Okay, so sorry for the long wait, but finals are here and I was too busy procrastinating-um *cough* studying.So, yeah, hopefully things will pick up after finals. Sorry for the kind of crappy chapter, I finished it up in a hurry. To make it up, I'll post 2 chapters this week! :D One today, one tomorrow! Hope you enjoy at least a little bit! . As always check out TrackerJackson and revieeew!

The faded, red barn door gives a long creak when I open it. It had been oiled last week and yet it still produces its wooden sigh. We can't afford to oil it again and, really, what is the point? I imagine the old rundown building as an elderly person, aching to the bone.

I push the heavy door all the way open till the dim morning light streams through, creating a pathway that cuts through the darkness. I can only dream about painting this scene. How the strokes of the brush would flow together, coloring the canvas with smooth and defined lines. In fact I long to run back to the house and grab my utensils so I can freeze time and capture this magnificent scene on paper. Only then would anyone else be able to see the beautiful way that the light hits the ground, the magic of it all. Only then would they be able to appreciate it. But I have no time for such trivial things as art. There is no use in wasting valuable paper. Or at least that's what they say. Still the urge to retrieve my sketchbook and paints tugs at me, and I'm about to turn towards the house when a young boy darts out of the barn.

He's thin, thinner than me, dusty brown hair, pale grey eyes. Bits of hay stick out of his tangled hair which tells me he's been sleeping in our barn. How he got into the locked building, I don't know. He's on the ground now, having tumbled into me. I look at his feeble figure. I've never seen this kid around. He looks about twelve, maybe eleven.

"Sleeping in the barn?" I ask giving my head a short jerk towards the building. My voice comes out strong and firm with a little bit of southern tang in it, just the way I like. The boy nods and I notice he's cradling something in his arms.

"How'd ya get in?" The boy trembles but doesn't answer. I frown at him until I realize I might be laying on the intimidation to much. I calm my voice and try to get rid of my natural accent before speaking again. "How did you get into the barn?"

"Hole, in the back." My first thought is to react in surprise at his hoarse but educated voice. Then the realization of what his words mean hit me. Great. The wood probably rotted through. I sigh before my eye catches on his armful of white things concealed with hay.

"What ya got there?" I say nodding towards the bundle. He immediately hugs the hay tighter which results in a cracking sound. And I know what he's hiding.

"Drop it." I command. He obeys reluctantly settling the package down in the grass to reveal about a dozen white oval shaped eggs, one slightly cracked but still salvageable. I pick up the cracked one rolling it over in my hand.

Spitting angrily into the grass I say, "You stealing our eggs? Cause you sure don't look like a farmer. Look at this. Completely ruined!" I toss it carelessly into his awaiting hands. He has surprisingly quick reflexes.

Scooping up two of the good eggs I look closely at the rest on the ground. I could take these from him and leave him with only the cracked one. I could, but that doesn't seem right. Instead I pretend to be seething with anger.

"Only two good eggs! Rest of 'em are worthless. Take them and run along. And don't even think about going near the well. I'm leaving it open this afternoon." This basically translates to "Take the eggs and run. I'll unlock the well at noon so you better get a drink of water while you still can." But I don't want to say that outright. I don't want him to think that he can use me for resources.

Still, the message must get across to him because is face slightly lightens up and he nods, gathers up the eggs and runs. He's pretty fast.

When I walk into the barn the first thing I notice is that all the animals are fed. I laugh because the boy must've been an animal lover and he actually stayed long enough to take care of them while he could've, should've, been escaping.

Since my morning job is done I jog back to the house. By this time the sun is pretty high up in the sky, pounding down on my shoulders. As soon as I walk in the triplets are on me.

"Jonas, why didn't you wake me up? You promised that I could help feed the animals."

"Jonas, I want to go to the farm with you. Mommy won't let me though! It's not fair."

"I'm going to scream really, really loud if you don't take me with you."

"Oh thank the lord, Jonas! Please help me control these kids!"

All four voices piped up at once, Jenna's, Jacob's, Jack's, and my overwhelmed mother's. I laugh and signal for the voices to quiet down.

