Thread Flynn, Male, District 8, Age 15

"Here you are." I smiled at the two orphans in front of him. Both looking painfully starved and tired. My smile was sad, sympathetic. They looked no older than twelve and eight respectively. The girl, was holding the little boy protectively, while he clung to her like there was no tomorrow. The girl was vegetarian, I had served her enough meals to know that for a fact.

I worked in a kitchen for the refugee camps for the rebels. I cooked for them, all those who had lost everything during the rebellion. Family, money, property. Casualties of war. And it made me depressed thinking about it all. I was a small boy, with slightly wandering thoughts. I'd get caught up in something and was easily distracted. And I definitely knew how hard it was to lose your parents.

I had been an orphan since I was four, after both my parents had died. I wasn't sure how, or at least couldn't remember. I'd been taken in by the Morris family, two twin sons and a mother. The father long since dead. One miscarriage for a girl. The name hadn't even been decided before the father had left, forever. Rafe and Danniel, Danny, were my best friends, always had been always will be. The twins may be confusing at times, but in the end it didn't matter. We were brothers. Even if some, were not by blood.

They were blonde, like their mother, Danny's slightly tinted brown. Which was one of the only ways to tell them apart, as well as Rafe having brown eye, one blue. It got confusing at times, but really it was all fun by the end of the day. Playing guess which twin, and causing absolute havoc for their mother.

I loved watching the rebels, not exactly loved, but found it strangely interesting. The way a war could change you. The way you acted with others and how you treated yourself. I didn't know, the Morris' and I didn't take part in any of the fighting.

None of us wanted to lose anything more than we had to. No baby sisters, fathers or mothers. It was selfish, and we had all believed in the rebel cause, but no participation. Not even in the slightest. Sometimes I would wonder if it weren't for people like me, people too cowardly to fight, that maybe the rebels would have won the war. And all of this could have been prevented. And that thought made me absolutely sick to the stomach.

But as I watched the little kids without family, all huddled together, it made me wish that I had done something. Even lifted a finger to help instead of hiding. Hiding away from the war and the death. "Thread, pay attention."

My little bubble of thought was popped as I heard the endearing voice of Rafe cut through my daydreams. I looked towards him, and he gestured with his finger towards the next man in line, impatiently waiting for me to serve him. He was rail and old, he was balding and of the white hair he had left, it was slowly turning to white. He looked like even the slightest bit of weight would crush him, and I softened.

I handed to him his tray, complete with meat and some vegetables of the smalles proportions. He gave me a small smile before stalking off towards somewhere to eat. I watched him go before turning to face the next.

The line was huge, I could barely see the end and if we wanted to serve all of them, we had to give away the most minuscule amounts. It made me sad, thinking about it. Especially since by the end, after hours of waiting for food, you might only get two carrots and maybe a single rib bone. But I suppose it would be better than nothing.

It was brain numbing, mindless. Just scooping some vegetables putting them on a tray before then moving on. Over and over and over again. And then, the process reapeats itself. We don't give food everyday, but we do provide camps. Camps which are run completely by volunteers, the peacekeepers know, but we definitely don't have the highest security. Most of them let it slide out of pity. Or at least they do in the poorer section of the District.

With the different securities, District 8 could practically be considered two Districts. One where the rebels could got to camps, or anyone could really, who had lost everything. And the part where they would kill you sight for anything of the sort.

Over time I had been able to recognize most people, regonition of faces and names. Like the Three Siblings huddled in the corner? Their names were Anna, Ella and George. Anna was the oldest, even though George was the tallest.

So when the girl with her golden hair strung up on a crown braid, a set of twins behind her, came with their trays waiting for food. I actually lookEd up in confusion. She was new, we rarely received new refugees.

She bit her lip, her eyes darting from one twin to the other. When I noticed the lack of parents, I softened. They didn't look necessarily skinny, but he could tell by the bags under the girls eyes, and how much of a mess she looked that they were just as much in need as food as the rest of the refugees surrounding them.

"I'm Rosemary, this is Petra and Cora." I had just handed over the tray to the first twin, whether she be Petra or Cora, I wasn't sure. "We're... New." I gave her an apologetic smile. Her face seemed to be in pain, just recalls the memory. I knew that feeling, it never hurt to be comforted.

Even though after a while 'sorry' became as meaningless as the clouds.

