Twenty Four Shades of Blood [A Hunger Games Fanfic]

District One Reaping: Ruby Gallen and Austen Hughes

The sun is shining over District One...again.

Beams of morning light bounces off the smart white buildings, meticulously scrubbed every day for the past two weeks by troupes of children too young to volunteer or train but eager to do their bit. Colourful banners, emblazoned with the proud One seal and pictures of past winners - and there are plenty of ridiculously photogenic victors to choose from - flutter from windows as each street competes to see if they can pull off the best atmosphere.

District One compete over everything. That is part of the reason they are so successful as a district; everybody wants to do better than everybody else.

Teenagers stroll as casually as possible down the cobbled streets, showing off their muscles. The boys wear short sleeves, despite the autumn chill beginning to gather in the air, and the girls flaunt dresses in a firework of different colours; anything as long as it is bright and attention-grabbing. Shouts of laughter fill the streets, and adults clap proudly as their bright young prospects paraded past, fondly remembering when they used to do the same themselves.

They conveniently forget, as they do every year, that even a district with a history as proud and noble as District One loses at least one child a year. There is no sense of death and mourning here, unlike in the other districts. If people have to cry, they do so in private; to cry in public would be shameful. Perhaps some parents disapprove. Perhaps not. It is hard to tell.

The Justice Building actually sparkles. Tiny shards of quartz are indented into the surface, playing with the light. The cameraman complains and is promptly informed that unless he intends to paint over the whole building, he would just have to make do. So he huffs and turns his lens away from the dazzling prisms and into the dazzling crowd instead.

A few pretty girls blow kisses at the camera. The boys try to catch their attention. Outside the pens, parents hold small blonde-haired children on their shoulders so that they could see properly, the children clapping their hands in delight. The fountain in the middle of the square, a proud stone replica of the castle on the seal, rushes cool clear water around a moat, jewels of water hurling themselves into the air and landing on the crowd of people. Some dip their hands in to have a drink.

When the Capitol escort strides out onto the stage, she is greeted by rapturous applause and wolf-whistles from many of the men in the crowd. She grins down on them all, buzzing inside. That is why she does this job; these moments of admiration, of jealousy. And for the pride of that moment when you have a winner, when the competition is gone and your tribute is the last one standing.

Tottering slightly on her shoes, she takes her place behind the podium, feeling the smooth white marble under her hands. The podium has been draped in red velvet, District One's colour, although next to the velvet they get in the Capitol, this stuff is coarse and scratchy. The crowd cheers back at her, hands in the air, jewellery glinting in the sun. At least, she thinks they are. It's hard to tell with the sun shining off the buildings.

The banners flap in the breeze as she reads out the traditional speech. The residents of District One play along perfectly. They cheer at every mention of the Hunger Games. They boo Thirteen's disobedience, any hint at rebellion. The stage shakes with the roars as she finishes and she has to resist the urge to clamp her hands to her ears. She can't help a broad grin spreading across her face, though. This is her year again. She can taste it.

One of her trusty cameraman, hanging in a basket for the ariel shots, is gesturing frantically at her, waving to a little amber light on his camera. Quickly, she smooths her silky orange hair, hoping that the cheers will carry on for long enough. Five seconds...four seconds...three seconds...two...one...