Reapings Part Two
District Seven
Violet Queens
'FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!' The boy, Hake, glared at me, but I just smiled, shaking my hair back. The group of teenagers surrounded us, egging us on, yelling encouragement and insults.
'Scum!' yelled Hake, spitting on the floor in front of me. 'Your father was nothing more than a no-good thief! He stole from my uncle, and he got what he deserved!' With a screech I pounced on him, scratching and pummelling him. Hake fought back, punching me in the face, but I was a better fighter. I put my full weight on one of his shoulders accidently and he screamed. Suddenly I felt hands pulling me off him.
'How dare you talk about my father in that way!' I yelled. 'How dare you!' Hake was lying on the ground, a cut above his eyebrow and one arm lying limp, but he managed to stick his middle finger up at me.
The group around us was suddenly breaking apart and scattering, disappearing. I turned to see a group of Peacekeepers approaching.
'Come on, Vi, let's get going,' my two best friends, Fern and Kayla, dragged me down an alleyway. Fern turned to me.
'You could get in trouble for fighting,' she said. 'Anyone asks, we didn't see anything. Got it?'
As we stepped out of the alleyway again, we found more Peacekeepers in the street. Fern stepped in front of us, and all of us put on our perfect "innocent as kittens" faces. A couple of Peacekeepers blocked our way, casting their eyes over our slightly bedraggled appearances.
'Where have you three been?' one asked. Kayla, the best one for making excuses out of all of us, took the lead.
'Hanging in the woods. Old Davey is teaching us his techniques.'
'Even on the Reaping day?'
'Yes, sir. We wanted to see a new trick he promised to show us, and we didn't want to wait.'
'What's the trick?'
Kayla hardly missed a beat when she replied: 'To split wood in an old tire, so the bits don't scatter everywhere.' The man nodded slowly, seeming to be believing us, but the woman frowned, pointing to my face.
'What's that from?' I guessed that Hake had left a bruise on my face. I shrugged.
'One of Davey's apprentices was down there. He's dead clumsy, miss. Didn't realise I was standing nearby and swung his axe too much. Hit me in the face.' The woman raised an eyebrow.
'There's a boy back there who's been hurt badly. He says that a girl attacked him for no reason. Do you know what the punishment would be?' we shook our heads. 'A heavy fine and a few days in the stocks. And as for lying to us, well, we might add a few lashes of the whip as well. So I hope you three are telling the truth.'
'Of course, Ma'am,' Fern smiled sweetly. 'And we'll look out for the attacker.'
'Good. Now go and get ready for the Reaping.'
We nodded and walked on quickly. When we were a safe distance from the Peacekeepers, Fern turned to me angrily. 'Why do you keep getting into fights? You're going to get us all in trouble soon. You would have ended up in the stocks if it wasn't for us! You've got to stop this!'
'Why? He insulted my father!'
'How hard is it just to ignore him?'
'Yeah, right, like you wouldn't have retaliated,' I snapped. Fern shook her head, exasperated.
'I give up. Just stay out of trouble until after the Reapings, ok? Or they might rig it…' It was rumoured that the Capitol sometimes rigged the Reapings so that troublemakers had more chance of getting picked, to be rid of them. I wouldn't put it past them.
'Whatever,' we had reached our street. 'See you at the Reapings.' Stepping inside my house, I knew instantly that it was empty. As usual. My father was brutally killed by Peacekeepers after stealing one tiny roll from a shop. After that my mother has had to work day and night. She never has time for me.
It hasn't always been so lonely for me. I used to come home to find my brother messing around. I would get annoyed with him, but it was nice not coming home to an empty house. Then he was lost forever. We were playing in a lake in the woods, and I wanted to pick some flowers for our mother, to cheer her up. I heard my brother scream for help, but I thought he was just winding me up. When I turned around again, bunch of flowers in my hands, all I saw was his body, floating in the water, held under by tangled weeds.
When I emerged from the woods with him in my arms, he was rushed to the doctor, but it was too late. He was dead. Drowned, the doctor said. And it was my fault. No one ever said it, but I know they think it. I killed my brother.
I try not to think of my brother too much, or I just burst into tears. People say I am too bitter and independent, but they don't understand. It's that or being an emotional wreck. So I never talk about him, never even speak his name.
Pushing that from my mind, I pulled out my best dress. It's dark purple with a black bow around the waist. Considering the fact I spend most of my time in shirts and old trousers, it's incredibly fancy. I even tried to straighten out the frizz in my black hair, and put some makeup on the bruise along my cheekbone. I wore my white sandals and, for a final touch, my mother's crystal necklace. She'll never notice – she hasn't touched her jewellery since my father's death.
I hitched a ride on a truck carrying some lumber. The driver doesn't notice or doesn't care, as he just drove straight on, even slowing slightly as he passed the Justice Building, so that I could jump off. When I entered into the square, I quickly saw Hake with his arm in a sling, surrounded by adoring girls. Still, a couple of people muttered congratulations at my throwing a punch at him.
Fern and Kayla are stuck with their parents, who don't like me. They grimace apologetically at me, but I don't care, moving straight to my pen.
The Mayor does his usual boring speech and our Escort gives an incredibly annoying greeting, before reaping the girl. My brain has pretty much switched off, but I am jerked back when I hear her say my name. I'm girl tribute for District Six. I am surprised, but almost immediately my tough side takes over. Those other tributes won't know what hit them.
Diesel Cain
I woke to hear a loud knocking on the door. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was seven in the morning. But no one else was going to answer the door, so with a groan I dragged myself from my bed and headed downstairs. The knocking was getting more insistent, and I opened it to find Ingram Kedava, half-collapsed on the doorstep. He's a morphling addict, one of my father's main customers. He looks like a corpse, stick thin, his skin yellowed and translucent, showing the veins underneath.
'Give me more,' he gasped. 'I need it!' I look down at him in disgust. I am no stranger to morphling – having a dealer as your father means it's impossible not to try it – but I haven't lost control like Ingram. I started to shut the door on him, but my father has appeared and stops me.
'Not so fast, Diesel,' he said smoothly, ever the business man. To the Peacekeepers of District Seven, he's just an innocent hover vehicle manufacturer who got rich. To everyone else, he's an undercover morphling smuggler and dealer, charging extortionate prices for bad quality drugs. Still, he's got hundreds of buyers and has made his fortune.
Looking around, he grabs Ingram and hauls him into the house. He's much too careful to deal morphling on his doorstep. I moved back, pulling a face at the rank smell and filthy clothing on Ingram. Father took him into his study, dumped him in a chair and moved over to a concealed panel, opening it to reveal rows and rows of vials full of morphling. Taking one, he held it out to Ingram, who made a snatch for it.
'Come, come, Ingram, do you really think I'm giving them away?' he said, careful not to say morphling. There was an investigation a while ago (somebody tipped the Peacekeepers off about my father) but Father hid all the drugs, and in the end the Peacekeepers just thought the snitch was desperate for money. But since then Father has never said the word morphling inside, in case the house was bugged. He has also built up a network so that people know that if they tell the authorities, they will find a band of thugs attacking their families.
