The Hanging Tree Games Tasks

Task One: Reaping

Here is the first task in the contest. I chose to do the reaping. Enjoy :)

"You will volunteer. Do you understand, Sartan?" Sartan's father, Imyx, had a bellowing voice. When he was four years old he used to wince every time his father spoke.

After Imyx had locked him in their basement for three days with no food, water or sunlight, Sartan had never winced again.

"Yes, Father." His voice was the exact opposite of his father's. It was light, and soft, making it sound as if he was always murmuring.

"Go. Don't disappoint us."

Sartan turned around and strolled into the packs of people all lined up for the reaping. He flicked his thumb and forefinger against one another, listening carefully. There was so much noise—people's annoying voices trilling as they chattered, the rustle of gravel as someone scooted their feet around, the fluttering as the wind blew a flag back-and-forth. The most annoying noise was the buzzing the microphone made as the announcer panted into it heavily.

Sartan wanted to strangle the man, but he stayed still. He fell into his place, squeezing between two bodies that were much too close for comfort. He could smell their sweat and body odor, making him frown.

"Welcome, welcome!" The man's voice was high—making it sound as if it constantly cracked. "It is time again, to choose the tributes for the 18 Hunger Games! Ladies first, shall we?"

There was a pause and rustling as the man fiddled with the names in the Reaping Ball. He cleared his throat, making the microphone buzz irritatingly and Sartan heard the paper snap open.

"The District One female tribute is... Casey Nightly!"

"I volunteer," a voice called. The crowd cheered loudly, making Sartan's ears ring annoyingly. As the young woman stepped up to the stage, Sartan listened carefully.

She's light-weight, but strong, Sartan noted from the sound of her footsteps thumbing on the gravel. The steps were strong—confident, as well as trained. She'll be agile.

"Ah, yes! Isn't this excellent, folks?" The crowd cheered in response. "Time for the male!" There was another pause, as once again, the announcer grabbed a name from the Reaping Ball.

"The District One Male tribute is... Ricard Johnson!" The crowd was a great deal quieter than they had been when the earlier woman volunteered.

Sartan squeezed in-between the bodies around him and stepped out into the open. "I volunteer."

The crowd erupted into cheers and congratulations. His father was well known in the community and they had all been expecting Sartan to volunteer. It was his last chance to, after all.

He clicked his fingers together again, listening for the muffled response to return to his ears. The stage was just ahead of him—twenty steps.

"Th—thank you so much." The voice who had spoken sounded young. The boy's voice still cracked, and as the noise surrounded him, Sartan could tell he was small. Sartan tapped his fingers together again, listening as the boy reached out a hand toward him.

Before the boy could react, Sartan grabbed his wrist and twisted, as he continued walking toward the stage.

The boy's screams echoed around the area, telling Sartan that two Peacekeepers were running his direction from the left and right.

"I didn't do it for you," Sartan called back to him.

Once he was on the stage, he stomped his foot into the wood, and when he heard the creaking, he guessed he had two feet before the stage ended. He stepped forward a little, as the announcer congratulated them. "Ladies and gentlemen, here are your tributes for the 18th Hunger Games!"

Sartan remained stoic as the crowd exploded with cries and cheers—too loud for him to hear anything else. Peacekeepers grabbed him on either arm and guided him off the stage. The cheers became fainter, and as the noise bounced off the walls, he knew he was nearing the Justice Building.

As they shut the door behind him, he paced, impatiently waiting to be hauled off to the trains. There was nothing for him there, no goodbyes waiting.

There was nothing in the Capitol for him, either.

Nothing but blood and winning.