District Eleven & Twelve Non-Reapings


Yggdrasil Kane, 14, District Eleven

Far, far out in the fringes of District Eleven, where the blushing azaleas bloomed bold and clear, where acres upon acres of pines and maples stood secure without fear of being cleared for farmland, where the Capitol seemed but a distant, fleeting memory, there stood a Tree.

The Mother Tree.

Her lofty boughs had spread shade for centuries; Her anchored roots remained constant no matter the sun or storm, from ages past until eternity, Her health and well-being preserved by Tree Branch families for all posterity forevermore. Neither heavy tool nor agricultural work dared defile this holy ground. No axe would ever venture near her sturdy trunk, so thick that it would take two, three, or even more sets of loving arms to circle it.

On this particular spring day, a warm zephyr swirled high overhead, tinged with the subtle yellow of primaveral pollen, released from the fresh green grasses below. Sitting beside a small heap of garden tools on Her lawn, Yggdrasil gazed up into Her branches that shrouded this consecrated sanctum in their latticed shadow, though which she could see birds chirping overhead. Her eyes slowly wandered over the budding leaves bright with the fresh life of spring, some of which hadn't been there when she had sat in that very spot the day before. In an intersection between two branches, a woven mesh of twigs and leaves hung, a new bird nest.

She gasped in awe. Her enthralled eyes opened wide with wonder.

"Iggy," Mama said besider her, voice as serene as the spring winds. "You're beyond simply watching. Close your eyes and listen to Her."

She frowned. The fresh leaves were just so green and the new twigs were so tender—how could she tear her eyes away?

But she obeyed anyway. "Yes, Mama."

She shut her eyes with her head tilted back, instantly transported into the world of smell and touch, where visual inhibitions disappeared and all that remained was breeze and fragrance and sunshine on her brown skin. She flung wide her arms to embrace that which she could not see, the intangible essense of the universe that Mama and Anette and the other Tree Guardians always spoke of.

She waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Would she sense it this time? Her abilities were still weak.

"Patiently reach for that which you cannot see," Mama cooed.

"Yes, Mama."

Iggy's shoulders relaxed, her worries assuaged for now. If Mama was so sure of it, then she would sense it eventually, even if it wasn't today. As she waited with her face open to the sky and body welcome to the winds, a tiny rippling sensation tickled her back, beginning at the bottom of her spine and running up until it engulfed her head in an ethereal echo of overwhelming vivacity. An enraptured gasp escaped her lips, but it quickly vanished, absorbed into the spellbinding utopia of life created by the Mother Tree.

Mama's voice rustled in her ear. "What do you sense?"

"I sense… a strength… running up my back."

"Mmm. And what do you feel?"

"It's…" She hesitated, mind too far lost in the quintessence of natural tranquility to string coherent words together. "It's awesome."

"Very good, darlin'." Mama's affirmation topped the mountain of marvel like the final pastel petals atop the cherry blossom trees.

"That is Her life force, the energy of Nature that sustains us all."

Satisfied, she leaned back and lowered herself onto the carpet of grass, resting in halcyon bliss. But then a cloud covered the sun, and her skin turned cold. The tingling sensation disappeared as quickly as it had come. She peeked at Mama, but she found her mentor perfectly serene, even though the air felt like it had dropped ten degrees.

Maybe she should've brought a jacket. Then she wouldn't be so bothered by the sudden drop in temperature. But Mama didn't seem rustled, not one bit. Iggy closed her eyes again and resisted the temptation to cross her shivering arms for warmth. Even if it wasn't easy, she'd make Mama proud.

One day, Mama would retire to the Guardian Abode, having faithfully completed her duties to nature like all the faithful women before her. Iggy would become the Primary Guardian of her family. She would take on the significant responsibility of guarding Her.

She still had much to learn.

A soft rustle, barely audible with the way it dissolved into the ambience of nature. Iggy cracked her eyes open to find Mama watching her with a cherishing smile. What was Mama smiling at?

"Did I do good?"

"Of course, darlin'.

She smiled back and shyly averted her eyes.

"Now we may begin removing Life Suckers."