Ingram nodded, feverishly pulling out some coins. 'Here! Take these! It's all I have!' he croaked.
'Father, you shouldn't give it to him! He's broke, he can't afford it!' I cried. Father turned on me angrily.
'Get out of here!' he shouted. 'This is none of your business!' I was only too happy to leave the desperate scene. Up in my room, I lay down on top of my bed, staring up at the ceiling. At times I wished my father was dead, so that I could be rid of him, so that all of District Seven could be rid of him.
'Diesel?' I looked around to see my mother watching me from the doorway. 'Are you alright?' Her once-beautiful face was marred by worry, sadness and fear. I got to my feet and went to hug her.
'I'm fine, Mum. It's just him,' I replied.
'It's people's choice if they want to try morphling.'
'It doesn't look like it,' I snap, nearly shouting. Mother moved back, frightened, and I tried to calm down. 'Sorry, it's not your fault,' I said moodily, turning to go back into my room. Mother gently touched my cheek, an affectionate gesture that seemed to soothe me.
'Go practice with your rapier. I want you to be prepared.'
'I won't be reaped, Mother! Stop worrying.'
'You are my son. I always worry,' she said softly.
'I'm hungry.' I couldn't be bothered to get dressed, so I just headed straight downstairs to the kitchen. Ingram had gone, but the smell and sense of desperation lingered. I tried to ignore it, finding some cereal to eat.
I was just finishing the dregs when the door opened and my father appeared. I looked up at him in surprise. Before he had been dressed in a jersey over his pyjamas. Now he wore a smart grey two-piece suit, his greying hair combed back and a strong smell of cologne around him. He looked over my appearance with disgust, the unkempt hair and dirty t-shirt and boxers that I slept in obviously displeasing him.
'Go and get dressed, boy,' he snapped.
'When I have finished breakfast, Father,' I replied coldly. He looked down at me, and I thought he was about to hit me, but then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a glass vial of morphling.
'There. That'll get your spirits up,' he said, smiling. I pushed it away from me.
'No, thanks.'
'Oh come on, you used to be begging me for some.'
'Not anymore! I've given up the addiction.'
Father scowled at me, before grabbing me by the collar. 'Don't you dare speak to me in that way. Go and get dressed, you disgrace the Cain family!'
'Even more than you do?' I retorted sarcastically, before running upstairs before he could retaliate. I found that Mother had laid out my outfit for the Reaping. With a sigh, I started to get dressed. A midnight blue suit that I buttoned up to the collar, with a white shirt and lighter blue tie underneath. My slightly translucent skin with blue and purple veins visible underneath was shown up in even greater definition by the blue clothes. I gelled my hair and slicked it back like it usually is, and applied a slick of black eyeliner that highlighted my pale green eyes. Finally some highly polished black dress shoes.
'You look handsome,' my mother said quietly as I passed her. I think that I looked like a perfect spoilt rich boy. 'Are you going to practice with your rapier?'
I shook my head. 'Not now I'm dressed.' She looked hurt. 'I promise, when I get home, that I will practice with you.'
She smiled again. 'You'll just beat me.'
'Of course.' There was another knock on the door. 'I'd better get that.' I opened the door to find my best friend, Dorothy Vivace, standing there. She's shallow and totally addicted to morphling. She's the one who first convinced me to try the drug. I think she's only friends with me to get some free morphling from my father.
'Hey Diesel,' she gave a lopsided smile, her eyes slightly unfocused. 'You got any ecstasy for me?' Ecstasy, the slang name for morphling. Named thus because of the sense of bliss and extreme optimism that the morphling gives you. I shrugged and led her inside. Father had left for work, leaving his study locked, but I had long ago copied the key and easily broke inside.
I knew I shouldn't be giving Dorothy the morphling, but if I didn't she would leave me, and she's the only friend I've got. So I opened the concealed compartment full of morphling, and took out a couple of vials, handing them to her. She immediately opened one and tipped it down her throat, grimacing at the burning sensation, then giving a blissfully content grin.
'Thanks,' she said, slurring her words. 'You gonna have one?' I shook my head, but slipped a vial in my pocket. I'm not addicted, as I said, but I'm not above having the odd dose in dire circumstances, and it's become a habit to carry some around.
'Are you really going to go to the Reaping on a high?' I asked, surprised.
'They won't notice.' And I had to agree – Dorothy is drugged up so often everybody just thinks this is how she normally is.
'Let's go then.' She reluctantly stands and I put an arm around her back, helping her out to one of our cars. 'The Square, please,' I told the driver, and he obediently touched his cap and drove off. I stared out of the window, bored. Little did I know what an unexpected twist my life was about to take.
District Eight
Ginevra Helena Di-Cosimo
Kneeling down, I took careful aim and drew the string of my bow back. My target, a plump pigeon, was a few metres away, pecking at some grain on the floor. My whole body was tense with anticipation. I had killed some squirrels and a rabbit, but if I killed this bird, I would not have to go hunting again for a couple of days.
'Mother says to come home,' I cursed under my breath as the pigeon gave a frightened squawk and fluttered off. I turned to see my twin brother, Marco Jr, sitting on a rocky outcrop above me. He was grinning cheekily, showing off his perfect white teeth.
'Did you have to do that?' I called angrily.
'What?' he replied innocently. 'I was just saying.' I stalked up to him and shoved my bow into his hands.
'Fine. Next time, you can go hunting, you can spend hours a day trying to feed our family, can spend hours a day trying to feed our family, you can waste your time that could be better spent…' I trailed off as Marco held up a bag containing two fat squirrels. 'Where did you get those?'
'Some snares I passed on the way…'
'So you stole them?' He just shrugged, climbing to his feet.
'As I said, we should get home.' We started to trek back through the trees to District Eight. You had to walk far in District Eight to get to any real woodland. Most of it was ugly, urban houses and textiles factories. It took ages to find even a few good animals to shoot, and my family live right on the edge nearest the forest.
We soon left the trees and came out into the dirty, stinking city. Our house was only a couple of streets in, close to a factory that made boots. My parents worked twelve hours a day there, my brother already doing a four hour shift after school. Because I had to spend time hunting, I only had to do two hours four days a week. But I would probably soon have to do more. I hated it in there, the heat and the noise and the sour stench of the leather.
'You two! What took you so long?' our mother appeared out of the house. 'You need to get ready for the Reapings!' She had been given the day off from work – everyone had, for the Reapings – and was taking the moment to clean the house. 'Don't spread dirt! Give those animals to me, Ginevra.'
Carefully, we hopped up to our rooms. I immediately made a face at the outfit I found there. Crystal white linen blouse with short, puffy sleeves, a knee length navy blue skirt, white socks and shiny black shoes. I put it on, but as a show of defiance, I put my long, curly red hair in a messy bun with tendrils hanging down. Also I put my only necklace, with was really just a piece of string with the end of a broken arrow, the first one I ever shot properly, around my neck.