"Look guys, maybe some other time, okay? Todays the reaping, but I promise tomorrow I'll take you, and yes Jenna you'll be able to help feed the animals."

A few reluctant grumblings before they take off for another one of their pretend adventures where they fight against the Capital and rebel. They know they shouldn't play those kinds of things so they've made up code words; instead of Capital citizens they have "pigs" a very fitting word. Still even with their special way of communicating, it's pretty obvious who they're talking about.

My mother sighs and picks up her breakfast, a single piece of toast with a light coating of butter. Delicious. Our family is allowed this luxury because of our status as a farmer and a breeder. I mean, I guess I shouldn't say "allowed" since we steal a lot, but not from neighbors. Mostly from the breeding station where my mother has a job.

"Thank you Jonas. They've been whining the minute they got out of bed." My mother's accent is smooth and delicate, just like her. From her light brown hair to her dainty little feet, it's obvious that she's a frail being. Not all that strong either and she doesn't have an accent either like me and Pa.

"Your father's expecting you, you know. He's down at the field. Better grab your breakfast and get going." She nibbles on the bread and laughs nervously. "Won't be seeing you until after the reaping, will I? I suppose you'll be fine…" She continues to mutter worriedly to herself.

"Mom, I'll be alright. I am every year, aint I?" She nods, distracted by her own thoughts until I swoop down, giver a hug, and grab my toast. I'm out the door before she can react.

I'm only midway to our farm and I'm covered in gallons of sweat. It drips down my neck and into my eyes causing me to blink rapidly and then shove thoughts of water out of my eyes. The sweltering heat has melted the butter on my bread so that it has soaked through and onto my hands. But I refuse to eat it. I have someone very important to give it to, which is why I have to make a small detour.

I turn onto a thinner dirt path, concealed by a tall grass that rises up over my head. After a minute or so of walking I come to a clearing that contains what looks like a huge bush. But if you dig through the leaves it reveals a wooden compartment which is where my friend lives.

I found this place when I was around ten years old. I was storming off because I was mad that once again the triplets got all the attention that I had never received. I had decided to get horribly lost so no one would be able to find me. Then they would regret that they had never noticed, me and I would come home safe and sound and we would all be happy. I didn't really intend to get myself lost but I ended up doing exactly that in the plains. At nightfall I found this bush and decided to climb into it for warmth. I ended up crawling inside a wooden room and falling asleep. When I woke up there was my friend, a scrawny golden retriever, slobbering on the dirt floor and licking my face.

In the day light I was able to find my way to the dirt path and from there I found my home. Running away did have the effect I wanted, but in a bad way because for a few years no one would take their eyes off me. I wasn't allowed to keep the dog either and I was supposed to abandon him but instead I led him back to the "Hollow" and feed him secretly every morning when I pass by.

When I reach the Hollow I squeeze through the hole that's almost too small for my seventeen year old body now. A few of the sharper leaves scratch my skin but they only leave white marks that fade to thin red marks. As always Boy is sitting in the center of the Hollow wagging his tail. He bounds towards me when his nose detects the butter. I toss him the piece of bread and he devours it quickly. Whining for more he trots over and sits tilting his head as if asking me, "Where's the rest?" Running my hand on his coat I think about how cool it would be to capture this image. A boy and his dog, that'd be the perfect simple name. Once again the longing for a paintbrush hits me, but this time I wave it away and stand up with creaking legs. I pat Boy's head once again before turning back to the dusty dirt path.

When I reach the field I am greeted by Furn Daire, father of one of my few friends, Gazette. She's nice and all and we're just friends, not that I'm exactly attractive, but her father is the total opposite, an old grouch. He doesn't particularly like me since our farm land is much bigger than his. Ever since his wife died and the triplets are born he's acted like this towards our family. When Gazette's mother passed away Furn's farmland was cut down since the Capital figured he'd be overcome with grief and, in the future, wouldn't produce as much food as a family with two men and two boys. So my family was given the land that was taken away from him. Of course there's also the expectation that Jacob and Jack will become farmers while Jenna will stay home or work with my mother. Pretty sexist but that's how it is.

