Here's District 8, if anyone has made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

Chapter 8 - District 8 Reaping

District 8 Female - Patch Curry (13)

"Grab the sheet! Quickly!" Patch called out, her friends trailing behind her.

"But why?" a boy with sandy hair called out as they ran down the alleys between the tenements, "I thought we were going to the roof?"

Patch flashed a quick grin at him before sharply turning another corner, "Cause I got an idea!"

Patch led the other children down a few more blocks, her light brown hair trailing wildly behind her, finally skidding to a halt next to the fire escape of a four story apartment building. The ladder looked a bit rusty, but overall still in good shape. She turned to see the last of her friends entering the alley. Two of them holding a faded blue sheet between them. Patch gave them a wicked grin, excitement twinkling in her eyes.

"Okay, here's the plan guys, I'm gonna climb to the roof of this building. When I give the signal, you all grab the edge of the sheet and pull it as tight as you can! This way when I jump it will break my fall!" Patch explained her brilliant idea to the others, "Once I've made sure it's safe we can all have a go!"

The sandy haired boy scratched his head, looking nervous. "I don't know about this Patch, you could get really hurt…and if you get hurt ... what will we tell your parents?"

Patch rolled her eyes, "Don't worry about that, I'll be fine!" She turned and began confidently climbing the fire escape.

The other children watched as she swiftly reached the roof, and perched on the edge of the building. Patch looked around, admiring the view. You could almost see the whole district from up here. She could see the town square, the Justice building, and the fence that marked the edge of the district. Patch thought, if she squinted, she might even be able to see a few trees out there.

She finally looked down to see her friends looking up at her. Even from up here, she could see the worried expressions on their faces. Patch gave them a thumbs up, she really couldn't understand what they were so worried about. She wasn't stupid, she knew that she could get seriously hurt, or even die, but that just didn't bother her. She had watched her parents and her older siblings work six days a week, ten hours a day, just to afford food on the table, let alone any sort of luxury. Once you were 14, you were considered old enough to work in the factories and you were expected to take at least one four hour shift. Patch knew that she was getting closer to that age, when her freedom would be stripped away and the only thing left to do was work herself until she died. She shuddered at the thought. So really, what was a little risk compared to that?

Patch watched as her friends pulled the sheet taut, stretching it as far as they dared. She smiled, took a deep breath, and jumped.

District 8 Male - Rick Hammond (17) M

"Take this last batch down to the furnace, then you're done for the day Scrap"

Rick nodded to the foreman, lifting the barrel full of discarded fabrics up on his shoulder. Carefully he crossed the busy factory floor, taking the familiar path heading towards the narrow concrete stairs that led to the basement. Rick went down the stairs and nudged the old, wooden basement door open with his shoulder. The far side of the room held the furnace. It was a huge one that took up half of the wall. On the other side were some This was where all the discarded scraps of cloth came to die.

The basement was where Rick spent most of his time. His job consisted of picking up the full barrels of fabric scraps from the production lines and feeding them into the furnace. It was so easy a child could do it. That was probably why he was given this job, Rick thought as he carefully began to sort through the barrel, tossing most of the scraps aside. Rick wasn't exactly the smartest guy around. Heck, he wasn't even in the top half. Even though he was strong and built like an ox, Rick had a hard time keeping up with things. Everything seemed so complicated to him. He didn't like complex things. Besides, he thought, most of life was simple anyway. So what if his fingers were too big and awkward to hold a sewing needle?

Rick finished his sorting and began to toss most of the discarded fabrics into the furnace, careful not to put in too much at once. When there were only a few larger pieces left, he carefully folded them up and tucked them under his shirt. Quickly, he walked back up the stairs, returning the empty barrel to the floor.

The foreman nodded at him, "Be here early tomorrow Scrap. You'll miss an hour for the reaping and I can't have you slacking off. You got that boy?"

Rick nodded, clocked out, and began the familiar walk home. Scrap. It wasn't only his job, but what they called him. Most of the other employees and the foreman thought he was too stupid to do anything but sort scrap. That he was too stupid to sew or make fabric or do anything useful. Rick desperately wanted to prove them wrong, but he didn't really know how.

