District 11

Sunshine Reeves

I began working in the fields almost as soon as I could walk. In District 11, everyone is expected to help with the harvest apart from the very young babies, who accompany their mothers into the fields, strapped to their backs. We're the agricultural district; fields of crops stretch in all directions as far as the eye can see. It looks like a land of plenty, but looks can be deceptive and, as if to illustrate this, the whole district is surrounded by a ten-metre high barbed wire fence. There are metal plates at the base of this fence to keep burrowing animals out - and the human population in.

As for living on the crops we grow, forget it. They are for the Capitol's benefit, not ours; anyone who is caught stealing from the fields faces a public whipping and the Peacekeepers in 11 won't listen to any appeals for clemency. That's why nearly all the kids of reaping age are signed up for tesserae, including myself; I signed up when I was twelve, for myself, my parents and my three siblings. At this year's reaping, I had thirty-five entries, one of which was drawn by our district escort. And the response to the request for volunteers was the same as it has been every year for as long as I can remember; no-one stepped forward.

Hence why I'm currently in the Remake Centre, waiting for the start of the tribute parade. Because I come from District 11, my costume is themed around agriculture. I'm wearing a long leaf-green dress, which has been decorated with artificial fruit. There's a belt of berries and vines around my waist, with matching bracelets on my wrists. My sandals are green to match my dress, as is the cape which has been draped over my shoulders and fastened with a pin in the shape of an apple. Finally, a crown of fruit and leaves has been placed on my head. The fruit looks good enough to eat, but I know it's as real as my stylist's bright yellow hair.

I try not to look at my district partner, Jethro. He's a year older than me and he's one of the handsomest boys in District 11. But I mustn't think of him in those terms because it won't do either of us any good; at least one of us is going to die in the arena. There's no sense in getting too close to someone you may shortly have to kill, or who may shortly kill you. Though many tributes form alliances, they do so on the understanding that the arrangement is only temporary, that they will have to be prepared to kill each other if necessary.

My thoughts turn to my parents and siblings. I have two brothers and a sister called Plow, Daisy and Samuel; their respective ages are thirteen, ten and eight years old. Plow is also signed up for tesserae, though I would prefer it if he wasn't. But, with things the way they are in 11, families often struggle to put food on the table - and I told you what happens to anyone caught stealing crops. The only way to obtain extra rations legally is to have one or more children who are claiming tesserae.

Even so, I don't want Daisy and Samuel to face the same increased risk of ending up in the arena. So I'm going to do whatever it takes to win these Games. Coming from District 11, I already know quite a bit about edible plants, so I shouldn't have too much trouble feeding myself. Unless, of course, all the plants in the arena are poisonous; the Gamemakers have done that before. But I won't know until I'm in the arena, so I'm going to work on the assumption that I'll be able to live off the land.

But that alone won't be enough to win the Games. I'll have to be prepared to fight and kill my fellow tributes and, for that, I'll need to be able to handle weapons. That means I'll have to spend time at the weapons training stations while I'm at the Training Centre. I won't have time to get as good as the Careers, but I should at least be able to learn enough to enable me to defend myself.

I keep this thought in mind as the doors to the Remake Centre open and the chariots start to roll out onto the streets of the Capitol.

Jethro Wilcox

I replay the reaping in my mind. Not the whole thing, just the part where my name was drawn. I see myself slowly making my way to the stage, hear the request for volunteers to take my place. Needless to say, none of the other District 11 boys of reaping age were willing to risk their lives in the arena. And that meant only one thing: I was a tribute in the Seventy-third Hunger Games, one of twenty-four kids who will shortly be forced to fight to the death.

I'm presently in the Remake Centre, waiting for the start of the tribute parade. Since we come from District 11, my district partner, Sunshine, and I are dressed up to represent the agricultural industry. Our stylists have chosen fruit as their theme. My costume consists of a green wraparound skirt with matching sandals and cape; my chest is bare. The belt round my waist has been made to look like vines, with berries adding splashes of other colours to the green. Of course, the berries are all edible varieties. My cape is fastened with a pin shaped like an apple and my headdress is a crown of leaves and fruit. All artificial, of course.

I didn't know Sunshine before we were reaped and I didn't bother getting to know her on the journey to the Capitol. For one thing, what would be the point? We both know at least one of us will die in the arena. And then there's the fact that it's not unknown for a tribute to kill their own district partner. Sunshine looks innocent enough, but for all I know she's already planning my death and that means I can't trust her. In fact, I can't trust any of my fellow tributes; even if I formed an alliance with one of them, that ally could turn on me at any moment, especially if we both made it to the latter stages.

That's why I've decided to go it alone in the arena. I'm fairly strong from years of heavy agricultural work and I also know about edible plants. So I should be able to keep myself alive for a while. But, if I'm to stand any chance in these Games, I'll have to get my hands on a weapon and I'll have to be prepared to use it to kill my fellow tributes. Not because I want to, but because, when it comes to the Hunger Games, it's kill or be killed. And I don't plan on getting killed if I can help it.

I think of the moment my family came to say goodbye. My mother and father, who gave me the pebble I plan to use as my district token, the one reminder of home I'll be allowed to bring into the arena. My older brother, George, and my sister-in-law, Acre, who've been married for nearly a year. Acre is expecting her first child and, knowing I may not live to see my niece or nephew, she promised to name the baby after me if it's a boy. If it's a girl, she'll choose a name beginning with J.

I didn't have chance to thank her before one of the Peacekeepers came to tell us that time was up and I had to leave for the Capitol. But, as I left the Justice Building, I found myself hoping that she and George will never have to send any of their kids to the Games. Of course, their child won't become eligible for the reaping until the Eighty-sixth Games - your first reaping is the one which takes place after your twelfth birthday - but George and Acre must be thinking about it already. Every parent in the districts faces the possibility of losing at least one child to the Games.

It's hard to believe I may never see District 11 again. Even though it's very strictly policed and you can get whipped, or even killed, for the slightest infraction, it's the only home I've ever known. I'd much rather be there than in the Capitol, waiting to be paraded through the streets on a chariot.

Speaking of which, the doors to the Remake Centre are opening.