Eam Brakeman, 15: District 6 Female

I tried to drink it away

I tried to put one in the air

I tried to dance it away

I tried to change it with my hair

June 30, 73ADD: 1 week before Reaping

The metallic clangs of each machine echoes off the walls of the spacious factory, filling my ears and the open space around me. An overhead track pushes each silver car frame along, suspended on giant mechanical hangers. The fiberglass body shells have just been installed at the previous station. As each car passes by, I add on the front and back windshields before the vehicles are sent off to the next station. I repeat this process countless times during each eight hour shift. Things get boring around here quick. It's definitely not how I would like to spend my summers, but it's what helps keep food on the table.

Luckily, I have a decent way to pass the time while I'm here. Watching identical cars pass by all day can be pretty mind-numbing, but I got to wondering about what happens when each finished car leaves the factory. Almost none of them stay in District 6. They're usually shipped off to wealthier districts like 1, 2, and 4 or to the Capitol. I like to imagine that every car has its own story. Some of them will have more interesting stories than others.

Then that got me thinking about other things. I know that cars had to have existed before Panem, but where did they go? Did they look the same? Were they only for the wealthy? Did they travel beyond what is known as Panem? There's so much that is unknown about the past, and we're left to fill in the blanks. I wonder what it was like to live in a world before Panem. They only touch on it briefly in school, so it's really all left to our imaginations.

The monotone drone of the work buzzer sounds, signifying that my shift is over. The cars on the tracks halt their slow procession down the assembly line as I quickly prepare my station for the night shift. Once my station is ready to go, I head towards the breakroom to clock out. I pass by several other stations, none of them as neat as I left mine. Various tools and parts are left strewn about on the floor in some stations, while others have materials haphazardly stored in random spots. Seriously, how hard can it be to just clean up after yourself?

"Brakeman!" The hoarse voice of crew chief Mrs. Hull stops me dead in my tracks. "What are you doing?"

"Going to clock out," I say as if it weren't already obvious.

"Oh, so I guess you don't want to get paid," she says.

"Is it the end of the month already?" I ask.

"As a matter of fact it is," Mrs. Hull says. A few of my coworkers snicker at my apparently dumb question. I wouldn't be laughing if I were them. The questions they ask signify levels of incompetence that I thought were impossible.

"Damn, I really couldn't tell with every day being just as mind-numbingly boring as the last," I say.

"Well, no one is forcing you to work here," Mrs. Hull says.

"Yeah, but the paychecks keep bringing me back," I respond.

"That's what they all say," Mrs. Hull says. She hands me my check, sealed in its usual white envelope. I take my check then head to the breakroom and clock out for the day.

While exiting the factory, I get caught in the middle of a large group of my crewmates. They're all loudly talking and laughing with each other, and just generally being nothing more than a nuisance. As soon as I step outside, I quicken my pace to separate myself from the rest of the pack. Soon enough, the once loud clamor quiets down to a distant murmur. It's a much more peaceful, tolerable walk home. The sky's still blue despite it almost being six o'clock. The summer heat still radiates through the air. I can feel the beads of sweat forming on my brow as I get closer to home.

I finally get to my ground floor apartment, but don't get much relief from the heat and humidity. The air conditioning of our apartment rarely ever works, so we're left to cool down our home with several small fans throughout. It doesn't do much, but it's better than just sitting and baking during the heat waves that inevitably happen every summer.

"Eam, is that you?" Railey calls out from our shared bedroom.

"Yeah," I answer flatly. Railey comes out of our room.

"You're actually the first one home for once," she says.

"I speed walked today," I reply. Railey laughs at my response, which I really didn't intend to be all that funny. Just before either one of us could say anything else, the front door opens again. Mom, Dad, and our older brother Mag all file in, all looking fairly worn out from their long shifts. Railey brushes past me and greets each one of them with a hug.

"So, what did you do all day while we were gone?" Mag asks.

"Well, I mostly just sat in front of the fans and tried not to melt," Railey says. "I've sweat through like three shirts today."

"Okay, too much information," Mag says, shuddering.

"Dad, are you ever going to try to get the AC fixed?" Railey asks.