Life Suckers. The results of little seeds gone astray, growing on sacred land reserved for Her. Weeds, which would proliferate into disaster if they were not removed. Iggy picked up a weeder and knelt down beside a dandelion head. Biting her lip in focus, she brushed the leaves out of the way and dug into the ground.

She glanced up as she pried the dandelion's roots out of the dirt, withering inside when she found Mama's lips pressed together in an unimpressed line.

"What's… wrong?"

"Very close, Iggy." Mama gently took the weeder from her hands and demonstrated, smoothly teasing the little rootlets out with the tenderness of a mother with her baby. "Even the Life Suckers must be treated with respect, for they are of Her as well. Now you try."

Iggy took a deep breath and held the weeder in her hand once again, careful to maintain a loose and gentle grip on its handle, channeling Her energy instead of the fierce, strenuous force of the fields. Fieldwork was one thing; Mother Tree was another.

"Like this?"

"Yes, darlin'." Mama finally smiled, a beam of sunshine that warmed Iggy's core. She had finally done it right. "You'll be a wonderful Tree Guardian in your own time. Now run along and be."

Iggy rose to her feet as delicately as a morning glory and reverently tiptoed her way out of Her sanctuary, whispering an apology when she accidentally bumped a flower head. Perhaps she wasn't quite ready to be a Tree Guardian, but that was okay. She'd get there under Mama's guidance.


Scythe Chandler, 18, District Eleven

A light rain splattered down on the fields of District Eleven. It was summer, and as the raindrops hit the hot ground, which had spent days absorbing intense sun rays, many evaporated on contact, erupting in a stifling mist that hovered near the ground and did nothing for the sweltering heat.

Scythe smiled from inside the runner boy station, a rickety, open-walled shelter that had been thrown together in a hurry. On every side of him, fields of vegetables stretched as far as the eye could see, an ocean of green on brown broken up by the occasional Peacekeeper watchtower or equipment locker, now hazy from the mist. He methodically picked up his stool and moved it out from underneath the overhang so that the rain fell on him, drenching his skin with the satisfying pitter-patter of little water drops. As he drank in the fragrance of the earth, he exhaled slowly. Nothing could be better than this.

"Ugh." The voice came from behind him. "I hate rain."

Scythe sighed at Savoy, the source of the complaint. His fellow runner boy paced the station and kicked at the dirt floor, sending up little clods of dirt that further marred what had once been a perfectly smooth surface—he had made sure of that. Savoy was eighteen; the guy should know better! Complaining didn't get anyone anywhere. Scythe grimaced, but there was no use in saying anything.

"At least make it cooler if it's going to rain!" the guy continued, as if the whole world needed to hear his weather woes. "But no! It's just gotta—"

"Shut up, Savoy," Scythe said, voice flat and unamused. "No one wants to hear it."

Savoy slapped him on the back and rolled his eyes. "Okay, Mr. Robot."

Don't touch me! He bristled and pressed his lips firmly together to choke the words rising in his throat—Maintain your cool, no need to talk, keep it to yourself. No one here really cared enough if the name or the slap bothered him. It was probably his fault that either stung in the first place.

A woman approached the station, one of the field work managers. Scythe rose to his feet and stood at attention. This was his job, to manage the boys that passed messages throughout the brassica-growing sector of District Eleven. Would it be more efficient if the Capitol used its technology to help them communicate? Of course! But they clearly didn't care, evidenced by the towers that dotted the landscape, manned with the men in white and their guns.

"Message Boy?" the woman said.

Scythe curled up the corner of his lips. It was almost funny, the way he'd been working here for years yet almost no one knew his name. To everyone, he was "Message Boy." He raised an eyebrow and readied his notepad and pen. Yes?

"Two messages," the woman said. "Tell Tool Center that Locker B-15 is out of shovel head replacements."

He scrawled it down in his messy shorthand and flipped to the next page. "And?"

"Shed B-25a needs a fertilizer restock, to Supply Center."

"Locker B-15, Shed B-25a. Tool Center and Supply Center. Got it."

