Twenty Four Shades of Blood [A Hunger Games Fanfic]

District Three Reaping: Abigail Handlind and Connor Stanfield

It is a bright cold day in District Three, and the only sounds filtering through the brisk air are the snuffling cries and yelps of those having their blood taken, shuffling feet on smooth concrete slabs and the tolling of the Justice Building bell, regular as clockwork since the Games began, many years ago.

Some last-minute adjustments are being made to the stage. As far as most people can see, it's fine, but one of the light riggings is spluttering a little, casting a flickering glare over the assembled people. They scowl up at it as one great human machine, and there is a small ironic cheer from a few of the children in the pens - trying not to seem petrified - when someone finally scuttles up the rigging to fix it.

The morning ticks on. The District Two reapings are finished, and now there will be about half an hour of tribute analysis - the Careers always get a lot of excited attention - before the District Three reapings can start. The people stand around, not even fidgeting, or drift aimlessly in the too-big square, looking at all the space as if it has been put there deliberately to confuse them.

The children wear white. Not out of tradition, as in many other districts, but out of practicality. Most of the cloth in District Three is white; it's their colour, sandwiched between the deep, menacing purple of District Two and the vivid and lively blue of Four.

A woman is hauled into the square by two of the Peacekeepers, who hurl her roughly into the crowd even though she's not struggling against them. She looks like the rest of her district; resigned, fed up.

When Angelique, the youngest and newest escort, bounds onto the stage, several people groan audibly, casting a glance at the patrolling Peacekeepers to make sure they they're not going to react. The woman has wrapped herself in fairy lights, a safety hazard if they ever saw one. Luckily her dress is decent, but the little twinkling lights flash in a spectrum of colours and it's slightly nauseating. They'd rather the escort just didn't try at all.

"Hi, District Three!" she chirps happily. Her bubbly greeting falls flat, her words dropping straight to the paved floor. She gulps and tries to recover her composure; the only sound is the slight buzz of the lights that now feel like chains and several people snuffling.

She's been told to not expect much from District Three but she wasn't expecting it to be this bad. Sharp eyes stare up at her accusingly, like this is all her fault. She feels tears bubble up behind her eyes.

"Hold it together, Angel," demands the stern voice of her PA in her ear. She nods obediently, before realising that nobody else can hear and now she just looks crazy, stood on the stage, wrapped up in fairy lights and nodding her head randomly.

Her mind has gone completely blank.

"Erm...nice weather here, isn't it?" she tries.

A few children titter mechanically, glad to find something to alleviate the mood. Some of the older ones scowl, wanting to get it over and done with.

"The speech!" the voice tells her.

"Oh, right. Yes. District Three, I will now read the speech, and then we'll get on to the actual reapings, okay?" she bleats pathetically into the smooth microphone, adding a deflated "Isn't this exciting?"

"No!" shouts a boy who looks vaguely like a blonde rat. A Peacekeeper, the eye insignia emblazoned into his pristine uniform, scowls coolly at him and he goes pale, sliding back next to his friend, mouth pinched shut. Angelique buries her head in the speech papers.

District Three wait patiently, not even shuffling a little, as she blunders her way through, her voice rising constantly, getting closer and closer to hysteria. A few people start off by muttering along, showing off their memory and knowledge, but Angelique makes so many mistakes that this soon becomes impossible.