"I wish I had control over that," Dad sighs. "I've tried speaking with the landlord, but I haven't heard anything back."

"Well, I hope you figure out something soon," Railey says. "Because I don't think I can spend another summer in these conditions."

"Good thing you won't have to next year since you'll be working with your sister," Mom says.

"What? Why do I have to work?" Railey asks.

"You're too old not to be working," Mom says. "Plus, I can't leave you unsupervised anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means she's scared you're gonna end up like those druggies out on the streets," Mag interjects.

"Well, I didn't want to phrase it that way," Mom says. "But yes, I don't want you to be out on the streets. At least I'll know where you are if you're working with Eam."

I think working with Railey will be nice for the both of us. She won't be sitting around the house all the time and I'll actually have someone at work that I can tolerate. Plus, I'll be able to keep a more watchful eye on her. Railey's still young, and she doesn't quite understand the struggles of the real world. She's getting there, but it hasn't clicked just yet. I just hope that she'll be the same person when that happens.

Roman Calder-Morcant, 17: District 6 Male

Oh

Taking it all for us

Taking it all

Taking it all for us

July 1, 73ADD: 6 days before Reaping

The dingy streets of 6 are already active for our first drop-off of the day. The usual morning crowd is out, and it's easy to tell where each one of them is going. The vast majority of people on the streets just wander around aimlessly, either already high or searching for their next fix. aThere are some other people who walk around briskly with their heads on a swivel, like they're doing something they're not supposed to be doing. Then there's the last group, which is by far the smallest. These are the people who walk with a purpose. They have places to be, working in the factories of District 6. There aren't that many of those types around here. Most jobs seem to pay well enough to afford just a little bit more. This is where the lowest of the low lives. No one here has enough to survive, and those that do get robbed. But this is home, and it's all I've ever known.

"You really think it's a good idea to do a deal with Jaws without Spark?" Georgia asks. She's my favorite deal partner, and I just like to have her around. She's great company.

"We'll be fine," I say. "We'll just get the money and go like we do with every other deal."

"But deals with Jaws don't go down like every other deal," Georgia says. "We should wait until Spark is done with his other deals."

"But Aunt Zola said Jaws was expecting his delivery this morning." I say. "I don't want to make Jaws mad."

"He'll be mad when he sees that Spark isn't with us," Georgia huffs. "That creep."

"Oh come on," I say. "As long as he gets his fix he'll be fine."

"You sure?" Georgia asks.

"Yeah, I've dealt with him plenty times before and I didn't have any problems."

"That was before he laid his eyes on Spark," Georgia says. "You should've seen the way he stared at him."

"It couldn't have been that bad," I say.

"Oh, it was," Georgia says. "He was literally licking his lips looking at Spark. Who knows what the hell was going on in that drugged out mind of his."

"Well, I can imagine why," I joke. "Spark's a good-looking dude."

"Roman!" Georgia chides, punching my shoulder. "Spark's practically your brother. You can't talk about him like that."

"I wasn't being serious," I mumble, rubbing my shoulder. Damn, Georgia punches hard.

"Whatever, man," Georgia sighs. "Let's just get this deal done before Jaws comes looking for us."

Georgia and I continue our trek through the streets of 6, passing by all sorts of familiar faces. There's Ringo, the sketchy scam artist looking to swindle his next 'customer' with whatever nonsense he dug out of the dumpster. Then there's Deena and her little posse of lackeys looking to rob what little property some of these people have to their names. Then of course there's the people I'm most familiar with, a small circle of Morphling addicts passing around a dirty needle, injecting the drug directly into their bloodstreams. They're already loopy from the onset of their high. They won't snap back to reality until we're well into the afternoon. I've seen it so many times. Aunt Zola's frequent benders could last for up to a week. When she finally comes down, she'll look for the drugs she just took. She'll ask me if I took her drugs, and every time I tell her no. She never believes me. She always thinks I'm lying to her, stealing from her, somehow 'betraying' her. She always yells at me about how she knows I'm planning to run away from her and go back to them. I don't even know who them is.

