After The Storm (A Hunger Games Fanfic)

District Ten Reapings

The weather that savaged District Nine also hit the outskirts of District Ten, although not with such dramatic consequences. A few cows died of heat exhaustion, but on the whole District Ten managed well.

It doesn't matter how hard they try; Ten is never completely clean. Even on the driest days - of which they have seen plenty - mud and animal droppings will be trailed through the uneven, cobbled streets of the small townships. Animals shuffle around the townships at will; it has been a long time since anybody tried to keep them in a specific area. A few girls, strong and muscular specimens just out of reaping age and therefore not needed for the hours running up to the reaping, go around with buckets of water, filling up the troughs by the sides of the street so the animals can drink. From houses come the inevitable sounds of squealing as a braid is pulled too hard, gruff complaints about shoes being too tight or trousers too small. The trams rattle and creak around the district, full of parents and children forced into their reaping best.

The people's 'reaping best' look suspiciously like clean versions of their work clothes. Mothers fuss on the way to the square, trying to straighten collars on dull yellow shirts that used to be white. A few of the older teenagers already in the pens sense the irony of this and moo loudly, each attempting to make more noise than the other. It's a way to relieve the tension. The cows moo in harmony, as a stressed out farmer attempts to urge some sheep out of the centre of the square. They bleat at him and obstinately go nowhere. The cameraman pans around all of this with a smile. District life; how quaint! And look, nobody is crying!

He still has half an hour to go before he's needed at the main stage, and he's been instructed to get footage that they can show when things go quiet in the Games, so he's going for a wander. The rep, a short and slightly dumpy socialite called Hattie, is supposed to come with him and talk to people but she can't stand the smell and the mud, the little diva. He doesn't like it much either, but it's part of his job so he's not going to complain.

The sun in Ten is hot and the camera straps stick to him. It's a heavy bit of kit, his pride and joy, with an optional 3D element that can make the audience back at home feel like they're actually out in the districts. Though this setting isn't exactly popular with the lower districts and he usually keeps it turned off, to conserve battery life. Typical; the Capitol pour all their resources into the arena, even the parts nobody will see, but can't be bothered to supply him with a little extra juice for his camera. Everybody forgets that the show wouldn't be possible without him and his crew.

He only just dodges a suspicious looking puddle and sighs. You would think that they'd at least try to clean up, with visitors from the Capitol coming. But no, District Ten don't seem to care. They ignore him as he traipses through, swinging his camera around to catch a mockingjay in flight. Pretty, but they won't let him use it. References to mockingjays are banned in the Capitol, though the annoying little creatures thrive in the districts, or the agricultural ones anyway. Whenever he's been here, he always sleeps at night with the repetitive singing in his ears.

A cow with a brown coat and the initials BM burnt into its flank - the traditional mark of ownership - ambles down the street behind a family group. The family is typical size for District Ten; two solid, well built parents and three children. The mother clutches the middle child to her side. The poor girl looks squashed and close to tears, her ruddy cheeks bright red. Her reaping dress already has brown splatters up the side. The eldest child, the boy, is tall and broad like most of the District Ten boys. Also like the others, he has a plain and honest face which looks troubled; he may be just about of reaping age. The youngest child toddles along, looking at the floor and skipping over the cracks in the cobbles. The whole family ignore the cow.

Not the cameraman. He zooms in on it, scuttling around to catch the ownership brand. It's just a normal cow, nothing interesting, but he feels like he has to capture something and the slightly depressed looking family won't do any good. All the other families piling out of the tram station look similar, so he gives up and goes back to the square, avoiding a foul-smelling brown pile.