Spirit Breaker by August Burns Red

I will survive another month under gray skies.
I'm holding on as a tight as I can.
The monotony never seems to end.

Pre-Reapings Part Three

Jonah Lintell, 16, District Seven

"Hey, you! Get out of there!"

The voice wakes me from a light sleep and I am scrambling up out of the store entrance before my eyes are even fully open. The lantern that the man carries lights up the area in front of me and I book it out of there as fast as I can.

Once the light starts to fade I let myself slow down as I duck into a narrow alleyway. My chest floats up and down as I struggle to catch my breath, adrenaline rushing through my body as the realization hits me that I was almost caught again.

There are so many homeless people, especially teenagers, in District Seven that you would think they would lighten up on the laws forbidding us to sleep in public spaces, but to the contrary the punishments have only gotten more extreme. Just a couple days ago I saw a girl probably no more than a year older than me whipped for trying to take shelter from the rain in a store window.

I sink down to the cement ground and let myself relax again. It's late, or early I guess, probably around four or five in the morning judging by the fact that the sun still hasn't risen. That means I slept for less than four hours, but at least it's better than last night. Sleep has been hard to come by since I was evicted from my parents' house. It's not only that it is difficult to find the slightest bit of comfort on the cold nights, but the strict rules that street people have to abide by makes me feel more like an animal than a person. I'm always running away from things.

If only the house wouldn't have been so expensive. Maybe then I would have been able to keep it for more than a few months after they died. We rented it from one of the wealthier families, but we were well off ourselves. I just wish we could have owned it ourselves, or even just spent a little less money every month. I wouldn't be out here, then. I at least wouldn't be afraid of being whipped or beaten for falling asleep if I had a home to do it in.

This has been my life for four months now. Running, scavenging, and just plain surviving in a district that I can't even pretend to think wants me alive anymore. The bombing left so many teenagers out in the streets where we are no use to anyone anymore. At least during the war we could be taken in by a rebel force that needed soldiers. Now we're just nothing but walking reminders of the war that no one wants to even look at.

The bombing happened two months before the official end of the war. The Capitol came in with fighter jets and just went to town, dropping the things on anything that looked somewhat important. Several stores were hit, the Justice Building, a few houses even, but the worst was the work huts. No one expected the Capitol to bother with the tiny shelters that were only big enough to hold a few trees worth of wood. People took up shelter in them, it seemed safe at the time. I felt safe in one, crouching on the ground between my father and my older sister.

They destroyed every last one of the huts and nearly everyone that was hiding within them. I was the only one that was still alive when I was pulled out of the rubble. Out of the thirteen people in my hut there was only one person left and unfortunately it was me.

I lived in my parents' house for four months after that until they had to evict me. I didn't have any money and everything my parents had had been given to the war effort. How many people have I heard the same story from? A few dozen at least. Their families were killed in the same bombing as mine were and they couldn't afford their home, so here they were on the streets with no one to notice and no one to care.

"Jonah is that you?"

I jump at the sudden voice and I am on my feet a second later. At first I see no one, but then a greasy brunette pokes her head into the alley in front of me. My brows furrow for a moment as I struggle to try and recognize her, but then it comes to me. "Sadie?"

"Jonah, oh my goodness," she jumps right into the narrow alley and envelops me in a tight hug. "Where have you- oh my goodness. I thought-"

She interrupts her own voice as she leans in to hug me again, even tighter this time. I have no idea what to say. I haven't seen Sadie since the very beginning of the war, when things still looked good for the rebels and my family was still alive.

"Where have you been?" She asks finally.

"You know," I shrug. "Around."

"That's so good to hear, you have no idea," she smiles. "What are you doing out here so early?"

"Oh, just walking around to clear my mind," I say. I don't know why I am lying to her, it just sort of comes out. For whatever reason I just can't think of telling her the truth, there is no putting that into words.

"Me too, it's a nice night," she smiles. "You should go back home and get some sleep soon though. Call me tomorrow?"

I look at her blankly and then nod despite myself. What else am I supposed to say? No? That would definitely require some sort of explanation and I'm not ready to give her that. I'll tell her eventually, but the first time we see each other after such a long time it just doesn't seem right to ruin it.

