A/N Hey! District Ten is here. It took a little longer than I wanted to because one of the tribute forms didn't give me much to work from in terms of depth. Anyways, I'll step aside and let you read. Pease do tell me if I missed any typos.

Kaleb Sirius, 16, District Ten Male

Life is good

I look up at the wooden plaque I have above my bedroom door. Panem can be harsh sometimes, so it's nice to have a constant reminder of the happiness in life.

I lean back. School is out for the summer, and though I have to work this afternoon, I'm free for the morning. You know, it's kind of… boring. Usually, I'd go running in the morning, but it's only eight and the sun's blazing. They say that District Ten is one of the southern-most districts. They wouldn't be wrong. So I'll have to get up earlier tomorrow morning.

The doorbell rings, and I step out for a moment to see who it is while Jemima, my twin sister, rushes to the door. Eh, one of her friends.

I sit on my bed and yawn. Across the room is Lowell's bed, but he's out playing with his friends. Maybe I'll go check on Paden; he works in the markets, so his breaks are usually opposite from mine.

Jemima peeks in. "Hey, Kaleb."

"Yeah?" I say. Her friend Icelyn stands behind her. I give a small wave. "What's up?"

"We're going to Austin Market. You want to come?"

I look at her quizzically. "...Why? When did I become a shopping fanatic?"

"Nah. You just looked lonely. You should get some friends," she says with a straight face though the corner of her lip is twitching. I stare back at her, and she bursts out laughing. "Fine. I actually asked because… well… they're holding a discount for groups at that breakfast shop. We need three people, and since you haven't eaten yet, I thought you'd want to come. Besides, you looked bored."

"You were right about that," I say. The smile spreads across my face as I get up. "Well then, let's go."

—

I shove the last bit of the grinkal into my mouth and bask in that wonderful taste that overwhelms my taste buds. Okay, fine, I may be exaggerating a bit, but that combination of that hyper-thin corn pancake and fried eggs along with those sauces and condiments in good like nothing else, especially when it's served freshly made. I have to say, the food is the best part about District Ten. It's easy, cheap, and good. In fact, it's almost cheaper eating out that cooking sometimes. Jemima and Icelyn sit across from me at the table, and as they finish their food, my eyes wander around the "restaurant," if you can call it that. It's really just a small room with a counter with one end and the rest filled with cheap plastic tables and chairs. Outside, there are more tables spilling onto the road outside, but no one cares. This road hasn't been driven on in years.

I stand up. "I'm gonna go find Paden," I say, "I'll see you two around."

"Bye," they chime as I leave.

Because most of the work in District Ten is done in shifts that go 'round the clock, there are always people here, eating, socializing, selling things. Out of all the nation-famous markets of District Ten, this one, Austin Market, is the oldest. It sits on Austin Road, and it's named for one of our earliest victors, Austin Orford, who won back when Four was a Career district and we were slaughtered every year. We've come a long way since, but us citizens of District Ten don't forget our roots.

I wander down the road until I reach Paden's stall. Like most city families, they both own a shift and work in the meat-packing factories, but unlike most families, they don't need to work. They've got plenty of money, but they work anyway. It doesn't make much sense to me. Don't you make more money so that you don't have to work? Oh well, they can do whatever they do.

Paden sits on a tall wooden stool behind his family's jewelry stall. The breeze is messing with his carefully slicked hair.

"You look miserable," I comment.

"You bet," he says, his green eyes dead with boredom. "It's bad enough when you work because you need too; working though you don't need to is just terrible."

"Cheer up," I say, "You're inheriting more of that money when it gets passed down."

He shrugs.

"So how's the other 'business' going today?" I tease, "How many girls have you picked up today?" He's got a face to die for, and I can't resist messing with him sometimes.

He makes an exaggerated gesture of flipping his hair back. I break out laughing, and he grins. "It's a little slower today," he jokes, playing around, "Maybe the sunlight's direction isn't right."

I laugh again.

"Kaleb," he reprimands in an overly stern face, "Stop. You'll scare away all the customers."

I smile, and he cracks his neck.

"Did you hear about the mayor's nervous breakdown?" he says, "One of his advisors — whatever his name is — is doing his job right now."

"Really?" I say, "When did this happen?"

"Last night. According to what I've heard, they found him on the floor of his office completely crashed."

"Oh wow," I say, "He's still trying to get over his son's death?"

"Apparently so. I guess death is just hard for anyone, but it must be especially hard for a Capitol official to lose their son to the Hunger Games."

"That's sadly ironic," I muse. I can't imagine what it'd be like to work for the Capitol all my life and then have them rip away something dear to me, so I don't blame the guy for breaking down.

Still, Panem isn't all bad all the time. In fact, it's quite nice.

...and life's still good.

