the autumn, but they gradually turn into a thicker forest just on the edge of the fence. I'm not exactly proud to say that I've wandered outside of the fence a few times, but never to gather anything and definitely not to kill anything. Just to sit among the trees.
"Andy!"
I sigh, letting my hand drop back onto my chest. Usually the sound of my sister's voice is more than welcome, but not today. I would just like to be alone until the Reaping starts, but I know that's impossible. As much as I don't like talking to others, I can never escape from it.
I stand and head back to our little house at the edge of the woods. I know these trees like the back of my hand, but Ellie has never let go of her fear of the unknown. She's dressed in a checkered blue and white dress with a white ribbon in her hair. It looks nice against our blonde hair and blue eyes.
"Is she waiting?" I ask with slight dread.
"Yes, she's a little upset," Ellie says, crossing her arms. "You better go get dressed."
Our small house isn't exactly luxurious, but our grandmother makes enough for Ellie and I to not have to take out tesserae. It soothes my nerves a little, knowing that I only have two slips of paper in the glass ball. But the idea of me being picked, or Minka, or Keesher, my two best friends, makes my stomach roll. At least Ellie isn't of Reaping age yet; there's still one year before that happens.
The window of the house that faces the trees in broken at the moment, something that doesn't' bother us during the spring and summers but could mean frostbite in the bitter winters. I dress into my nice Reaping clothes and stare out this window, out into the forest. The leaves are just starting to bud on the trees. I wish that I could never have to think about anything else.
Grandma limps into the room, her face wizened and frowning. "I see you're finally ready."
I wince when I realize she's still wearing her butchering clothes. I can never get used to the blood that comes with our family's line of work. I avoid eating meat as much as I can, even though my father's business of butchery was passed to his wife's mother when they died. I don't remember much of my parents, but their business is still providing for us after their death. Since it's Reaping day, many families will be ordering some celebratory meat, so Grandma's been busy the past couple of days.
"Are we leaving soon?" I ask.
"Yes," she says in her too-loud voice. I know she doesn't mean to be so noisy, but I'm sure everyone within a three-mile radius can hear her. "Get your sister, we're leaving soon."
I nod solemnly. Sometimes she can be forgetful as well.
…
Minka and Keesher are waiting for me outside of the square. The gesture makes me smile inwardly, though I tend to keep my emotions on the inside. Minka hugs me as I draw near. She's much taller than Keesher and I, being two grades older than us. This will be her fourth Reaping, and my second. Keesher's lips perk up when I pull back from Minka. He had an early birthday, so this will be his first Reaping. I can see a dark bruise peeking out above his shirt and my spirits fall even more.
"How are you, Keesher?" I ask gently.
"I'm fine," he assures me. "Things just get a little tense on Reaping day. You know how it is, Triple A."
I nod and smile at the nickname, though my worries don't dissipate. Keesher's parents never seemed to love him like my parents did Ellie and I, and the kids at school love to pick on him. We understand each other in that was at least.
"Let's get in line," Minka says. Grandma and Ellie go off to the side as the three of us make our way to the center of the square. I hate the finger pricking; last year it had made my finger burn all day, a constant reminder of the Games. And the sight of blood made me sick. I wince as the Peacekeeper woman stabs me.
Minka grabs my hand briefly before we go our separate ways. I wish I could just disappear into the woods like we always do. She's the only one brave enough to venture into the unknown with me, and it's actually where we met. I was bullied a lot when I was younger, and Minka was the only person who was kind to me. I guess now we're that person to Keesher.
"Are we all having a great time here in District Nine?" the escort shouts into the mic.
The silence is deafening, but that doesn't bring him down, still grinning at us like a lunatic. His accent is hard to listen to, harsh and high-pitched.
"How about we start with the girls, hmm?"
His fantastical blue hair bounces as he dips his hand into the girl's ball. He carefully unfolds the slip and cheerfully announces, "Grizelda Weaver!"
A loud screech comes from the girl's section, followed by several long screams and sobs. The Peacekeepers, sensing that this one was going to be a troublemaker, push their way into the crowd and drag out a beautiful woman with darker skin and a large belly. As she mounts the stage, murmurs of discontent rumble through the crowd. This isn't the first time a pregnant girl has been chosen for the Games, but it's incredibly rare, and I can't remember if it's ever happened in District Nine.
The escort's smile fades when he sees the woman, her tears still streaming down her face, sobbing uncontrollably onstage. "Oh my…" he says. "May the odds be ever in your favor, my dear," he says, and without further ado he walks to the boy's ball and picks a new slip.
"Albert Anderson."
There's another loud reaction, this time in the outskrits of the square, and for a second I think I might have misheard the name. Someone who isn't of age with my name who has my name was accidentally picked and they will redo it. But then I realize the voice is my sister's, crying and wailing.
I feel myself start to shake as I walk towards the stage, but I try to keep a calm appearance. I won't let the Capitol see my fear.
"How great!" the escort says. He looks even more freakish up close, his eyes surgically enlarged. But they aren't filled with the joy he was expressing earlier. I imagine he's wishing he had been assigned a different district. A pregnant girl and a thirteen-year old. The Capitol will be fascinated by us, sure, but everyone knows strong older children have a better chance.
"Now shake hands, you too!"
As I turn to shake Grizelda's hand, I see the look in her eyes. She's stopped crying, and her gaze is murderous. Maybe she stands a chance after all.
Grizelda "Zel" Weaver (18)- D9F
Everyone is inconsolable, of course, but Ezra most of all. He hands me a handkerchief, one that I immediately recognize.
"I can't take this," I tell him. "I made it for you."
"It's a piece of home, and me," he says tearfully. "Please just take it."
The white handkerchief is embroidered with his initials in pretty pink lettering, my way of revealing the gender of the baby to him several weeks ago. I crumple in my hands and give him another hug, whispering in his ear, "I'll do it for you and for Reina. I promise."
Hey guys! Here's District 9! You know, while I was writing this, I realized that while we don't know much about District 9 from the books, it's probably a very beautiful and tragic place, and very peaceful. That's how I imagined it at least. Hope you liked it!