Marco had got off easy with a white shirt and navy trousers. He burst out laughing when I left my room, scowling. 'You look so pretty!'
'Shut it, Marco,' I snapped. 'I don't know how Mother could have got a worse outfit.'
'I dunno,' he said seriously. 'Maybe if it was bright pink, or flowery…'
'Are you two ready yet?' As we went downstairs, I noted how similar we must look. Marco is much taller and stronger, of course, and his hair is darker, almost auburn. But we both have similar olive-toned skin, and the same gold-green eyes. Our mother managed a smile at us. 'You have both grown up so fast.'
Our Father appeared and we left the house, walking to the main square. We were joined by other families, all in their best clothes. Most of the children looked pale and scared. District Eight children never last long – we learn no fighting or surviving skills that could help us. For the last few years our tributes have hardly got past the Bloodbath.
When we reached the square, Mother gave us each a quick kiss and ushered us towards our "pens". I stood next to Marco, and as the pens filled up, I murmured to him.
'Marco, if I get Reaped, would you volunteer to be with me?'
Marco gave an amused smile. 'Hell no. I'd jump for joy – extra food!' We both burst out laughing, and the other kids stared at us in amazement. The Mayor scowled at us and we managed to straighten our faces.
The Escort looked over us with obvious distaste. You could see she was hoping to be promoted to a better district, where the kids made it past the Bloodbaths. She plunged a manicured, perfect hand into the girls' bowl and sifted around, before catching one slip and pulling it out.
'Ginevra Helena Di-Cosimo!'
Kai Septor
The wall loomed up in front of me as I sprinted headlong towards it. Just over a metre away I jumped, using the edge of the pavement as a springboard. The wall was old, and offered plenty of handholds. I caught one crack with my fingertips and clung there. My feet found a ledge and I hauled myself up, reaching the top. It was narrow, only about the width of my foot, but I had good balance and ran easily along it.
I came to a street of terraced housing at the end of the wall. There was a small alleyway that I easily jumped over, landing on a window sill. From there I grabbed a drainpipe and, using it, pretty much ran up the wall to the roof. The roof tiles were smooth and slippery, so I went along the pointed edge, arms out to balance me.
At the end of the street a factory was being built. At that moment it was a skeletal structure surrounded by scaffolding. Usually there were builders crawling all over it, but not today, the Reaping day. Grabbing a pole, I swung onto it and started to climb. Soon the ground was far beneath me, the people's heads no bigger than pinheads. My vision blurred slightly as I looked down, but I clung to the scaffolding, knowing that it would be a fatal mistake to panic and let go.
Making it to the top of what I guessed would be a chimney of the future factory, I paused for a rest. There was a platform built around the half-built chimney, and I lay down on it, looking up at the clear blue sky. Because of the factory fumes, it was nearly always overcast in District Eight, but today all the factories were shut off, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.
I closed my eyes, breathing the unusually fresh air, devoid of pollution. I imagined myself far away, in a place with no Hunger Games, or sadness or desperation, with endless perfect landscapes. Smiling, I lost myself in that heavenly place.
'Wotcha doing?' I was snapped out of my reverie by the sound of a voice. Sitting up, expecting a builder, I was faced by a little girl. She looked no more than nine or ten, with a cute face and blonde pigtails, wearing in a red tartan dress.
'Why do you want to know?' I retorted sourly, annoyed that she had disturbed me. 'What're you doing up here anyway?' She shrugged.
'Exploring. Why were you smiling all weirdly at the sky?'
'None of your business. Did you follow me up here?'
'Yes, I wanted to ask what you were doing. I used a ladder though. What's it called, when you were jumping around on the buildings?'
'Street running.'
'Can I learn?'
'No.'
'Why are you so grumpy?'
'Take a wild guess.' I stood up, running my hands through my hair. I needed a haircut – my fringe was falling into my eyes. The girl was looking at me with a hurt expression. 'Look, you're like, nine. Maybe when you're a bit older I'll show you something. But at the moment, I don't want you falling and breaking your neck. What's your name, anyway?'
'Amy Benson. And I'm ten, you know.'
'I'm Kai Septor, and I need to get going, or I'll be late for the Reapings.'
'Good luck.' I swung over the side and climbed swiftly down to the bottom. I suddenly realised how late I was, and broke into a run. When I got home a few minutes later, panting and out of breath, my brother and father were already dressed and waiting.
'Where have you been?' asked Father sternly as I ran in the room. 'I hope it wasn't street running again!'
'Of course not Father,' my brother, Kyle, smiled at me from behind his back and raised an eyebrow. I replied with a hard stare in warning before going up to my room to pull some clean clothes on. I'm not much for formal wear, as you have probably guessed, so I just got a white polo shirt and some black trackies, and pulled a comb through my hair.
When I went back downstairs my brother playfully pushed my hair off my forehead. 'You shouldn't hide your eyes, they're pretty!' he teased.
'Shut up, Kyle,' I reply, smoothing my bangs again. We look very similar, despite three years difference between our ages, both with dark hair, tanned skin, athletic bodies, but he has brown eyes, while mine are amber. I'm only a couple of inches smaller than him, at six foot, and I haven't stopped growing.
We walked to the Reapings together, pushing each other and joking around. We're very close – he's pretty much my best friend. But now he has been conscripted into a factory, and spends hours a day making handkerchiefs. I join him most days after school, and I find the thick, stuffy air, loud machinery and claustrophobic feeling a nightmare. I always go street running afterwards, to get rid of that feeling.
When we reach the square we have to part, me to my section and Kyle to the seventeen-year-olds'. I stood alone, staring up at the stage, feeling fear churn inside me. I noticed Kyle looking at me, and he gave me an encouraging smile, which I tried to return.
For some reason, I got that horrible feeling that usually comes when something very, very bad is about to happen. It seemed that, almost before the name was read out, I knew what the Escort was about to say. My name.
District Nine
Sephiria Raven
The sun burned down on me as I sat, curled up, on the baked square of earth that was meant to be the communal garden. It was the middle of the day, and most people were sheltering from the heat. But I sat there, arms hugging my knees, tears pouring down my face.
No one came out to comfort me. My brother is out, drinking with some friends, and my parents died eight years ago. My parents, dead. Shot by Peacekeepers for speaking out against the Capitol. My brother tries to forget them, and tells me to as well. But sometimes it just hits me, and I can't do anything other than curl up into a ball and cry.
Finally I stand up, and smooth out my clothes. The tears are instantly dried in the heat, leaving salt crusted on my face. The patch of "garden" containing nothing more than a few tufts of dead grass and a shrivelled old tree is shared by four houses, which are arranged around it. They're small and have a sagging, run-down look to them, with only three rooms in each. They all shared a bathroom.