Deborah Merlyn, 17, District Ten Female

I softly bring my left hand down on the final key of the piece — the C three octaves below middle C. I lift my hands and sit, transfixed, staring at the piano keys. The key of C is an interesting key. It's so… bland, but that's what gives it its beauty. It' simplicity conveys an innocence that no other key does, even other bland keys such as D. I personally hate the key of D. It's bland, but in an annoying way. It's happy, yet not happy enough. It's not bright or vivid or simple or anything. Just bland. Why am I thinking about this anyway? The piano tends to have a mesmerizing effect on me; I can almost hear the notes as my eyes wander across the pattern of black and white keys.

I rise, tucking my hair behind my ears, and I pause for a moment to look out the window. It's summer here in District Ten, and the huge hibiscus outside the window is blooming like nothing else. A few butterflies are gathered around it, their beautiful, colorful wings contrasting with the simple beauty of the large, white hibiscus flowers. I remember helping my grandmother plant that hibiscus when I was eight or nine, and though she isn't physically with us anymore, I see her every time I see the plant. It's her legacy, of a sort.

Quickly, I slip up the stairs, taking care to tread softly, and slide into my room. Sitting down at my desk, I pick up the next page and begin reading.

"He had no time to react before the bright light enveloped him. Everything — the room, the desk, his coffee mug — it all disappeared from sight. He squinted to keep out the blinding light, and for a moment, he felt a twinge of regret before quickly pushing it away. There is-"

I take my red pen and circle the word "is," and write in the word "was" on the side. This is my brother Brock's new manuscript, and he had asked me to proofread it for him. It works well for the both of us. He knows I'm critical enough of what I read so he's happy, while I'm happy because I get something good to read. Though I just love reading, I don't know if I could ever pick up writing. Moving on…

"...no room for regret at this point; the task at hand required his full attention. If-"

"Deborah!" my older sister Brenda calls from downstairs. She's Brock's twin sister, but they couldn't be more different.

"Yeah?" I reply, getting up from the chair.

"C'mon. We're packing up for the picnic."

"Be right there!" I stack the papers and neatly place my pen down beside the manuscript before rushing down the creaky stairs. When I slide into the kitchen, my mom and my two siblings are already packing everything.

"Deborah," my mom says, not looking up from the bread she's cutting, "Go wash a few apples, will you?"

"Okay," I say, picking a few apples out of the pantry and taking them to the sink, where Brock is washing the dishes. I playfully nudge his arm, and he scoots over to give me a bit more room. "Thanks."

"No problem," he says, placing the last plate on the drying rack. He dries his hand on the yellow towel and pushes up his glasses. "How's the manuscript so far?"

I rub an apple underneath the running water. "It's good so far. There's the occasional problem with tense where I can tell you wrote one sentence and left off."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Not really. I just know your writing style."

"Ah, okay," he says, "Thanks."

"I'll be glad to proofread anytime." I dry the apples on a cloth and place them in the basket. Mom comes up and puts the container of sandwiches in, and she pronounces it done.

Brenda grabs the basket, and we leave the comfort of the house for the bright, hot sun outside. As usual, I take the center seat while Brenda and Brock sit on either side of me. The car backs out of the driveway.

This is a family tradition for us now. Every year, at the beginning of summer, we go out as a family to a new location and have a picnic.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"I found a park down by the low end of the canyon," my dad says, his eyes on the road. He takes a drink of water. "It's supposed to quiet and natural there."

I smile. "That's good." Quiet places are always good for the muse — at least in my experience.

I lean back and wait for us to get there. I really am blessed to have a great family.

—

Hours later, I return to my room and sit down at my desk to resume proofreading. I'm three words in when I put the manuscript down. No, this isn't the time of proofreading. I'm not in that zone right now. I get back up and consider going down to the piano. Nope, no ideas for that as well. So, I sit on my bed and stare into space.

My gaze lands upon a small box that sits on my bookshelf. It's not that big — only about the size of a few small books stacked on top of each other — but to me, it's so valuable. I grab it and take off the cover. It's been a while since I looked in this memory box.

Inside lies a collection of items I've kept for as long as I can remember. There's the first coin I ever got. Some people like to punch holes in them and wear them on strings, but six-year-old Deborah Merlyn was too afraid of losing it. Then, there's an old chipped wooden bracelet that my grandmother gave me before she died. The faded yellow stub of a ticket that was for the first show in the first movie theater in District Ten. I had somehow managed to get myself into first in line, and my younger self was so amazed by all the chairs and everything. The most recent addition is a pin I received when I completed the black level of my martial arts training. I'm not quite sure why they call it the black level, but that day, I felt like I was on top of the world.

I wistfully return the box to its place on my bookshelf. Aye… There's nothing like a good day.

Questions:

1. How do you feel about Kaleb? Did I keep him realistic? What do you expect from him? What would you like to see from him?

2. I had a ball with Deborah's musical side. Did it get a little boring for the non-musicians reading? What do you expect? What would you like to see?

3. Favorite/Least Favorite thing about this chapter?

4. After the Non-Reapings, should I do a chapter for character recaps?

5. How may of y'all are still in school? Are you also on Winter Break? If so, how are you enjoying it?

A/N The Non-Reapings are almsot over! My goal is to get both District Eleven and Twelve done by January 5th. Welp, wish me luck!

See y'all,

~Joseph