Georgia always tells me that I shouldn't let Aunt Zola treat me the way she does. She says that I don't deserve what I have to go through, but Aunt Zola is the only family I have left. She's the one who saved me from the fire when the rest of our family couldn't make it out. I'm afraid of what might happen if I did anything to hurt her. She needs me.

Our delivery route takes Georgia and I down a narrow alleyway. It's bordered on both sides by old gray buildings that aren't even in use anymore, blocking out what little sunlight we could possibly get. At the far end of the alley, a blue tarp is draped over a set of poles. We've made it to Jaws' hideout.

"Is he in there?" Georgia whispers.

"I don't know," I answer. "I can't tell from here. I'll go check."

"No." Georgia grabs my arm before I can move any closer. "He can come to us."

"Oh, okay," I say. "YO, JAWS!"

"Roman!"

"What? You said he can come to us."

"What? Who's there?" Jaws' familiar raspy voice bounces off the walls of the alleyway.

"Roman," I reply.

"Roman? Who's Roman?" He asks.

"Zola's nephew."

"Oh, Roman!" Jaws emerges from his makeshift shelter, flashing a nearly toothless grin. He scrambles up to me, wrapping me up in a tight hug. I return the embrace briefly, but Jaws hangs on a little longer. He buries his face into my neck and takes a deep sniff. After a good five seconds he backs up and looks around.

"So, where's that curly-haired boy? He works for Zola too. You know him?"

"Oh, you're talking about Spark," I say. "He's out on other business. But I brought Georgia with me."

"Where's the money?" Georgia demands.

"What?"

"We have your drugs," she says. "Where's the money?"

"Oh, that's not how a pretty young lady like you should speak," Jaws drawls, stepping up to Georgia. He reaches out to run his hand through her hair. Georgia swiftly bats it away. "Ah, you're a feisty one, aren't ya?"

"Just give us the money so we can go," Georgia snaps.

"Oh, come on," Jaws says. "Don't you want to stay and hang for a little while?"

"Just give us the money so we can go," Georgia repeats.

"Alright, fine." Jaws retreats into his tent. He rummages through a black bag before coming back out with a stack of cash. I count the money to make sure he didn't shortchange us, then I signal for Georgia to give him the drugs. She tosses the plastic bag at Jaws, hitting him square in the chest then falling to the ground at his feet. He hastily picks up the bag and stuffs it in his waistband. He looks up and locks eyes with me.

"Next time, bring that curly-haired boy with you," Jaws says.

"You're welcome, you ungrateful creep," Georgia interjects. Jaws grunts in response and returns to his shelter.

"Let's go, Roman." Georgia grabs my arm and basically drags me out of the alleyway. She doesn't let go until we're a good ways down the street.

"You were kinda rude back there, y'know?" I say.

"Yeah, and what about it?" Georgia says. "I was trying to get us out of there."

"Well, you could've been a bit nicer," I counter.

"You can't be nice to people like Jaws," Georgia says.

"What do you mean?"

"When you're nice to people like Jaws, they can start getting, um, touchy," Georgia answers. "And others will take advantage of you."

"That's no reason not to be nice to people," I say.

"You'll understand soon enough that there are some people without a speck of goodness in them," Georgia says. "Your aunt is a good example."

"What are you talking about?" I question. "My aunt is a good person. She's just going through a lot."

"Yeah, a lot of fucking drugs," Georgia retorts. "Even during the rare times when she's sober she still treats you like shit."

Aunt Zola doesn't treat me like shit. She really is a good person. She takes care of me with what little she has, and I do the same for her. Sure, she has her moments, but she can't be a terrible person like Georgia says.

Right?

Hey guys,

So I'll admit that this chapter came out way later than I had hoped, but things have been hella busy for me. I started my third year of college and it has just eaten up all of my writing time, but I was finally able to squeeze out enough time to finish this up for y'all. A huge thanks goes out to Loveableheart for Eam and to silversshade for Roman. I really enjoyed writing them both.

Eam: Cranes in the Sky by Solange

Roman: All For Us by Labrinth & Zendaya

See y'all again for District 7!

Until next time,

Ty