Twenty Four Shades of Blood [A Hunger Games Fanfic]

District Nine Reaping: Ellie Flaxseed and Thom Baker

The sun, closing in on the shimmering horizon, beats down relentlessly on the residents of District Nine making their reluctant way to the market square. Trams rattle in, juddering on their tracks, bringing in those from far out in the district, a day or more's walk away. Nine is 'organised' into small clusters of houses, each surrounded by their own ring of golden fields, stretching endlessly into the distance, the tram tracks spiralling among them. Right now, the year drawing slowly to a close, the fields are laid flat, fully reaped, and hay bales perch in them curiously. 

The Peacekeepers rove from door to door, checking that the houses are empty. In theory, they do this in every district. In theory, people don't train for the Games. Usually with the lower, smaller districts, people are either too eager or too scared to attempt to not turn up, and the patrols are little more than cursory. But out here, some people think that it's worth a go. So the patrols stomp around and around, checking. Extra Peacekeepers have to be drafted in for the job.

When they come across a blocked door, they simply break it down. Most people have learnt by now to keep their doors free, but there's always one who tries. Usually the house is empty anyway.

In one house, a lopsided affair with a mossy roof and sloping windows, a woman is giving birth, so they leave her to it.

In another, an old man stares at the beamed roof with unseeing eyes, his hands clasped across his chest and a scrawled imitation of a woman screwed up on the meagre pillow next to him. The Peacekeeper, a young girl fresh out of Two, sniffs hautily and pulls the sheets up so she doesn't have to see the sliver of drool drying on his cold chin.

But apart from that, and one or two panicking siblings hiding out in the haybales, the whole district is packed into the hot and sticky square. Clouds of dust drift up from the floor, the lack of wind letting them drift straight back down to the ground. Any talk is tense and restrained. Families who can stand within touching distance of each other hang on as tightly as they can, a network of dry limbs and burnt hands, right across the square. Twelve year olds are hastily reassured by the thirteens; in the eighteens' pens, every face is still and sombre.

The escort prances onto the stage, a smile tacked along her features. She's actually dressed tastefully, if a little revealingly, and a spark of genuine concern flickers into her eyes when she sees how underfed some of these children are.

"Hello, District Nine," she begins, "And can I just say; thank you for the wonderful welcome I received." This is perhaps a slight exaggeration. By Capitol standards, the welcome was weak, but she's been to Nine enough times to understand and appreciate that they did the best they could. Although a fluffier pillow wouldn't have gone amiss.

She gets a warm round of applause. District Nine like Tashira. She tries. She actually puts effort into trying to keep their tributes alive, and she's been known to hand out money and goods when she comes to help prepare the feast for the Victory Tour. Unlike in other districts, nobody looks on her as bad news. They just see a young woman trying to do her job. Which apparently involves her showing the majority of her cleavage at every opportunity.

Tashira has to resist the urge to pull her dress up all the way through the speech. The sun is boiling, frying her delicate skin, and she can imagine the looks she'll get back home if she turns up burnt. Luckily the people here are too preoccupied to leer at her and make her uncomfortable.

She finishes the speech with a slightly piteous tone, trying to look every sad, drawn face in the eye. She can't, and she hopes the message gets across. She knows how serious this is. In the Capitol, you can get swept up in the whole thing. It's all on screen, not real. But out here you can see the effect, you can see what it means. She would expect the escorts to all agree with her.