Sometimes though, you just didn't know what else to say. And as meaningless as sorry seemed, I just didn't want to say nothing."Thread Flynn." I said smiling as I handed her, her tray. She smiled and when I gave town number two her tray she, the twin, said "Thank you." It was calm and soft, barely above a whisper as if she were afraid her voice wouldn't work. Or that she didn't want to speak at all.

I saw the first twin nudge the second twin gesturing something with her hands. The second twin nodded, and then turned to face me completely. "Cora says thank you, too." She said. I smiled. "Your welcome." As they walked away, I switched my brain once again into what I liked to call "factory mode".

Cora seemed to be mute, selective mute or born mute he wasn't sure. Either way he pitied them, another family, another set of children torn apart and forced to grow up quicker than necessary because of the war.

The next refugees came and went. Each one looking scarred, frail and weak. When the final refugee came, I gave her what was remaining. Three little greens and some chicken. I saw her visible dissapointement, and refused to feel too bad about it. I had rationed the food, but it still never seemed to be enough.

Rafe, Danny and I cleaned up and collected the remaining trays before making our way home for the night. We walked together in the darkness. Danny was ahead of us, us being Rafe and I, slowly slugging behind. "So how was today?" Danny asked at one point, seemingly trying to strike up conversation. "Agony." I deadpanned.

Which wasn't a complete lie. I hated seeing all the broken families and starving elders, but feeding them just made me happy still. Danny snorted, and I heard a muffled laugh come from beside me. I grinned at the reactions. "It was cool, to be honest. There's a newbie. Name's Rosemary." I said, after the conversation slowly fell into silence. "Really? We hardly get anyone new anymore." Said Danny.

Rafe shrugged. "The blonde, right? With the twins?" I nodded, confirming the boy's assumptions. "Cora and Petra, I think." I said, with a shrug on the end. "No parents I'm guessing." Said Rafe after a moment's silence. I nodded. It was an uncomfortable question, considering the situation, but I brushed it off. You had to acknowledge those things, into ring them or denying the wasn't helping anything.

Danny made a humming noise.

Soon enough after we had all fallen into a comfortable silence, the Mprra house seemed to peak through the darkness. The Morris household was a gray brick building, with a chipped wooden roof and a missing door. Long since replaced by a green curtain.

Danny rushed up the stone patheway, the boy always had been quite impatient, and burst end through the curtain. Rafe chuckled to himself at his twin's antics before following after. I was the last one to enter, I smiled to myself at myfamily before walking in myself.

No matter who I was, the Morris household would always be home. I smiled upon seeing the cracked wooden furniture we had had long since before the war. The little curtains blocking the window, some tattered and some barely converting any at all. But for some reason Mrs. Morris refused to take down. I smiled, thinking just how lucky I truly was.

No waiting in line every morning for breakfast, forced to live I dirty camps and beefed the minimum food to survive. We donated many of our provisions to the cause, but still it never seemed to be enough.

Soon our District would die off, leaving only those wealthy enough to survive. That and when the peacekeeper uniforms no longer needed to be knit and sewn by hand, forcing thousands to lose their jobs and only income avaible, would they really start to die out.

Mrs. Morris worked at one, for dresses though. Apparently in high demand for the Capitol. She would always come home after the boys, doing late night shifts to support them. Rafe and Danny worked part time at the factory, while I would always continue at the camps. I was the best cook they had at the moment, despite being only fifteen. Some people were just born to talk and to cook.

"Making dinner." I said as I took out a pot. It was quite ironic, coming home from a day of cooking for charity to cooking again once modem this time for ourselves. Our very lives seemed to revolve around it. Not really though, that was sarcasm.

"Kay!" Shouted back Danny from his position underneath myself. I was getting the ingredients for stew from the top cupboard, while Danny was getting was getting the plates from the bottom. We were moving in sync, passing things to one another and maneuverin around to fit each other's needs. Rafe was in his room somewhere. Most likely either making his bed or getting something. The latter being the more likely choice.

We were lucky and happy, and I was scarred for how much time we could continue being so. And when he stopped being so lucky, then hundreds of refugees would to. And like I've mentioned previously, our District would almost completely die out.

Struggled with this one. Little Thread's giving me some tough times. Lol, I just kept imagining him wearing this little chef hat and apron. XD