Two little girls watched me from the doorway of a house, dressed in thin white linen frocks. They looked about six, and were watching me with both pitying and fearful expressions on their faces. Everybody knew about my parents, but there's a taboo on talking about people the Capitol have killed, so no one comforted or spoke to me about them. And because I am their daughter, I am avoided by everyone. But I see the covert, knowing glances as I walk past, see people whisper to their friends. I try to ignore it, but sometimes I cannot help the tears that well up when people cross the road to avoid me.
As I said, my brother is nowhere to be found, so I quietly nibbled on some bread and dripping, before changing my clothes for the Reaping. I have very few dresses, and none are fancy, but the one I am wearing is covered in mud, so I have to change into another. It's white floral cotton that goes down to my knees. As it came from a neighbour's daughter, who is a fair bit larger than me, it doesn't fit right, but it looks okay.
I pull a comb through my long, wavy dark hair, and look at my reflection in a small mirror that my mother owned. Pale skin, despite the hot weather. Haunted, dark eyes that look out knowingly from under my fringe. I look very different from the other girls of District Nine.
As I step outside the house my way is blocked by a cat. It's rather scrawny, with dirty brown fur and a twisted back leg. It looked up at me with wide yellow eyes, and I can't help but step back inside the house and find a scrap of dried meat for it. It's my only friend in District Nine, so I have to care for it. Most cats in District Nine are plump from catching all the mice in the grain barns. But this one has a crippled leg, and is not fast enough. So you can see it's ribs, and it wanders from house to house looking for scraps.
As it is eating I slip out onto the sandy road. The streets were dry and dusted with bits of chaff from the grain processing. Occasionally a truck drove past, loaded with wheat or barley or some other grain. It takes me a while to get to the Reapings, as we live on the edge of District 9, and I am slightly late.
To my horror, when I step into the square, almost everyone else is there, and they all turn to stare at me, before dropping their gazes, not wanting to look at me. Three Peacekeepers step towards me to usher me into my section. I start to move, but I'm not quick enough, and one, who seems barely older than me, pulls out his gun, pointing it at me.
WHAM, it's immediate, unstoppable. A memory – my parents, being dragged from the house. I feel the anguish and fear of my fifteen-year-old self as they are forced to their knees. A gun is placed against my father's head, and the shot echoes throughout the courtyard. As he slumps to the floor my mother screams out and leaps up to attack the Peacekeeper. She is barely on her feet when a bullet passes through her back, and she collapses on top of my father. One twitch, and she is dead.
'Hey, put the gun away!' I realised I am being held up by two Peacekeepers. One was arguing with the young one, telling him to put away the weapon. I felt myself struggle not to hyperventilate. Finally he put down the gun, and I started to calm down.
'Get moving,' I felt a push on the small of my back, and I manage to walk to my section. People draw back from me as I get near. I see the words crazy, and disturbed pass from people's lips, and duck my head, ashamed. But I cannot stand guns since my parents' deaths.
The Escort seemed to have been interrupted. After standing silently for a few moments, looking slightly dazed, she recovered her composure and continued with her speech. 'And now, I shall Reap the girl tribute!'
She plunged her hand into the glass bowl, and circled it three times, before latching onto a slip of paper and pulling it out. 'Sephiria Raven!' I felt a brief moment of disbelief, then terror rose up in me, and I froze, unable to move. I can't go into the arena, I just can't. I wouldn't last ten minutes.
'Go!' the people around me hiss, and I forced myself to walk forward, up onto the stage. The Escort tries to greet me cheerfully, but I know I cannot react, or I will just break down. I just stand there, mute, trying to hold a tsunami inside me. But I can do it. I have done it for years.
Scott Fosters
The sky was a clear, azure blue, with no clouds to offer protection from the burning sun. Even the shade was about thirty degrees. I stood under a lean-to, watching the grass shrivel, unmoving. I was performing an activity I do almost every day. I remembered.
Or at least, try to. I have hundreds of memories from the last two years – school, my foster family, working in fields. But from fourteen, there is nothing. I can remember almost nothing from my childhood, not even the faces of my parents. Just a fuzzy whiteness. It's like trying to find your way through thick fog, with only the occasional, blurry glimpse of something.
You see, I was found in District Nine two years ago. I was standing in the middle of the main square, in the early morning, dressed in a plain white linen t-shirt and trousers, just staring at nothing. People tried to talk to me, ask me where I came from, but I couldn't say. I remember the confusion, feeling like I was in a horrible dream.
My foster father, Joel Fosters (his surname is a bit of a joke, what with all the kids he takes in), found me and managed to take me to his house. He and his wife, Marlene, tried to sort me out. They discovered that I had no memory of anything. I could talk, and walk, and eat, and act like a normal person, but when faced with a question about my past, I came up with nothing.
Joel and Marlene were foster parents, so they just took me in and looked after me, and I have lived with them ever since, in the sprawling farm buildings. Even though the main industry in District Nine is grain processing, there are a few farms, and Joel's is one of the largest.
Slowly, over the years, I pieced together vaguely what happened with my parents, mostly from what people said, and from listening at the door late at night, when Joel and Marlene were talking about me. Apparently I was put through a process called memory-washing, where someone's memory is completely wiped, but not their personality. They are then left back in their district, alone. It's cruel, and I remember wondering why someone would do that. And then I learned.
According to Joel, my family were rebels. Two years ago, they tried to stir up a rebellion. It did not get far. Other people, the Sickles, the Ravens – I heard these names with my ear pressed against the door – were involved. With them only those who were part of the rebellion were killed, usually leaving the children. But my parents were the ringleaders. So they took my entire family, everyone I knew and loved. They have all disappeared, but I was left, like a warning, with no memory or recollection of my past life.
At that point Marlene shushed Joel, telling him it was dangerous to speak of such things. I fled up to my room and curled up in bed, tears pouring down my face. My family were dead, or as good as. There was no chance of meeting them again. And to make it worse, I did not merely have an acute kind of amnesia. No, my memory loss was carefully calculated by the Capitol, to show the Districts who was boss. And that was what made me feel sick in the mouth.
'Scott! Scott get in here!' I heard Joel's yell and slowly turned to go inside. The entire Fosters family was in the stone kitchen, in the normal chaotic rush. When Joel picked me up, I didn't even know my own name, so they named me. Scott Fosters, apparently the name of Joel's father. It's alright, but it's not my name.
As I walked into the kitchen, Riley, the youngest foster child, runs up to hug me. He's only six, and his parents died in a grain processing accident. He arrived a few weeks ago, and almost immediately became my shadow. He's a cute kid, despite being annoyingly clingy. As I bent down to pick him up, I was hit by a blinding bolt of pain in my head, and I struggled not to yell out, gritting my teeth.
It seems to be a side effect of the memory loss. I think the Capitol botched it slightly, because every now and then I'm hit by these migraines, and with them always come flashbacks. They're clear when I see them, but afterwards they're just a blurred mass of colour. It's incredibly frustrating.