Rick turned the corner and saw on the edge of an alley between two buildings, lay an old woman. He walked over to her.

"Oh Rick, how are you doing dear? Come closer so I can get a better look at you." The old woman carefully pushed herself up in a sitting position, squinting at Rick as he approached.

He took her boney hand in his own and crouched down beside her, "I'm doing okay Mrs. Freeman, I have some more scraps for you." He pulled the hidden fabrics out from under his shirt and handed them to her, "It was the best I could find, but I should have some bigger pieces tomorrow, people always get careless on Reaping Day and tend to waste more fabric."

Mrs. Freeman ran her hands over the fabric scraps, "Rick you're such a good boy. Too nice for this old lady." She took the scraps and tucked them carefully away. "A few more pieces and I may actually have a blanket this winter," she coughed softly as she talked, her voice sounding hoarse and old.

Mrs. Freeman used to be one of the best sewing ladies in the district, until the arthritis got to her hands. She was no longer able to sew for ten hours straight. She couldn't meet her quotas anymore. Her husband had passed years before and there was no one else to take care of her. Both of her children had been reaped. She had tried to find another job, but no one wanted to hire an old lady. So she ended up on the streets, just like so many others. And that's where Rick found her. Rick didn't have any family either.

"Mrs. Freeman you can always come stay with me," Rick said, "I know it's just one room, but you're welcome."

She smiled up at him, "You know my answer will be no, just like the first hundred times you've asked me. No, this old woman is not your responsibility, young man. I'm sure you'll have a family of your own soon enough. Now go on, it's getting late. You'll need a good night's sleep before the events tomorrow."

Rick nodded, lightly squeezed her hand, and walked down the street.

D8F - Patch Curry (13)

Patch woke up the morning of the reaping alone in her apartment. The rest of her family had long since left, getting in an early shift at the factories before the reaping. So with no one there to make sure she was presentable, she pulled on some pants that ended well before the ankle and a dirty grey t-shirt. She didn't want to bother dressing nicely since her friends had plans to play ball after the reaping. Not that she had any very nice clothes to begin with, but oh well.

After a meager breakfast consisting of exactly one slice of slightly burnt toast, Patch made her way to the town square. People were already beginning to gather and she darted quickly between them to get to her area. She positioned herself on the edge so that when the reaping was over she could quickly get to the alley where the ball game was happening.

She bounced up and down on the soles of her feet, watching as the escort, a tall, stringy man with antennae coming out of his head, dug around in the girls bowl for a slip. Resembling a caterpillar with his slightly fuzzy outfit, the escort slinked over to the microphone, and, with no fanfare, read out the name.

"Patch Curry"

For the first time in a long time, Patch found herself completely still. As tears fell down her face, she made her way to the stage. Looks like she wouldn't have to work in the factories after all. They couldn't make her work if she was dead.

D8M - Rick Hammond (17)

Rick watched from the seventeen year old section as the little slip of a girl made her way on stage. With her flood water pants and her red hair cropped short against her head she almost looked like a boy. The tears running down her face cut through the dirt, leaving little paths. Rick felt sorry for her.

He was so caught up in feeling bad for the girl he almost missed the boy's name. Almost.

"Rick Hammond"

All at once the other boys gave him a wide berth, as if they too could be reaped just by standing too close. Slowly, Rick ambled his way up to the stage. He shook the girl's slightly damp hand before he was brought into a room in the Justice center. It was a nice room, nicer than anything he'd ever seen. He took a seat on the intricately upholstered couch to wait. He didn't have any family, so he didn't expect anyone to come say goodbye.

Rick was startled when the door opened and Mrs. Freeman came in. Her short five foot frame was made even smaller by how she was hunched over herself.

Mrs. Freeman came over and took Rick's hand in hers. "Now, you listen to me, son. You are going to do everything you can to get out of that arena. You're a strong boy. You may not be the brightest, but killing never took no smarts, you hear me?"

Rick nodded, a single tear rolling across his face, "Yes Mrs. Freeman."

She patted his hand, "Good boy."

For some reason I found Patch so hard to write! And Rick is such a softy. What do you think? Do either of them have a chance?