Two messages. Only he and Savoy were here at the moment; they'd both have to run one. He shut his eyes for a brief moment and mentally pulled up a well-run map of District Eleven's Brassica sector, or Sector B. Tool Center was closer, so it'd probably be best for him to run that route, if only because he was often needed here as the manager of this runner station.

He sighed. That would mean sending Savoy to Supply Center, and that was just begging for disaster, between road work and town and Peacekeeper stations. Odds were, distraction-prone Savoy would get bogged down somewhere or lose the message. If he wanted that message delivered efficiently, then he'd have to do it himself.

"So, we have two messages…"

"Agh…"

He whirled around to find Savoy with a sullen frown that made him seethe. What was up with the attitude? They didn't have to break their backs under the hot sun day after day. All a runner boy had to do was, well, run—and for good pay at that! He narrowed his eyes, ripped a sheet out from the notepad, and handed it to the kid.

"You're going to Tool Supplies," Scythe said. "Take the eastern route."

"Why?"

The little bugger… He bit his lip. Anger was inefficient and unproductive. "There was an accident on the west one."

"…Fine."

Scythe already knew what the boy wanted to say, and he didn't want to hear any shat about the mud or puddles or whatever-the-crap people liked to complain about. Besides, he had already taken on himself the longer trip to Supply Center. He sighed as he watched Savoy jog down the muddy path between the rows of cabbages, almost expecting him to slip and fall with his two left feet.

A small chorus of yells suddenly arose behind him and a little boy stumbled up towards the message station, his shirt soaked with mud and a couple of frustrated farm workers in his wake.

"Radi…" Scythe sighed, for what felt like the millionth time that day. "You fell in the cabbages?"

"Y-Yes…"

"You had one job."

"I'm sorry!" the little boy cried, a tear dripping down his cheek.

Scythe froze momentarily. He now also had to deal with a crying child? He didn't sign up for that. Who decided that eleven-year-olds were capable enough for this job?

"Go sit down somewhere," he ordered, sorting through a mess of demands in his head. Message to deliver. Crying child. Messy station.

"What if a message comes in?"

He grabbed his notepad and hesitated, but there was no other way. Reluctantly, he thrust the pad and pen into Radi's hands. "Write them down exactly the way they tell you. Exactly. I don't want to see you try no shorthand, you hear me?"

"O-Okay."

"And don't you go nowhere. I'll be back in two hours. We'll handle the messages then."

Radi nodded and wiped his eyes with his... ugh, muddy arm.

Should he have been nicer? Maybe. Radi was still young and sensitive; he hadn't quite developed a thick skin yet. But Scythe had no time for any of that. He had a mission to complete, and business was business. On his way off, he nudged a couple dirt clods back into the pits Savoy had created, tamping down hard with his foot to flatten the floor as best he could. These kids… being with them could be such a waste of time. They'd cut the efficiency of his system, mess up every last plan, waste so much of his time.

Or even worse. He might get attached.


Zirconia Eskridge, 18, District Twelve

The sun itself seemed vexed to rise on this sleepy morning in District Twelve, a grimy settlement coated in coal dust and surrounded by miles upon miles of forested mountains. No one wanted to be up early on Sunday morning, "The Lord's Day," as it was often called in Twelve, a fossil-like vestige of societies long gone.

Who was this "Lord"? The Head Peacekeeper? The Capitol? Who knew? Who cared? Six long days of hard labor in the mines were enough to keep anyone in bed for an extra few hours of sleep.

In a sturdy-enough shack on the edge of the Seam near Town, Zirconia sparingly dabbled on a bit of makeup as she stared at her reflection in the family's silver mirror. Its gleaming shine contrasted jarringly with the rest of the simple household, another remnant of days gone by. A simple stick of lipstick smuggled in from the Capitol could fetch a month's wages, so she had to stretch her mother's little old box for as long as humanly possible.

On her way out, she slung a little purse over her arm and tore off a small chunk of bread for breakfast, whistling a tune. When she passed the cracked-open door to her parents' bedroom, she paused and peeked in. Even as he slept, wrinkles furrowed her father's face. She had seen them multiply by day, aided by the gray streaks in his hair, but they seemed so wrong to plague him in his sleep. The past four years hadn't been kind to him.