When I came round, the family was gathered around me, worried expressions on their faces. Marlene brings me a cool glass of water, and I struggle to tell her what happened.
'I... I don't think I was very old. I was in this mass of ... yellow. Maybe we were harvesting?' I say, trying in vain to keep hold of the memories before they slip away. But I cannot – they fall from my grasp and I am left with nothing. Marlene gives me a hug, but it's not what I need. I long for the feel of my real parents, a pat on the back from my father, a kiss from my mother. Anything that I could keep hold of, treasure.
'We should get going,' Joel said, turning away from me to pick up his coat. He had a funny expression on his face. I nodded mutely and stood up, absentmindedly allowing Riley to jump into my arms.
We went in the pickup truck to the Reaping, all the kids sitting in the back. Riley clung to my shirt the entire journey, his little face scrunched up against the wind. When we reached the Reaping we were all covered in a thin layer of road dust. Marlene was prepared though and dusted us all off with a feathery brush.
'Presentable,' she said finally, worry etched across her face. 'Well... off you go. Remember to meet back here afterwards?' we nodded and the kids of Reaping age scattered across the huge courtyard. I was soon hailed by a group of kids from school. Despite my strange appearance two years ago, I have built of a large group of friends, and I seem to be quietly popular, though a few people still push me around and tease me.
'Hey there, Scott,' a girl about my age called Hailey touched my arm and smiled sweetly up at her. 'You worried?' She's obviously into me, and I don't like to lead her on, but I don't think a relationship would be a good idea right now. Not while I have so much to sort out in my head. So I just shrug and gently step away, moving around the group slightly.
We all turned as a bell rung, calling us into our sections. Most of my friends are sixteen, like me, so we stood together in a pen. All through the Mayor's speech Hailey moved closer and closer to me until she was virtually pressed against me. I looked down at her, feeling uncomfortable. Finally the Escort stepped forward to pick the tributes.
The girl froze at first, looking petrified. We all looked at her, willing her on, and finally she managed to walk up to the stage. It was the Raven girl, the one who everyone avoided. Her parents were in the rebellion as well, but hers were publicly executed, instead of just disappearing, so she is more well-known than me.
Next the boy was picked. I felt relaxed – I wouldn't be picked, there were hundreds, thousands of other kids. I felt this sense of calm right up until the Escort read out the name.
'Scott Fosters!'
District Ten
Jenna Monroe
'JENNAA! Get moving!' I jumped at the sound of my father's shout, and stepped backwards, grabbing a length of rope from behind me, and quickly tying it into a noose. My target was a large, muscled bull red-brown in colour, with a ring through its nose and a mean look in its eyes.
Despite the fact I am far smaller and weaker than this beast, I have been chosen to capture it from the field of cows, instead of my father or a farmhand. They say it is because I have a calming effect on them, and they don't panic around me. It's true, I guess – animals seem to be perfectly happy with me. Still, it's pretty nerve wracking.
I slowly approached the bull, loosely holding the rope. It saw me and snorted loudly, pawing with a foot. My brothers, Father, and the two farmhands, were all on the edges of the field, ready to come to my aid. But they knew to leave me alone unless I shouted for help.
'Shh, it's okay,' I murmured soothingly, carefully walking up to it. As soon as I was close enough I whipped the rope around its neck as quick a flash. It snorted louder and tried to jerk away, almost wrenching the rope out of my hands, but I just slipped forward and grabbed its nose ring. Instantly it stopped, standing still. I don't like grabbing their nose rings because it hurts them and seems slightly barbaric, but if it's between that and it running away or me getting trampled, then I'd take the nose ring.
'Well done,' said my little brother, Joe. I smiled and handed the end of the rope to my father.
'No injuries?' Father asked. I shrugged and held out my hands, which had slight rope burn from when the bull tried to jerk away. He touched them gently before nodding and pointing down the lane. 'You'll be alright. Go get ready – all of you.' We nodded and we set off down the rough dirt track, me and my little brothers. Joe is twelve and Anjo, the youngest, is eight. We all look similar, with brown hair, hazel eyes, and freckles. Except my hair is longer and always in a tight ponytail.
Soon we turned a corner and our home appeared. It was a rough, brown wooden house with gaps between the boards and shutters on the windows. A corral, and a couple of barns were spaced around it, all built in a similar style. A chicken coop and lean-to were built onto the house. We only have cows and chickens – we don't have enough money for horses, and Father doesn't like sheep or pigs.
Upstairs I picked out my best dress of slightly faded red calico, and managed to find a thin red ribbon for my hair. When I had finished my brothers were still messing about in their room, so I quietly stepped into my father's bedroom. It seems too empty – the bed too big for one person, the furniture set out for two.
I moved towards the wardrobe and opened it. One half of it is empty, has been ever since my mother ran off with another man a few years ago. My father has never filled the space. I kneel down and pull open a drawer full of my father's socks. Plunging my hand in, I felt about before my fingers close around a cold, hard object. I pulled it out – a gilt locket on a thin chain.
Tucking myself in between the wardrobe and bed, I curled up in the small space and opened the locket. On one side there is a picture of me, Joe and Anjo. I'm about six and Anjo is just a baby, scowling at the camera. On the other side is a picture of a pretty blonde woman with my fair skin and eyes. The picture is crumpled and old, but I could feel the warmth and life of her. My mother. Holding the locket close, I feel the pain in my chest increase until it is as if my chest is about to break apart. I want her back, want to feel her arms around me.
I suddenly looked up, and found my Father looking down at me. We stared at each other, me frozen, until he reached down and wrenched the locket from my grasp. I cried out as it cut against my sore palms, but he just pulled me to my feet.
'Never, ever, look at that again. Your mother is a cruel, heart-breaking bitch who didn't care for any of us, and would rather run off with a millionaire than see her own children grow up!' he hissed, shoving me out of the room. I ignored my brothers, who were watching me with wide eyes, and ran downstairs and out the house.
I nearly ran straight into one of the farmhands, Wyatt. He looked down at my teary face with knowing eyes, and pointed towards his beaten up pickup truck. 'Want a ride into town?' I shook my head, knowing my father would get even angrier, and walked towards our own truck.
It had a high, covered trailer on the back, and inside stood the bull, tethered by his nose ring to a hook on the wall. It was standing uncomfortably, head low, trying not to pull against the rope and cause itself pain. I moved forward and carefully untied the rope from its ring, putting a calming hand on its forehead to stop it bolting, then tied it around his neck.
'There you go, that's better,' I whispered to it as the bull happily shifted around. I heard the front door creak open and close, signalling my brothers and Father leaving the house. I knew Father would not be happy to see me in such a cramped space with a bull, but I didn't want to face him. In the end I forced myself out of the trailer and climbed into the truck just after Joe and Anjo.
They tried to catch my eye, obviously curious about what happened, but I resolutely stared out the window, ignoring them. Father didn't even look at us as he climbed in and started the engine. The stink of petrol rose up and I stuck my head out the window, breathing cool, clean air. With a roar, the truck set off to the Reaping.