I wave at her as she jogs back towards her house. Once she disappears from my view I slink out of the alley and head away from town. I'm not really sure where I'm going but the thought of seeing anyone else I used to know while looking like this is enough to make me sick to my stomach.

Danican Tobin, 16, District Three

I pull the box of metal scraps out from under my bed and get to work.

It has become a habit of mine to admire the pieces that I have already made and displayed on my desk, but today I just can't help myself from starting on them right away. A dream I had last night has given me just the idea I've been waiting for.

It has been months since the war ended and I still haven't done anything in memory of my grandfather. He was killed when he went out to war, telling everyone that he was going to fight for all of us. Father didn't let him near me after that. He said I was too impressionable and he was scared of losing me to his crazy banter.

I pull the loose sketch I made early this morning out of the top drawer of my night table and pin it to the wall that my desk faces. It's a simple medallion that I'll melt the District Three symbol into. I don't know why it took me this long to decide on what to make. I think I just wanted something a little more personal, but last night that didn't make sense anymore. He died fighting for the district so what better way to remember him by.

I light up the room with a pull of the string hanging from the ceiling and take a seat at my desk, all of my supplies strewn in front of me. I want nothing more than to open the window and work by the natural light that teases me through the thick curtains, but that's forbidden. Father was not a popular man because of his views on the war, and that is even more true nowadays. I didn't understand what more we had to fear from the rebels until I heard him talking to his assistant a couple weeks ago. Apparently the war wasn't as over as the Capitol claimed it to be.

I wouldn't know much about what the outside world is doing. I was stuck in the basement of my house for a long portion of the war and in here since the last couple of months before it ended. It's for my own protection, but that doesn't make it any nicer to be trapped for this long. The only one of my old friends that I have been allowed to see, and even then only in the safety of the Justice Building, has been Mona. Dad cleared her after a few talks with her father so we're allowed to hang out again.

I sigh and get started on the medallion. It's a really simple design, and almost boring at this stage in its creation. I slip on a pair of goggles and heat-proof gloves before starting up the burner. I smile when I think about the look on my dad's face when I asked him to buy it for me. I still can't understand why he was surprised, I have always had quite unconventional hobbies.

I jump when the door flings open, ricocheting off of the side of my desk and scaring the living shit out of me.

"I'm here!" Mona announces as she steps into my room and flops down on my bed.

"Because obviously I've been waiting, yeah," I say between heavy breaths as I try to calm my speeding heart rate. One would think that I would be used to Mona by now, having been friends for as long as we have, but sometimes she still doesn't fail to surprise me.

"Sorry," she smirks, giving me a knowing look. "Am I interrupting something? Would you like me to leave?"

I shake my head quickly. "No, please stay."

"I'm glad you said that, but either way I think we both know I wasn't going anywhere."

I roll my eyes but can't wipe the smile off of my face. Mona and I have been friends since basically forever and a day. If I had to choose one friend to be 'cleared' by my father so that I can see them, I would have certainly chosen her.

"So what do you want to do?" She sits up and puts both fists under her chin as she stares at me.

"Hm," I think for a second before replying. "I was thinking maybe take a boat across the ocean to the abandoned, tropical island I discovered last week. Oh, or we could take a sip of this magic potion that will make us grow wings and flow away. Or-"

Mona cuts me off before I can continue. "Are you going to come up with anything serious or am I going to have to think of something?"

"What do you think?" I laugh.

She rolls her eyes and bites her lip as she always does when she's thinking. "The raspberry bushes behind my house have started to ripen. If we hurry over we could grab a few before my grandmother wakes up and takes them all."

"I'm not allowed to go out, remember," I sigh and by the way her face falls it does seem like she just forgot.

"Sorry," she murmurs and I just shrug. It's not her fault that I'm stuck in here, after all, so I shouldn't blame her for it. But it's still hard to think of all the people like her that are allowed to come and go as they please while I have to answer to the birdcage. I just have to wait for someone to leave the door open, I guess.