When the Eskridges lost their position among the upper echelons of District Twelve, he'd been too proud to go work in the mines, instead choosing to manipulate connections to barely keep the family afloat. Not exactly ethical, but considering what she'd been doing… She wasn't in a position to judge. He did whatever he had to do. She did whatever she had to do. All in the name of survival.

But that was enough reminiscing for a lifetime. She had no space for past woes, not when they were all still alive and kicking.

Well, she did most of the kicking. Literally.

When she emerged from her house, the morning dew still lingered on the wild grasses that grew in the dirt streets.

As she skipped her merry way into Town, the rotting scrap wood shacks gave way to sturdier hardwood homes, with real glass windows instead of the plastic panes or greased paper commonly found in the Seam. She caught glimpses of real, smoothed rocking chairs and multicolored rugs—oh, one even looked like the one she used to have in her room!

Up ahead, a vaguely familiar man stepped out of his front door, dressed in a clean, pressed shirt. Who was he? Some acquaintance of a former acquaintance of her father? If her father were here, he'd die of embarrassment. Though she couldn't deny that she inherited some of his business acumen, this was one area where the father-daughter pair differed.

"Good morning!" she sang.

"O-Oh, hello." His eyes widened in shock as embarrassed recognition crept across his face. The daughter of the Malachite Eskridge? Dressed in Seam clothes? How absolutely scandalous.

But she didn't care. She waved at him with a shameless smile as she passed by. "Nice seeing you around!"

No response? Rude, but she had better things to think about than some grumpy Town person.

On a whim, she took a right instead of a left at the next intersection. So what if it would take her longer? Life was for living. She'd just have to loop back early enough as to not keep Zeph waiting.

Before long, the mayor's house towered on her right and she stopped to gape at its graceful arches and perfectly manicured garden. It wasn't majestic, exactly, but it had a security gate! How many othe houses in Twelve had one of those? Only the Victor's Village, and those were always open since no one would dare go after old, dying Joktan Telfour or his caretaker Kiera Isenham,the two living Victors of District Twelve.

Victors… Hunger Games… Reaping Day… oh?

It'd be Reaping Day in a week. That whole effin' mansion would be whole effin' empty, which meant there'd be a whole effin' lot that she and Zeph could do. So what if its security was tighter than the Justice Building itself? Zeph's big brain would come up with something; she was sure of it. He always did.

Now, where was Zeph?


Zeph Kadir, 18, District Twelve

In the furthest corner of the Seam, Zeph started off his day by sweeping the floor. Among the three of them that shared the two-room house, the responsibility for Sunday sweeping had fallen to him. But he'd have to be quick. Zirconia would soon be waiting for him.

Once he swept up the last pile of debris, he slipped on his sturdy boots and hurried out, even though his stomach growled to remind him that he hadn't eaten yet. But that was fine. They'd make enough to buy a little breakfast; they nearly always did.

The Town was now awake, bustling with the weekend's business. He found Zirconia gawking at a bird cage outside the cobbler's shop, completely ignoring the people going in and out.

"Poor little birdie! You want to get out, don't you?"

She paused her squeaking for a moment, but then she continued, even though the bird hadn't peeped in the slightest as far as Zeph could tell.

"I understand… you want to fly in the trees with all your birdie friends!"

"Talking to birds, are we now?" he said, voice flatter than the denarii they slipped from people's pockets. "You've finally snapped."

"Rawr rawr, I'm a raging lunatic," she deadpanned. "Lock me up in an asylum. Good morning to you too, Zeph. Did you eat?"

"I'll be fine."

"We're getting food!"

She grabbed his arm and pulled him after her to the bakery. Soon enough, she'd sweet-talked the baker into giving them a discount for two slices of bread. This was her power—keep 'em occupied while Zeph did the shady work. Not that he had to do any of that with the baker; he'd have plenty of opportunities all day.

Suddenly, as they wandered down the street, a man in a trenchcoat unceremoniously shoved the two aside as he plowed through the crowd. The bit of bread slipped from Zeph's hands and tumbled to the ground, where it landed in a muddy puddle, ruined.

"What the—Excuse me?"

