Deceived: The 500th Annual Hunger Games

Chapter 56 - District 8 Reapings

KERN BALTHAR'S P.O.V

I picked up yet another crate of Peacekeeper uniforms and hauled them into the truck.

This is my job. Every day, I have to put ready made clothes into the back of trucks sent from District 6.

I hate my job. They have to be set in a particular order, if they aren't, you get whipped.

I hate district 8. Everyone here is into fashion and gossip and parties. If you exclude District 1, we are the most like the Capitol citizens. Many stylists have come from district 8.

For instance, my auntie Minnie. Every year, she styles the District 8 male. Except this year there will most likely be many more than one male.

Minnie has been styling for almost twenty years now. She even got to style her son, and my cousin, Ventio. Ventio - the winner of the 486th Games.

Minnie has already left for the Capitol, waiting in a room to see which tribute she will have the honour of styling this year. Ventio will be at the reaping, as usual. He's the last victor District 8 had.

I lifted the next box of uniforms and placed them inside the truck on another box, sweating. Today is hot. Extremely hot.

I then left the truck to find Struve Whishart, my work associate, loading his next crate into the truck.

He saw my crate and kicked it over.

"Hey," I yell at him. "Put that back!"

Two Peacekeepers run into the truck, whips in hand. Struve has been trying to get me fired for months.

"What happened?" A Peacekeeper asked.

"Struve kicked my crate over, and all of the neatly folded clothes have farm out. They're creased," I complain.

They drag Struve out of the truck. "No," he yelled. "Kern pulled them out and then kicked me." What?

"No I didn't!"

"Luckily, we have surveillance - it was the factory's idea," the other Peacekeeper said.

They walked off to watch the surveillance. I bent down to refold the clothes as best as I could. Struve laughed manically behind me.

"Faster," he grinned, kicking me in the leg. I winced as I started to fold the clothes faster.

The next thing I know is Struve has a pair of Peacekeeper trousers around my neck, trying to strangle me.

I choke, trying desperately to breathe. "Fold the clothes!" He yelled.

A Peacekeeper comes into the truck and whips Struve. Struve's screams echo around the truck. He loses his grip of the trousers, still yelping in pain.

"Struve, for physical abusing this citizen, we're entering you into the Hunger Games," the Peacekeeper laughed.

"Jokes on you," he spat, "I wanted to volunteer anyway."

"Kern, you're free to go home and get changed for the Reaping." I jump down from the truck, wiping the sweat from my forehead and head to my cousin's house.

I walks into the doorway to find my uncle sitting in his chair as usual. I ran upstairs into Ventio's room.

"Hey," Ventio yelled from his room. I barged in, laughing.

"Hey," I reply. "Have you got my outfit ready?"

He handed over a pair of khaki shorts and a blue button up shirt. "Smart casual," he winked. "I have to get going. See you in a few weeks!"

Ventio walked down the stairs, straightening his tie. I changed into the clothes he had left out before heading down to get a drink.

My mum isn't going to be worried about me. She's too drunk to ever notice how I am. I'd rather live with Ventio.

I leave the Victor Village house and make my way downtown to the town square.

I don't even care if I'm reaped. I mean, what do I have to lose? My drunk mum? My rich and famous cousin? My job?

CORNELIA BARTLETT'S P.O.V

I made my way into the queue, holding my head high. This is my special day.

I am a District 2 citizen. My mum, who used to live in the Capitol, fell in love with the Mayor's brother here. She was granted permission to move and because at the time I wasn't twelve, I had to move too.

I have been training for the games since I was about six. Axes. Yeah, they're my weapon.

I managed to sneak my axe into District 8 and I usually practice with it when my parents are out, which happens to be all of the time.

I saw Struve, a boy I work with sometimes, being dragged to the stage by a Peacekeeper. He screamed and yelled at the man, wanting to be let go.

What has he done this time?

"Finger," the lady said. I loosened the muscles in my hand as the needle poked at my finger.

She smeared the blood everywhere before letting me go. I ran into my pen. The 18-year-olds around me quivered. District 8 isn't a very strong district.

Our last victor was my workmate's cousin, Ventio. Before him, our last victor was a girl who conquered the 442th games. She committed suicide a year or so after.

Yeah, we're not known for our victors. We are known for our fabulous parade costumes.

Our escort, Monty, climbed up onto the stage, cackling. He is disgusting, but if I'm to enter these games, then I will have to put up with him.

Can you hurt escorts before the games?

"Welcome," he coughed into the mic. The mic made a weird a squeaking sound, causing teenagers to screech and yelp as their ears rang. "Now it is time to choose our eight tributes!"

"Our first tribute has been selected specially. He physically abused his work colleagues, resulting in him partaking in these games. Give it up for Struve Whishart, aged 16!" No one clapped.

He stuck his hand into the bowl. His mouth opened to announce the second name, but he didn't have time when my arm was raised and my voice was heard.

"I volunteer!" I bounded up to the stage, wanting the Careers to see that District 8 has more interest than people think.

"What's your name?" Monty stinks. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. I tried not to gag.

"Cornelia Bartlett, aged 18," I reply. Again, no one claps.

"Next up is Kern Balthar!"

Struve bursted into fits of laughter as a bruised Kern made his way from the 16-year-old pen.

"Pleione Wren!"

A small 14-year-old girl walked up to the stage, her face drawn of any colour.

"Lance Forgrass!"

A lanky 15-year-old boy walked out from his pen and up into the stage. He looked pretty annoyed.

"Tori Caldesia!" A girl stepped from the 17-year-old pen. She looked strong.

"Denim Abalone!" A small 13-year-old poked his head out of his pen, the scared kids moving from away from him.

"Last up is Hydra Berry!" An 18-year-old girl strode out of my pen and almost ran up to the stage.

"Here they are: Struve, Cornelia, Kern, Pleione, Lance, Tori, Denim and Hydra!"

The eight of us walked into the justice building from the stage. I am determined to win.