The Games

District 3 Reapings~ Fallon and Solisis

District Three

Fallon Warfield, Age 10

               I take quite a walk to get to the schoolhouse. We still have school today, even though it’s reaping. At school, we learn everything from Panem History to arithmetic.

               When I get inside the large schoolhouse, I plop myself down in a chair that is my dictated desk. I click my pencil nervously against the wooden tabletop. Of course I’m nervous. Why in the world would the Capitol think decreasing the set age to ten for reaping? I wasn’t supposed to feel this way for another two years.

               I never really learned or took interest in the Hunger Games. Last year, I knew nothing about them. I thought it was a game where whoever stayed hungry the longest won. In all entirety, I’m not wrong. Although, the mischievous Capitol brainwashed Districts One, Two, and Four into believing that these Hunger Games lead you to fame, fortune, and incarnation into a new life.

               The Hunger Games brought on an entirely new perspective to a ten year old boy by the name of Fallon Warfield. Yes, the boy, Fallon, is now aware. And who’s this Fallon? I am.

               “Alright, class. Let’s start on our annual reaping routine.” Mrs. Ferguson states as she walks to the front of the room.

               “What will we do today, Mrs. Ferguson?” A girl asks.

               “The Capitol has made it mandatory and provided you a copy of last year’s Hunger Games.” Mrs. Ferguson answers. We all sigh, remembering the Hunger Games. She pops in the tape, and it picks up at the Bloodbath. I cringe as a close-up shots show the axe sliding through the girl from Five’s neck, the sword piercing the heart of the boy from Seven, the knives against the chest of the girl from Eight, the hatchet plunged into the skull of the boy from Ten. Everything was horrific.

               Soon, we are all glued to the screen. The girl from Three had been killed by the boy from Four in the Bloodbath. I keep watching. Day Five arrives, and only three remain, the boys from One, Three, and Four.

               I close my eyes as I see the knife plunged in the neck of the boy from our District.

               The boy from Four won.

               Mrs. Ferguson removes the tape.

               “Sorry for the graphic display,” she apologizes.

               “It’s okay,” the class responds in unison. The school bell rings. I grab my schoolbag before putting my homework in it.

Solisis Lane, age 13

               I lurk out into the daylight of reaping day. It’s surprisingly warm and jubilant as the birds chirp in the trees. I sigh as I look down at myself. My frail body aches for food, my tattered clothing and scraped skin ache for attention, and my empty pockets ache for money.

               I have a family of seven, and even though both of my parents have jobs, we can’t push through. I have four younger sisters, making me the one who has to braid their hair and help them with whatever they need. I have taken tesserae in hopes of collecting enough oil and grain to keep this family going.

               I don’t bother trying to find any better clothing for reaping, because I don’t have any. My parents will be at the reaping, waiting for me to show up with Nonce and Cylisse, my ten-year-old sisters who happen to be twins. I leave the youngest two, Wynn and Forum, with my older friend who is exempt from reaping this year.

               I take Nonce’s hand in my left hand and Cylisse’s in the other as we walk to the District Square. The walk can take anywhere from a half hour or an hour.

               We reach the District Square within forty-five minutes. I sign myself in at the terminal, and help Nonce and Cylisse sign themselves in. I take them to the ten-year-old’s section.

               “You guys have to stay here through the reaping. I’ll be back here at the end and pick you up. If you have an emergency, Mom and Dad will be over at the terminal.” I tell them.

               “What if we’re chosen, Solisis?” Cylisse cries.

               “You’ll be safe,” I reassure them.

               “I love you, Solisis.” Nonce says, giving me a hug. I look at them, hoping I won’t be taken away from them. They’re black hair rimming their olive skin and amber eyes. They look like me, even though I’m clearly more scared than they are.

               I give them both a final kiss on the forehead before walking up to the thirteen’s section.

               “Welcome,” the mayor states to start off the reaping. He goes over the Treaty of Treason and speaks over the Quarter Quell.

               “Without further ado, here’s Elyva Du’fonce, the District Three escort.” Mayor Coff claps. A girl with yellow hair, dark skin, and rosy pink eyes takes place at the podium.

               “Hello, District Three! I am Elyva, and I’m here to choose the champion of the 1,500th Annual Hunger Games. One of you gathered here today could be the next victor.” She smiles. She walks over to the reaping ball and pulls out a slip with a male’s name on it.

               “Fallon Warfield!” she exclaims. I see a boy from the ten’s section walk up on the stage. His black hair is slicked back. He wears a pair of glasses and sports a long-sleeved black shirt, black shorts, a leather belt, knee-high socks, and black leather shoes. He’s one of those wealthy school kids. Elyva walks to the other reaping ball, pulling out the female tribute’s name. She holds up the slip jubilantly while crossing over to the podium.

               “This tribute could be the next victor,” she repeats, waving the slip in her hand before reading off the name. “Cylisse Lane!”

               It doesn’t trigger at first, but then I sense that my sister has been reaped. Nonce hugs her arm as she walks up, but the Peacekeepers force them to part. Nonce screams.

               “I volunteer!” she shouts. That’s when I run out into the aisle.

               “No, I volunteer. Nonce, take Cylisse back to Mom and Dad.” I shout. Two Peacekeepers yank on my arms, forcing me up on stage.

               “What’s your name?” Elyva asks me, pointing the microphone in my direction as the Peacekeepers release me.

               “Solisis Lane,” I state. Elyva nods, forcing me next to Fallon.

               “May the tributes and or victors please shake hands?” Elyva probes. We shake hands, realizing that one of us will have to die sooner or later. I’m not going to be the one who dies.

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Cudge got a name change, now Falluous :D So... written by Falluous. Hoping to drag Julia back into this XD