Zeph shook his head and sighed. He grabbed her arm—last time he'd tried to talk her out of something like this, she ran off without him—but she pulled him after her as she pushed her way through the crowd.

"What the blazes do you think you're gonna do?" he called after her.

"I don't know, fight him?"

"C'mon—"

"You can't stop me!"

She followed the man around a bend, where he sat down at a table outside the apothecary. When her eyes landed on him, she marched right up to him and rapped her knuckles on the table. Zeph groaned. Now? With all these people around?

The man gave her an annoyed side eye. "What the—"

"What do you think you're doing, huh?" She yanked her hand free from Zeph's grip and crossed her arms. "Crashing into us like that? That takes b—"

"Woah!" Zeph broke in, stepping in front of Zirconia's fuming figure. "I'm so sorry about this. I—"

"Don't apologize for me!"

"As I was saying, I'm sorry and we'll be on our way. Let's go."

Though she kicked him in the shin, he grabbed her arm again and pulled her after him, exhaling in relief when he felt her resistance gradually weaken. Years ago, when they first began their "financial partnership," she'd been a massive pain, with her insistence on doing everything her way.

Well… maybe she was still a massive pain. Some things wouldn't ever change. But they had work to do, especially if they wanted to be able to afford any kind of Reaping day "celebration."

Hours later, the two ambled back towards the Seam, pockets significantly fuller than they had been that morning. Zeph was walking with his alert eyes forward when he suddenly felt a jab in his ribs.

"What was that for?" he groaned.

"Look!" She pointed at the top of a roof. "Butterfly!"

"Let me catch a break, will you?"

She stuck out her tongue at him. "Too late to get rid of me now!"

"I have regrets."

The two continued forward in silence. He kicked at rocks, while she constantly craned her neck in different directions as a million things seemed to grab her attention with every passing minute. The Town became Seam, and then very Seam. Before long, they came to a split in the road, where he'd go left and she'd go right. He looked at her. She looked at him.

"So," she said, "Next weekend."

That would be Reaping weekend, which usually had some of the easiest earnings with the mandatory celebrations. Drunk rich people were more susceptible to pickpocketing than sober rich people.

"After the Reaping?" he said.

"Well, yeah, but…" She paused and raised her eyebrows for dramatic effect. With that dumb smile on her face, you'd think she never had a better day in her life.

He rolled his eyes. "Just spill it."

"You're boring. But consider: the mayor's house."

Mayor's house? They had pulled a couple tricks there before, mostly involving the mayor's gullible wife. Yet that glimmer in her eye told him that this was something different, something riskier, something… totally and utterly Zirconia.

"Considering it."

"When is the house the emptiest?"

Emptiest? There was always someone in there, whether the mayor and his family or the servants that worked for them. The only time it would be empty in the entire year was…

No. She couldn't be serious.

"Now I'm sure you've officially gone insane." He paused and glanced around. No one was there, but he still lowered his voice. "During the Reaping? You might as well walk up to Head Peacekeeper Clayton and call him a prick."

"What? It'll be fine. We've done worse."

It was one thing to convince Mrs. Mayor that they were hired to clean out the fireplace. It was another to break in while the rest of the district was in Town for the Reaping.

"They'll hunt us down if we don't sign in."

"Oh, we will sign in," she said, completely undeterred, "We'll just be late because my father had a seizure or something. You wanna do it?"

Zeph bit his lip. Execution wasn't exactly on his bucket list, but somehow, the thought of letting her do it alone was even worse—and there was no way she wouldn't go through with it, judging by her gleaming eyes. "I guess I'm in if you are."

"Great!"

"This is the biggest mistake of my life."

"You sure about that?" she teased.

"You're right." He winked at her. "I should've gotten rid of you while I still could."


A/N I'M FINISHING BEFORE 2021 HERE!

ok this is edited in because I was afraid that I wouldn't get the chapter out before the end of 2020. sure, it wasn't the final form, but I got it out and that's what counts

SO YES! I'M DONE WITH INTROS! There will be a Reaping recap chapter next and then we're off to the Capitol! I haven't absolutely finalized the Capitol chapters... but there will be a lot of them.

Favorites so far? Predictions?

Thoughts?