It was Joe's first year of Reaping, and he was virtually shaking with fear as we climbed out of the truck. Father curtly said something about staying safe before marching off with the bull. The reaping was late in the day, as we're District Ten, and there was a livestock auction beforehand. We had gone early so that Father could sell the bull.
Anjo ran off with him, as he was too young for Reaping, and I put a comforting hand on Joe's shoulder. 'Come on, it's only your first year of Reaping. Twelve-year-olds almost never get picked.' He nodded mutely, still staring at his boots with wide eyes. I reached into my pocket and found a few coins. 'How about I get you a sweetloaf?' We walked over to a stall which was just opening up and bought two small, sugary rolls, and ate them while wondering towards a horse auction. Joe loved horses, and had always hoped to get one.
We watched the horses being sold for a while until it was time to go into the pens. Joe clung to my hand for a lasting, fleeting moment before he was ushered to his section. I felt, as I always do at Reapings, like we're a load of livestock, and the butchers are choosing which one to kill.
The Escort seemed to have tried to connect with us by wearing what seems to be a cow skin skirt dyed a painfully bright turquoise. You can't really look at it for long without blinking. She smiled and waved enthusiastically at us, before picking out the girl tribute.
'Jenna Monroe!' I stared at her, open-mouthed. Me? This couldn't be true, it was a really bad practical joke, or a horrible dream. The sharp prod on my lower back got me moving. I suddenly realised what it was like to be led forward to the slaughter.
Pau Furnely
The horse whinnied loudly and bucked, trying its hardest to throw me off. I clung on and pulled the reins sharply, bringing its head up and stopping it from bucking. Carefully I turned it in a circle, keeping in complete control. It was a young colt, just over three years of age, and I was trying to train it.
It was a handsome young thing, a burnished chestnut in colour, with good proportions and no deformities. It had a bucket load of spirit, and would sell for a lot of money when it was properly broken in.
'Pau! Pau get over here!' The horse neighed and side-stepped at the shout, but I kept it on a tight rein and rode it over to the fence. My three sisters, Caroline, Leanne and Scarlett were all standing in a row. As I climbed off the horse Caroline grabbed its bridle and tied it to the fence. She's sixteen, two years older than me, and the boss of the four of us. Leanne is ten, and as stubborn as a rock. She's the only one to inherit our mother's dark hair – the rest of us have our father's thick red hair. Scarlett is the youngest at only six, and as bright and sweet as a button, slightly chubbier and cuter than the rest of us, who all look slightly elfin.
'Mother says to stop training and come and get ready,' said Leanne, grabbing Scarlett's hand to stop her reaching out and trying to stroke the horse, who was looking at her with wild eyes.
'In a minute. I gotta get this one into the stable first,' I said. 'Open the gate, please.' Scarlett rushed to help me as I untied the horse and slowly walked it out. We have two stables, each able to hold over a dozen horses. At the moment we have nineteen horses. Father buys them cheap when they're young and gets us to train them up, before selling them for much more. We also have a few older horses that we breed from. My favourite horse is Satan, a huge, jet black stallion who we kept for breeding – he has sired three foals this year alone.
I carefully placed the colt in a stall, making sure he had enough hay and the bolt was properly shut, before jogging up to the house. We make a pretty good business, and while we're not one of the richest, we live comfortably.
'Get this shirt on, Pau!' cried Mother as I entered the house. She was holding a starched white one of my father's in her hand/ I could feel my skin itch just looking at it.
'Can't I wear this?' I cried, indicating to the checked red shirt I had on. She let out a derisive laugh.
'And go to the Reapings covered in hay and smelling of horses? Go and get changed!' I sighed and headed upstairs. As I did I passed Caroline, Leanne and Scarlett, who were all wearing pink and white dresses with silk bows and lace.
'Count yourself lucky you get to where trousers!' said Leanne, scowling at me. I smirked at them, suddenly feeling a lot happier about my outfit.
We reached the Reaping on good time, and I wandered over to the horse auction. I knew Mother would kill me if I got my clothes dirty, so I just hovered by the fences, watching each horse get led in.
Finally the Reaping started, and I knew the torturing worry would soon be gone. I stepped into my pen, nervously fiddling with my collar. A couple of people nodded in greeting to me, but we were all too nervous to chat.
I vaguely recognised the girl tribute, Jenna Monroe, from school, but her family dealt in cattle, so we did not have much contact with them. The look in her eyes reminded me of when an animal is led to slaughter.
The boy tribute was called Joseph Monroe. When the name was called out Jenna Monroe let out a wild shriek, tears pouring down her face, and a younger boy watching wailed. Joseph started to slowly walk up to the stage, looking pale but surprisingly brave. He was about twelve.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was shoving my way forward, out of the pen. I couldn't let this happen, let a twelve-year-old boy die. I ducked under the partition and yelled for all to hear: 'I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!' The boy turned to look at me, an expression of disbelief and joy on his face. I pushed past him, and up onto the stage.
'What's your name, dear?' asked the Escort.
'Pau Furnely.'
District Eleven
Tabytha LaDawn Carmahel
It was stiflingly hot, to the point where it is difficult to breathe. Even in the shade it was like a furnace. People spent as little time as possible outside, and used a number of ways to keep cool. Young children were constantly running around with buckets of water to cool those working in the fields, and the number of cases of sunstroke had risen dramatically.
We did not have to work today, as it was the Reapings, but it was a bad harvest anyway. The lack of rain had dried the plants, and produce was pitifully low. It would be a hard winter. Everyone knew it – you could see it on their faces.
'Tabytha!' I turned at the sound of my grandmother's voice. She was sitting in the main room, surrounded by straw. She's eighty-seven and a bit crazy, but lovely and warm inside, and has looked after me since my father died when I was twelve. I learnt all I know from her. She's too old to work in the fields, but makes money weaving straw hats for the workers.
'Yes, Grandmother?' I replied, stepping into the room.
'Could I have some water?' I nodded and walked over to the tap. Only a dribble came out – there had been a water shortage for weeks. I filled it halfway with the tepid water and handed it to her. 'You're beautiful, Tabytha, just like your mother,' rasped my Grandmother, smiling up at me. I can see she used to be beautiful, beneath the wrinkles and white hair.
There was a knock on the door and I went to answer it. My two best friends, Blaise Fury and Tiffany Convey were on the doorstep. 'Hey you two.' Blaise stared at me with raised eyebrows.
'You're in a dress.' I scowled at him, looking down at my outfit. Grandmother had insisted I wear one. She had wanted lavender, but I forced her to let me have a darker purple one trimmed with black.
'Shut up – are you going to the Reaping topless?' I replied. He was bare-chested, showing off the muscles under his tanned skin. He shook his head, pulling out a rather crumpled shirt in from his pocket.