Eileen Garreti, 17, District Eleven

I run down the stairs as soon as I hear the knock on the door, but even then my mom beats me there. I stop in my tracks on the stairs, hoping that Hayden isn't here earlier than he told me he would be.

"Oh, good evening, Hayden." I don't think the forcibly pleasant tone of her voice fools anyone, and I am not quite sure why she even tries to hide her distaste for him anymore. She has told me several times over that she doesn't appreciate people like him in her home, once even in front of Hayden. If I were a few years younger that would have been enough to turn me off of him.

I'm glad I grew some balls since then.

Every time she brings him up at dinner I make sure to shut down her dislike of him pretty quick. After all I am seventeen years old now, I should at the very least be allowed to choose my own friends. She was none too pleased about that the first few times, and I can't imagine what she would say if she knew we were a little closer than friends.

No, we're not dating and I don't think we ever will. Hayden and I are best friends and have been for a good while, and even though it would make my mother crazy if I were to date a guy like him I don't think I even want to. Not even if they approved. I don't think either of us is really the relationship type if I am being honest. Little nightly flings are much more my speed; I guess Hayden is just my longest fling so far.

"I think she stepped in the shower, actually. I'll be sure to tell her that you came around, though, dear."

As soon as I hear this, along with Hayden's awkward, mumbled reply, I rush the rest of the way down the stairs. I see Hayden before my mom turns around and give him a sly wink before putting as nice a smile as I can on my face.

"Actually, I just got out."

I don't pay attention to what she says. It doesn't really matter to me what it could be, she walked away which means she's not going to try anything else to get him to leave. "Sorry about her."

"You really need to stop apologizing for her," he smiles. "You're going to get laryngitis if you keep trying."

For some reason it doesn't sit well with my when Hayden mocks her. I'd feel worse asking him not to, though. He pretty much has every reason to hate her, even more reason than I do. She constantly criticizes and puts him down, and I really can't blame him for wanting to do the same to her. Still, though, I hate it. When I do it it's normal, we're family after all, but with Hayden and he it seems far more wrong.

"Can I come in?" He interrupts my thoughts and I realize I haven't replied yet. I bite my lip to keep from blushing and shake my head quickly.

"Let's go for a walk."

He nods and I follow him out the door, closing it loudly behind me. Ever since the end of the war I have started taking every opportunity to get outside that I can. During the war it was almost impossible for me to get out of the house without sneaking out my window, and even then I had been caught once or twice when I tried that. It drove me crazy to be kept indoors when all of that stuff was happening around me. Both of my best friends had been in the midst of it all while I stayed locked in that stupid tower for a good month before I cracked.

"Still can't get it off can they?" Hayden nods up at the roof of the shed and smiles. I follow his gaze to the detailed tombstone painting that still graced the building.

"They've had cleaning crews up a few time, but they've all said we're going to have to paint over it, "I tell him and sigh. "It should be gone in a few days."

It isn't hard to remember the frustration of my parents when they noticed the painting on the shed as they looked out the kitchen window one morning. They yelled and screamed about the disrespect that the rebels had for their property, all the while all I could think of was the incredible detail. The tombstone even had a name, Aleah Turow a little girl that was kidnapped and publically whipped to death after she was caught after curfew. Anyone in District Eleven would tell you that that was the most terrible day of the war by far. She had only been six years old- tied to a post as her brother was held back from helping her as she died.

All my parents could see was the destruction of property, while all I could see was the detailed handwriting over the thick layer of aerosol paint. All they saw was the damage and all I saw was the beauty, go figure.

"Do you think you'll ever tell them?" He asks, nodding again towards the shed just before we round the corner and it goes out of view.

"As soon as I have another death wish I will be sure to," I smile.

Song: Spirit Breaker by August Burns Red.

A/N: Hey all. I seem to be getting in a regular pattern of updates, which is pretty cool. I also wanted to say that that might stop because I have a midterm next Thursday. At the very latest I will tell you to expect an update a week from today.

Not much else to say, hope you enjoyed and leave a review if you would be so kind as to take the time. Any comments on the general writing and style would also be appreciated.

What do you think of these three tributes?

Who are your favourites out of the nine you have seen.

That is all, see you next update.