dnf, but it's hunger games

-one

"apples!"

"check."

the sack hits the grass below our little cluster of trees with a thud, the sound of multiple apples colliding inside. a light breeze carries the edge of the woven fabric up slightly.

"oranges."

"check."

another sack beside the first apple one.

"peaches, bananas and coconuts?"

"check."

three more separate sacks of each food hit the ground. the hot sun beats relentlessly down onto my bare, tanned back, sweat gathering at my hairline and trickling down my temples. my fluffy hair is thrown back, slick with sweat and oily hands running through it constantly.

i take a deep breath and take the first break i've had all day. me and the other 5 hundred field and tree workers have been harvesting and gathering nonstop for the past week in preparation for the Reaping, which inches closer by the minute.

even though it's only two kids being sacrificed into the arena, almost the entire district is excused from half their duties to watch the Games, which are televised constantly. if you turn it off, you'll be executed by nightfall.

good thing i don't make friends easily, or else i'd be fucked.

the boy beside me is the closest relationship i'll have to friendship, and i hate this kid. his dumb accent, his scrawny little arms. and for some reason, he's stuck to my ass like a tail on a dog. i couldn't be bothered less, he's a fine worker and an interesting figure. that's the only reason.

nobody else stops working for a second. whitecoats, as we call them, hang onto the holster at their belt and patrol the edges of the workspace. the only reason you're allowed to leave the field during the day is to deposit your workload.

sweaty backs and hot air, blistering fingers and swelling feet. it's harvest.

a little farther away, in the field of carrots and potatoes in piles from the holes dug in the ground, a small gaggle of suntanned girls giggle to each other, glancing and pointing around at the more built and attractive men in the trees and field. one of them, with nice hazel eyes, glances up at me and grins. i just blush and look away.

Tommy sighs. "how do you get all the girls to fall for you, Dream? i don't understand it. you're not anything special."

i slap his arm hard and bite the inside of my cheek, my chest prickling with self consciousness at how bare it is. i don't try to catch girls' gazes, i just try to do my job and feed my family. besides, it's not like it's the first time girls have done this to me. i just never feel the same way.

"shut it, Tom. probably because i'm always the one running from tree to tree, eh?" i retort sharply. he makes a sour face at me and begins the descent from the apple tree.

"whats your deal sometimes? you're so grumpy to me."

"because you deserve it."

"shut up, Dream."

"you asked me a question, i respond with the truth."

the sweet scent of orange juice and soil mixes and fills the hot, thick air. the dirt is hot beneath my bare feet, and my heels hiss in pain. me and Tommy each carry two sacks and leave the rest for sweepers. there's a huge deposit centre near the edge of our "town" where the crops are sorted and boxed and shipped to the Capitol.

we are District 11.

we dig our hands into the soil and the sand and we create food for the people who slash our backs, the Capitol-borns who turn their noses up at us, the velvet-backs who have never experienced the world like we have, yet still dictate our lives.