'Shall we go then?' asked Tiffany. She was in a rather more unfortunate outfit – white cotton with baby pink and blue flowers. Blaise pocked his head around the door to speak to Grandmother.
'My Dad's giving you a lift, Mrs Carmahel,' he said politely.
'Thank you, Blaise.'
'Come on, we're gonna be late!' cried Tiffany. I waved goodbye to Grandmother, who shoved a straw hat into my hands. Reluctantly I put it on, acknowledging she was right. My skin is probably the palest in the district – almost everyone else is tanned. We set off, jumping from patch of shade to patch of shade.
When we got near to the square Blaise pulled on his shirt – it was an unspoken law that everyone was well-dressed. He didn't look happy about it though. We saw a large group of our classmates and wandered over to chat with them. The main topic of conversation seemed to be whether or not Riley Beech and Stacey Appleton would kiss.
I followed it absentmindedly, occasionally dropping in the occasional comment. We all stood together in our section – a couple of girls were crying they were so worried. Everyone pretty much ignored them. Tears were commonplace.
The Escort was a young woman with dyed pus blonde hair and a scary Capitol smile. She pretty much skipped up to the girl's glass bubble when it was time for her to choose the tributes. Closing her eyes as if not to cheat, she sifted around in the paper before bringing out a strip.
'Tabytha LaDawn Carmahel.' There was an audible gasp around me as everyone turned to look. I ignored them, however, and just shook my long red hair back. Bring on these Games.
Nathaniel Merezald
'Nat, are you ready yet?' yelled my sister, Nikkole. I sighed, scowling at the shirt. Nikkole had to get a cheap one, and so she got a nasty pus coloured one. No wonder it was the least pricey I thought as I pulled it on.
'Coming,' I headed out to the main room of our bungalow. Nikkole was making sandwiches on the worn wooden table while Jone-In polished his old boots. Since our parents' deaths Nikkole has pretty much looked after me and Jone-In. Jone-In is the oldest, but he wouldn't be able to look after so much as a fish properly.
Money's tight, but we all work in the fields and manage to put food on the table, even if it's not that much. I remember when Father first died Nikkole and Jone-In were very young – only eleven and twelve. They were too young to look after me (I was five) and so we were taken in by a neighbour. But she was a cruel and harsh woman, and as soon as we could we moved into the bungalow.
Nikkole looked up and smiled at me. 'Happy birthday, Nate,' she said. It's my thirteenth birthday today. Bit of a rubbish day to be born – on the Reaping day. No one is ever up to celebrating it. I usually don't tell people it's my birthday.
Jone-In pulled a small box from his pocket and handed it to me. I pulled off the brown paper and opened it. Inside lay a thin length of leather with a rough gilt angel charm. My mouth dropped open at the sight of it. I had never owned anything like this.
'It was Father's,' said Nikkole, moving forward to help me tie it around my wrist. 'The angel will guard you from harm.'
'Thank you,' I smiled and hugged her. 'It's perfect.' Jone-In suddenly waved his old wristwatch at us.
'Oh yes, time to go,' said Nikkole, grabbing the sandwiches and shoving them into our hands. 'Eat them while we walk!'
It wasn't far to the Reaping. Jone-In has a large group of lads as friends, and was quickly hailed by them. He shouted a goodbye as he was dragged off to try some lager that they had. I was about to wander off into the crowds but Nikkole grabbed me. 'Are you going to be okay?'
'Yes, of course I am,' I replied. 'I'll just go and find some friends.' I'm much quieter than my brother, so I don't have any real friends. But I don't tell my sister that, she would mollycoddle and smother me horribly, and that would really help me get friends.
She gave me a disbelieving look but let me go. I wandered aimlessly around, nodding to the occasional 'hi' from a classmate. I followed the crowds into my section. There were a huge number of us, I felt slightly claustrophobic as they crushed us into the pens. I'm small for my age, and I could barely see or hear the stage.
I vaguely heard the girl tribute get picked, saw her flaming red hair. Then suddenly everyone was turning to me. I knew it could only mean one thing. I had been picked. I had to shove my way through the crowd we were so tightly packed. As I stumbled out of the pen, the realisation came to me.
I was going to die.
District Twelve
Trix Lexon
'Just put it on, Trix, please!' My mother begged me, holding up the dress. 'It's not too bad!' It wasn't, I reasoned. Navy blue, made of a heavy kind of cotton and trimmed in white.
'Fine,' I sighed. Mother triumphantly laid it on the bed and walked out, smiling. As soon as she was gone I shut the door and grabbed my knife from a drawer and set to work on the dress. I neatly sliced through it at the waist. In a couple of minutes it had become a top and skirt. With a smile, I pulled it on, with some leggings underneath and a belt to hold the skirt up. The top was a bit flimsy so I wore a white shirt underneath.
The smile disappeared from Mother's face when I walked downstairs. 'Oh Trix, not again!' she cried. I shrugged, smiling. I liked how I looked, and I didn't give a damn what anyone else thought. Father just smiled in an amused way when I passed him. I cut a couple of pieces of bread and buttered them, eating them as I got ready.
I'm an only child – unusual in District 12 – and I work in coal with my parents. Not actually in coal mines – that's not allowed until I'm eighteen, three years from now. But after school I help sort the coal in order of size and quality. The wages aren't amazing but it's a pretty easy job.
'Trix, we need to leave!' Mother seemed to have decided not to mention the dress again. Perhaps she didn't want to get me angry – I have a habit of throwing stuff when I'm angry. Sometimes I just throw stuff because I'm bored.
I attracted a couple of stares as we walked to the Reapings, but most people are used to my odd outfits. I never, ever wear dresses. If they're forced on me I do the cut-up treatment to make them a skirt and top. Usually I just wear an old shirt and trousers with my boots.
'Nice clothes, Lexon!' a couple of jeers were sent my way as I walked into the Reaping. I ignored them, keeping my head up and marching towards my section. A few little kids stared at me open mouthed, both at what I was wearing and the fact I cut up a perfectly good dress.
I stood slightly apart from my peers, staring into the middle-distance. I didn't care what they thought, and they all knew it. Didn't stop the whispers though. I was as used to the whispers as they were to the clothes, but it wasn't like I enjoyed them. All I wanted was for the Reaping to be over.
The Escort looked depressed at being given District Twelve, and I'm not surprised. We're by far the worst district, and our tributes never survive long. Last year they barely got three steps before a pair of careers slaughtered them.
Still, he made a good show at being lively and enthusiastic, his aquamarine curls bobbed as he gave a speech. 'And now, the moment we have all been waiting for, it is time to pick the girl tribute!' He acted as if this was some massive raffle, and he was about to pick the winner. Theatrically closing his eyes, he plunged a white hand inside and picked out a slip of paper. 'Trix Lexon!'
I could almost feel the pity mixed with relief. Shaking back my bobbed dark hair, I confidently strode out of the section, and started to walk up to the stage. I looked neither left nor right, but acted as though I was just walking up in assembly at school to collect a prize. I have never actually done that, by the way.