Furn is glaring at me through the wrinkly flaps he calls eyelids. Actually I'm not sure if that's his permanent look or if it really is a glare but his beady eyes follow me wherever I step. He doesn't know I hang with Gazette and I'd like to keep it that way since there's a rumor that in his possession is one of the few shotguns in the district. Besides Peacekeepers.

When looking at Gazette's father closely though, you feel pity for him. He's the only male in the family and so Gazette has to work in the fields sometimes. It's pretty hard to tell if he's strong or weak because most in District 11 are thin but have a firm demeanor. Like me. But this man's shoulders are frail and thin, his baggy skin almost translucent. The way he leans against the fence that divides farm land suggests that he is tired and too old to be working. But he can't be a day over my father's age. Still, he manages an impressive stare as he spits out the grass he had been chewing.

"Crops 're dying." He puts another piece of the thick grass into his mouth and licks his lips slowly, all the while looking at me. I try to not tear my gaze away. "Strange thing is," he continues, "Everything seems all right in your field."

"I don't know what to tell you. Take it up with my father, or don't. It's not my problem if you can't manage your own tiny field." His eyes narrow in anger. I know I've hit a nerve.

"Your right. Your field is huge. That just means there's more to lose." I've got to admit, he handles it pretty well.

"Yeah?" I say, "Well, I got a big family to feed." I turn around and stalk off into the field to find my father.

Truth is that old man actually kind of scares me. I keep up the whole tough image but I'm like a sheep in wolfs clothing. Imagine if I had to go into the Games, I'd be gone in an instant. Sure, I'm strong, but I'm not all that smart. I don't have the wits to stay in the match. Round one and I am out.

When I reach my father he is inspecting some plants on the side nearest to Furn's field.

"Furn has some complaints, but, to tell you the truth I don't see anything wrong with our crops. He's probably just delusional. I'd say he should stay inside, but there's no one else to take care of his field." My father shakes his head sadly. I can't help but notice the hoarse, dry sound of his voice, as if he is becoming dehydrated.

"Let's just get to work."

The next few hours pass by with me and my father working at opposite ends of the field. I try to concentrate on harvesting the delicate medicinal plants that we have to handpick before going through the rest of the crops with the machine that the Capital supplies. But my mind keeps drawing back to the reaping. Soon I know it's almost time. But before I go… Maybe I can snag on of the healing leaves? I have a headache that is throbbing and I know I'll be getting a sunburn so just maybe… I glance around making sure my father isn't rustling around anywhere nearby. Then I shoot my hand out, snap off a leaf, and stuff it into my mouth. The cool calming sensation on my tongue almost instantly kills off most of my headache. I can't say much for the patch of burnt skin, but I would have to survive.

I relish the mint flavors on my tongue and am about to spit the remains of the balled up leaf onto the ground to conceal with dirt when a voice startles me.

"I'm pretty sure that's prohibited."

I whirl around in shock to confront the newcomer. It's my friend Zack. He's pretty well off, his parents can afford to send him to school. They don't need any extra help. I used to be able to go to school, which is where I met him. But I only stayed in school until I was able to work in the fields. He didn't need to drop out. We manage to hang out some afternoons and although our meetings are scarce, we are extremely close. He's literally my only friend, not counting Gazette.

I laugh uncertainly and spit the leaf onto the ground, not sure if he's being serious or not. Zack is a kind of strange kid. Not in a bad way but he's different. I've always thought he should be in District 3. He's not fit for labor of muscles, but instead for brainwork. But he's the opposite of me. He looks like a strong type of person, attractive with his wavy blonde hair and tan complexion.

"Oh, it's only you."

"Only me? I could turn you in you know." Then he adds "Kidding." With a roll of the eyes at my worried expression.