I reached the stage and walked up the steps. At that point I was starting to realise what was happening, and to my horror tears pricked my eyes. Furiously I blinked them away –the absolute worst thing I could do would be to appear as a weak cry-baby. The Escort smiled and wrung my hand enthusiastically.
'Congratulations! You're gonna have so much fun!' he cried. I incredulously raised an eyebrow and he quickly moved to pick the boy, blushing slightly. I had to repress a smirk at this. Perhaps I could have a little fun.
Ember Gildern
The lighter was half-full of flammable liquid. Skilfully I flicked the catch, and a small flame appeared. Touching it to a pile of ripped up paper, I soon had small fire burning. Knowing it wouldn't last long, I touched the two brands to the flames. They immediately burst into flame, the fuel stuck to them burning well.
I jumped to my feet. I was on top of a rough wall, above a busy street in the Seam. Twirling the brands in my hands, I laughed and started to shout. 'Hey, anybody want some fire? Come watch the Pyro-boy! I might get Reaped, this could be a one-and-only chance!' There were only a few early-morning workers around at first, but soon there was a crowd gathering. I carried on twirling the brands, occasionally throwing one into the air and catching it or passing it around my body.
When I glimpsed the white uniform of a Peacekeeper I knew it was time to leave. Quickly extinguishing the brands, I turned and sprinted down the wall and out of sight. The wall came to an end and I climbed down, slipping into an alley between a derelict house and a tavern. It was filthy, full of old crates and puddles of excretion, with the odd rat trotting about.
Deciding not to stay to long, I walked into the derelict house instead. I had to be careful – some parts were unsafe and there were nails and splinters everywhere. It was strangely eerie, the empty rooms and creaking doors. A burnt-out pile of coal sat on a metal plate, remnants of some homeless person. The stairs were almost totally destroyed – just a pile of wooden planks and a nasty paisley carpet – but the wall next to it had crumbled into an almost perfect climbing surface.
Quickly I clambered up, using my arm strength more than my legs. I got about two metres up and realised I had hit a dead end. Cursing, I looked around for a way out. I couldn't get back down – the gaps were too small and far apart for that. I noticed that half the top step was still hanging there. I could perhaps reach it if I jumped off. It was risky – a fall could smash my leg, and that was the last thing I wanted on Reaping day.
I tried anyway. Pushing off, I reached out to grab the stair. My hands caught hold of it, but as they did a splinter lodged itself in my palm. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I managed to drag myself up onto the landing. The floor seemed unsafe, so I made my way quickly to a window. From there I could get up onto the roof.
Once I was on the roof I lodged myself against the chimney of the house attached next door. It was warm, with a small stream of smoke coming out. I sat back and concentrated on my hand. The splinter was a nasty, jagged thing, stuck in at an angle. I frowned, and decided to get it out as quickly as possible. Holding my hand still, I gripped the splinter and wrenched it out.
'SHIT THAT HURTS!' I shouted as it was pulled out, startling a couple of crows, who flew off, cawing angrily. After flinging away the slightly bloody splinter, I lay back to watch Seam wake up. It was very early in the morning, perhaps five or six, but I always wake up early. I'm not much of a sleeper, and I much prefer watching people from up high, just going about their daily business.
I don't usually create a scene like I did with the fire brands, but I'm a bit of a pyromaniac and I hate the Hunger Games, and today I just wanted to tell people how I felt. I hope no one recognised me. I don't think they did – the flames make me look very different, and I was up high. Anyway, no one would snitch on me.
Soon, I reluctantly realised that it was time for me to go. The last thing I wanted to do was leave this quiet place of solitude, and go to the scary, noisy Reapings. If I could just run, leave the Panem and Hunger Games and sadness forever, I would. But I cannot – there is nowhere I can go. So I stood up, and started to walk down the roofs of the houses. I didn't want to make the hellish journey back through the derelict house.
Soon I came to the end of the row of houses. The end wall was full of broken bricks and gaps, so I easily climbed down. I'm quite a good climber, I guess. I don't like doing anything fancy, but I can scale an almost flat surface with ease. Once I was on the ground I set off back home.
My parents and brother, Phyn, were already up and getting ready. Mother gave me a slightly reproachful look at my dirty clothes – it was obvious where I had been – but did not complain. I smiled gratefully at her, and ran upstairs to change. We're not incredibly well-off, as the wages in the coal mines are rubbish, so my best shirt was one of Phyn's old ones. The dark blue material went well with my eyes.
We walked in silence to the Reaping. I'm the only one getting Reaped – Phyn's too old, and I can feel everyone else's worry. I'm not so fussed. I probably won't get Reaped, and if I do, I'll do the best I can.
The Reaping square is already crowded, as I made the family late. Phyn and my parents muttered their goodbyes and headed off to watch. I joined my section, staring at my shoes. All I wanted was for it to be over so I could go back to a roof.
The annoying, blue-haired Escort picked out Trix Lexon as the girl tribute. She's a year younger than me, and a complete tomboy, with bobbed spiky hair and a tough look in her eyes. As usual she was wearing a strange outfit – what looked like a dress cut in half, with leggings and a shirt underneath.
I could see that Trix had ruffled the Escort, and I had to smile. It was quickly wiped from my face when the boy was picked out. It was me.
So, first off I should apologise for the horribly long time this chapter took to write. I know I promised to post quickly, but this chapter is long and I have been crazily busy at the moment, as it is the end of term at school :D but it's the holidays now so I should update sooner.
As always, here is the section on people's points and the list of sponsor gifts you can buy with them. Remember, if you want points just review (properly, please!) and I will award them to you. I try as hard as I can not to, but if I do forget to add points for you, just message me and I will check up on it.
So here it is!
Elena:20
White Horse: 20
Elven Thief: 50
EY Ink: 20
Time. To. Vaporise. A. Maths. Teacher: 20
SoySauce17: 40
Pisces. TJ: 20
Miss-J'x: 20
Pass the peas and pies please: 20
Callmetribute104: 20
Loveisintheair22: 20
SeekerDraconis: 30
Fuzzman88: 50
LuvsDumbledee97: 20
Loveisintheair22: 20
SakuraDrops141: 30
DaAnimeChick: 20
MissDizzyD: 30
I hope I didn't miss anyone off! With these points you can buy things:
Water Purification Tablets: 5P
Matches: 5P
Food (small amount): 10P
Food (Medium): 15P
Food (Big): 20P
Weapon (average): 20P
Weapon (good): 30P
Medicine (normal): 20P
Medicine (Capitol): 25P
Refill of Ammunition (Arrows, darts, etc): 10P
Clothing: 10P
Anything else, please message me and I will tell you how much. This will be trickier if you do not have an account. If you do not have enough points and no account, I will simply not give the tribute the object, but I will post it up here.
This list will be updated, and things will get more expensive. The points list will be updated every chapter as well.