"It's time." He continues seriously. I don't have to inquire to know that means the reaping. We leave the fields and start down the path. We don't bother to tell my father, he already knows, since it's a yearly tradition. When we start to see houses and barns again we separate, promising to meet up again here. I jog until I get to my house. The silence is eerie in the house, the emptiness uncomfortable. My mom takes the kids to the breeding station and I always hate this time of year, coming into the house, feeling like I'm separated from my family. I rush through washing my body and scrubbing myself.

My mother has laid out some nice clothes for me, stiff ironed jeans, a plain white t-shirt, a jacket. I slide them on, wriggling a little as I try to break the itchy fabric in. I look pretty good, even though I don't have any dress shoes.

When I reach the meeting spot I find both Gazette and Zack waiting for me. Gazette smiles at me.

"You look nice."

"Thanks."

Zack leans in, "You look real nice, if you know what I mean."

"Shut up," I say but I can't help smirking a little. Zack has this idea that Gazette likes me. A stupid joke that can sometimes get annoying, but occasionally it's funny.

I survey their outfits. Gazette is in a drab grey dress with puffy sleeves. The only color on the dress is a silk light blue ribbon sewn onto the hem of the skirt. Her blonde hair sticks fiery hair sticks out against the dress but I don't say anything. Who knows what's in fashion these days? I can't say she looks bad but it wouldn't be my first choice of color. The again my artist type critic might not be the best.

Zack is wearing a tan stiff jacket with matching pants. His shoes are polished and shined. His hair is gelled. Yet he still manages to look casual and laid back.

"You both look interesting," I say.

Gazette wrinkles her nose and puts on a high accent that makes it sound like she's asking a question at every sentence, "Lack of vocabulary much? Is that all you can say about my exquisite outfit that I've obviously spent decade choosing?" She twirls to punctuate her point and falls to the ground. Laughig she stands and gets up.

"I know it's not much," she says in her normal voice, "But it's the only dress I have. We had to sell all the others." She shrugs as if it was no big deal. A short silence follows. After Gazette's mother died she had to sell the only remainder of the woman for money to survive. It is a memory that Gazette hates to recall.

Zack picks up the accent, trying to lighten the mood, "I'm sure we'll be the best dressed there. Look at those jeans, Jonas! So fashionable! Especially with that rip on the cuff! However did you do that?" It works and soon we're all laughing again.

When we reach the center of town where the square is packed, the Peacekeepers prick our fingers and wipe them on a slide which they hand to a second Peacekeeper who carefully files them. Zack and I are ushered to the seventeen year old section and before long the mayor starts his speech. I zone out, this is something I hear every year, and instead think of the logistics to myself.

Gazette had applied for Tesserae countless of time this year, while Zack had never. I had only applied six or seven times since we were able to snatch the food we were supposed to be sending to the Capital every so often. So out of us three, Gazette was the most likely to be picked. But that wouldn't happen. There were thousands of other girls. But now I was worrying. I push away from Zack who shoots me a look to get a better view of the girl group. Gazette is standing there; she looks like she's about to cry as the orange haired escort, Natalie Chit, steps toward the reaping bowl, slowly putting her hand in.

"Eve Winters." Gazette's face breaks into a broad smile, although I know she'll feel sorry for the girl. The name registers in my mind. Eve Winters. The mayor's daughter. Extremely surprising. What was she, sixteen? Yes. No one would expect her to be the one to go into the Games. The Mayor's face is paling as Natalie introduces the newest girl tribute. She moves onto the boys.

I'm happy, despite myself. It seems that luck is with me. I shouldn't be happy, I know. But Gazette, the one with the most slips did not get picked, so why should Zack, or I for that matter? Perhaps my karma would catch up to me, but for now I didn't care. I waited, impatient for the celebration of not getting reaped. The taste of freedom already on my tongue.

But even as I thought this there was a slight tension where, for a split second, I though Zack's name would be called. But the worrying was irrational. The name Natalie said wasn't his. It wasn't his name that froze my blood, made me chill and shudder.

It was mine.

I dont know, I hope it was suspenseful, or at least not boring! :3 Reviewing makes us want to update faster, even with finals. No reviews mean slower. :( You know you want too...